The Window
The soft pitter-patter of feet against the ground followed by a sweet, barely suppressed giggle woke Andromeda up.
She didn’t move.
Once Dora knew either she or Ted were awake, she was relentless in her pursuit to drag them out of bed. They tried everything to get her to stay in her bed before they came and got her up in the morning, but she hated being awake and alone, so she always managed to find a way to their room. Usually, Andromeda was more than happy to oblige her; she remembered being little and waiting for someone to come downstairs only to be alone. The idea that Dora could ever feel that same loneliness broke her heart, so even if it meant sacrificing a few hours of sleep, she usually complied.
But not this morning.
No, Andromeda felt she deserved a few extra minutes in bed after the absolutely terrible day she’d had prior.
She could feel Ted shifting around next to her, his legs moving slowly to untangle from hers. His breath ghosted over her neck as he sat up. His weight still dipped the mattress down, so he wasn’t quite up, not like Dora wanted him to be. She was grateful, nonetheless, that he seemed to have taken the reigns here.
Until she heard the soft murmur of voices speaking in low, conspiring tones.
“Is Mummy— Is Mummy sleeping?” Dora asked in a loud whisper, stilted and awkward as her mouth fumbled around the words. Though she’d been talking for maybe two years at this point, she didn’t have a strong grasp of how to properly form the words she was speaking. It gave her this adorable toddler lisp that tugged Andromeda’s heartstrings every time.
“Yes, Mummy’s sleeping,” Ted answered lightly, a little amused at Dora's antics.
“Too long!” Dora announced, sounding very determined for a three-year-old, but she was always a stubborn thing, so it wasn’t anything new.
Ted’s voice dropped lower, but Andromeda could still hear when he whispered, “I think so too.”
Then they were oddly silent.
Andromeda had learned very quickly that silence from a toddler was never a good thing. It usually meant Dora was up to something no good, like coloring on the walls or eating something she wasn’t supposed to or making a giant mess of her toys. But when it was both Dora and Ted who were silent, they were evidently conspiring against her.
The mattress sprung up as Ted got out of bed as quietly as he could.
He knew that Andromeda was awake; he was always able to tell when she was awake, once said it was something about her breathing that clued him in. That meant this was a show for Dora, this silence, and she couldn’t help but be warmed by the thought that he was indulging her.
Another beat of quietness.
Twin giggles were her only warning before Andromeda was pounced on.
She let out a shriek of genuine surprise, and her eyes flew open.
Dora burst into delighted laughter from where she’d jumped on Andromeda’s chest, and any annoyance she might have felt melted away at the sight of her daughter’s rosy cheeks and the huge smile she sported. Dora flung herself forward and wrapped her arms around Andromeda’s neck, pressing into her skin, laughter still bubbling from her lips. Andromeda’s arms wrapped around her on instinct.
She turned to Ted, who was crouched by her head, and tried to fight back a smile but didn’t succeed. He chuckled again, and she shook her head, grinning.
Ted leaned forward and sweetly said, “Good morning.”
“Shove off,” Andromeda told him, reaching one hand out to push his face away.
Ted caught her wrist before she could succeed in shoving him, and he pressed a kiss into her palm. “You’re so mean to me,” he murmured lightly, eyes bright with mirth. “Dora, isn’t Mummy so mean to me?”
Dora popped up from Andromeda’s neck at the sound of her name, her hair sticking up in every direction. “No!” she cried. “Mummy’s nice!”
“At least one of you loves me,” Andromeda said dramatically, tugging Dora back to her chest. She tried to press a kiss to Dora’s cheek, but the toddler dodged her gleefully, grabbing at Andromeda’s curls with one hand. “Never mind, then,” she muttered, turning to Ted with big eyes.
He had his chin propped up on the mattress now, and he stared up at her.
“What?” she asked.
“Nothing,” he quipped. He moved and pressed his lips to hers, smiling into the kiss. He pecked her again, then pulled back and said, “You’re lovely. So lovely. Did you sleep alright?”
Andromeda rolled her eyes with fondness. “Are you trying to flatter your way into forgiveness for waking me up?”
“Technically it was Dora that did the waking.”
“You helped.”
“Alright,” he admitted. “Then, yes, I guess I am. Is it working?”
“Maybe,” she said, then leaned forward to kiss him again. His lips were soft and warm against hers, and she let the kiss linger, savoring the feeling of belonging that rushed over her. The other’s, they might’ve been the family she grew up with, but this was the family she made. This was a family where no pain would be minimized, no screaming would ensue, and no hate would bloom. This was a family where love flowed so seamlessly between them without needing to be earned or fought for. She'd made a safe place for herself, and she would fight tooth and nail against her upraising to make sure it stayed a loving environment for Dora to grow in. An overwhelming rush of adoration flooded her, and she kissed Ted harder.
Near her ear, Dora let out a loud whine. “What about me?” she cried, shoving the crown of her head against Andromeda’s cheek.
Andromeda broke away from Ted, grinning, and demanded, “Now you want kisses?”
“Yes!”
Ted and Andromeda exchanged a glance, silently communicating, then grabbed Dora at the same time. She shrieked in delight, falling backward over Andromeda and into her lap. Ted and Andromeda kissed all over Dora’s face, tickling her at the same time. She laughed and laughed, absolutely ecstatic at the attention.
When they finally let up, Dora gasped for air, still smiling widely.
“Are you hungry, baby?” Andromeda asked, smoothing down Dora’s hair. It was a light brown, right in between their hair colors, and the loose downy curls were a cross between Ted’s straight hair and her curly hair as well. Dora’s hair had a mind of its own, though, which she’d inherited from neither parent, so it was something that was entirely Nymphadora. No matter how often Andromeda smoothed it back, it refused to cooperate, and it just ended up sticking out in every which way. But Dora also had an affinity for coloring the strands with markers, so it was truly messy in every way it could be. Andromeda scrubbed it out as best she could, but there was always pink or blue leftover in her daughter’s hair no matter how many times she ran shampoo through it.
Ted shook his head. “I’ll make her food, love. Then you have more time to take a shower and get ready before you go. I’ll make you a plate, yeah?”
“Kreacher might want to make breakfast,” Andromeda told him, frowning slightly. “He did yesterday, at least.”
“Alright,” Ted agreed, standing up. He put his hand over hers where it lay on Dora’s head and smoothed his thumb over her knuckles. To Dora, he said, “Do you want French toast?”
She nodded eagerly, looking up at Ted with adoring eyes.
“Let’s go then!” He scooped her up in his arms easily, and she went without protest. “Blow a kiss to Mummy,” he told her, stopping in the doorway of their bedroom.
Dora smacked her palm against her lips before flinging her hand out towards Andromeda in an uncoordinated attempt to blow a kiss. Andromeda pretended to catch it, nonetheless, and pressed it to her chest.
Officially alone, she was tempted to slump back against the pillows and sleep some more.
Yesterday had been. . . overwhelming, to put it simply, and she was mentally and emotionally exhausted from it all. There’d been so many shocks (Regulus’ revival, Druella’s debated involvement in a potential murder, etc.), so many tears (mostly her brushed-away attempts to rekindle her relationship with Narcissa), and so many arguments (to name all of them would be an impossible feat, and it hadn’t even been that long of a reunion). She hadn’t quite processed all that had happened in her childhood, and to return to see all their wounds raw and bleeding once more was enough to set her back. Still, there was something addictive about this new return – like how pressing on a bruise can become rewarding, oddly enough. She was tempted to never return; she was tempted to never leave. It was terribly strange.
She kept thinking that if only Narcissa would stop shutting her down, maybe that would help. She'd thought they’d made progress upstairs in Narcissa's old bedroom, but it hadn’t lasted. It was one step forward and three steps back and incredibly, incredibly frustrating.
Bellatrix was quick to rub it in, too.
Andromeda knew the other two girls must’ve become closer in the wake of her leaving, but she hadn’t expected that to mean they would shut her out completely. Her heart was a delusional and hopeful bird in her chest that sang bright melodies of forgiveness and harbored love, and Narcissa had strangled it to keep it quiet. There'd been hope for forgiveness, but now it seemed she would only ever get tolerance if she was lucky.
And maybe that was fine.
It would have to be, to some extent. But Andromeda hoped that maybe it wouldn’t be that way forever. She'd just have to keep chipping away at it, she decided.
Andromeda checked the clock as she swung her legs out of the bed, miffed to realize it was around five in the morning. Dora didn’t always wake up this early, but it was just her luck that she’d chosen to do so today of all days, after Andromeda hadn’t gone to sleep until long after she’d intended to.
She'd gotten back last night just in time to put Dora to sleep, and her little girl was so excited that Andromeda was home. It'd taken her a while to calm down – the two of them had ended up reading her four books before her eyes got droopy, and then they’d tucked her into her sheets.
Ted shut the door as quietly as he could, and then he wrapped his arms around Andromeda tightly. He murmured to her, telling her all about what he and Dora did today and how much they’d missed her. Andromeda was quiet. It wasn’t until he felt the first few teardrops roll over his skin that he ushered her away and urged her to tell him what was wrong.
Andromeda told him everything, not bothering to hold back the tears. He thumbed them away and patiently waited for her to blow her nose in between sentences, never rushing her or pushing for her to move on when she got stuck on a particular aspect of the day.
Ted was, quite frankly, the most supportive person she’d ever met, and his unwavering encouragement gave her the knowledge that he would hold her up through anything and everything. He never once judged her for her reactions or made assumptions without having a full grasp of the situation. She'd known this about him, of course, but sometimes, in moments like these, it hit her smack in the face, and she realized for the hundredth time just how good he was for her.
After she’d choked the whole story out, Ted gently probed her about various aspects of the situation, finally making commentary. He was both surprised and realized to learn about Regulus (who wasn’t?), he thought Sirius was too quick to want to pin the blame on someone (she agreed with Regulus; he just wanted to feel like Number One again, surely), and he suspected something deeper might be bothering Narcissa (she hadn’t quite considered if that was a possibility or not). He rubbed her back as they spoke and squeezed her hand periodically and if she became too emotional, he pressed his lips between her eyes.
Just like Dora, it’d taken a while before she calmed down enough to fall asleep, and when she finally did, it was with Ted’s warm arms enveloping her.
Now, Andromeda scrubbed cleanser over her face, rubbing away at the tear streaks she could still sort of see. Her hair was clipped up as the conditioner soaked in, and when she let it down, she rinsed both her face and her hair clean at the same time.
By the time she was out of the shower and dressed, the smell of French toast floated through the house.
She found Ted dutifully flipping the pieces of bread on the pan while Dora watched wide-eyed from the kitchen table.
“Do you want strawberries, baby?” Andromeda asked Dora.
The toddler nodded eagerly, babbling something about the color red and how anything red is simply superior. Andromeda only half-listened – she was used to Dora’s babbling, and it wasn’t always as entertaining as people suspected it might have been. Especially not when it was the same babbling day in and day out.
She grabbed the strawberries from the fridge and rinsed them in the sink. Ted got out the knife and cutting board for her, and she smiled gratefully at him.
While she cut, Ted came up behind her and set Dora’s plate of French toast out to cool off. He looped his arms around her waist and pressed his chest flush against her back, hooking his chin over her shoulder and humming contently in her ear.
“Are you not eating?” Andromeda asked, gesturing with the tip of the knife towards Dora’s food.
“It’s too early,” Ted said, snorting.
Andromeda gave him a pointed look but said nothing.
“Oh, my love, I just wanted you to wake up smiling,” Ted confessed, nosing at the hinge of her jaw. “You went to bed so upset. And I knew you weren’t very excited to go back today. I just wanted you to wake up smiling over something silly rather than frowning over what’s to come.”
How could she not melt at that?
“I’m not actually mad,” she said in a low murmur. “I was never mad. And you’re right, it did make me smile. Thank you for that.”
“Daddy, I’m hungry,” Dora whined from the table.
“I don’t want you to burn yourself,” Ted told her, talking louder than he’d been speaking to Andromeda so their daughter could hear him. “It’s cooling down now. Besides, don’t you want your strawberries?”
She huffed but didn’t complain further.
“When will you be home?” Ted asked. His thumb rubbed over her ribs lightly, smoothing the fabric of her shirt.
Andromeda shrugged. “I’m not sure. But if it’s getting late or if I’m tired, I’ll just pull the husband card. ‘Ted needs me home right now! He just called me to tell me so.’ Surely, it’ll work.”
Ted buried his face into her neck and groaned, the sound vibrating against her skin. “They’re going to think I’m mental,” he complained. “They’ll think I’m controlling over you or something!”
“They already think that,” Andromeda assured him. “At least, I bet that’s what they were told to think about you. Bella and Cissy, that is. I’m sure my running away was twisted into something completely ridiculous like you were manipulating me into doing it or something.”
Ted was quiet at that, like he disagreed but didn’t think it was his place.
She opened her mouth to question him, but then Dora whined once more about wanting her food. Andromeda scooped the strawberries onto the plate and then let Ted deliver the food. She clapped her hands happily before she started to eat.
Andromeda watched it all fondly.
She knew she had to leave soon if she wanted to get there first.
Ted and Dora walked her out of the house. Dora held her tight and didn’t cry, surprisingly – she'd been going through a phase where she cried whenever one of them left, though they were never able to figure out why. It seemed she’d somehow gotten over that for the time being. Ted pecked her on the lips and then twice on the tip of her nose before he let her go, and then they waved at her until she couldn’t see them anymore.
It was around 5:30 in the morning when she reached the grim old place that was the Black Manor, tall and looming in the near distance. She pushed her way through the unlocked gate – Kreacher should really do something about this, she thought - and marched up the stairs. She knocked – a heavy-handed knock, one that made her seem brasher, louder, more than she actually was.
As usual, Kreacher opened the door briskly.
“I really ought to get a key, don’t I?” Andromeda asked, crossing the threshold. “We all should have them. At least until we decide what to do with this place?”
Kreacher regarded her with both distaste and hesitancy. “Does Mistress Andromeda plan on coming to the House of Black often?”
“How about you keep the door unlocked for now,” she said, ignoring the miserable little elf. “That way I don’t have to knock every time I want to come inside.”
“Of course,” Kreacher said, bowing slightly. “Kreacher will do that now.”
When he turned away, he grumbled something vulgar under his breath.
“Am I the first to get here?” she asked loudly, compelling him to turn around once more. His large eyes fixated on her, narrowed with annoyance.
“No,” he said harshly. “Mistress Bellatrix and Mistress Narcissa are upstairs. Can Kreacher fulfill his task now?”
Andromeda frowned then waved him off, already making her way towards the staircase.
It was strange, to her, that Narcissa would spend the night. Again. She had Lucius, and she seemed to adore him based on the conversation they’d had in Narcissa’s room. She thought there was a chance, maybe, that he was traveling for work, but it was still strange. Narcissa always loved having something to call her own. Growing up, her room was her safe space, and she spent most of her time there because it was something entirely hers. Andromeda had expected her to be the same about the Malfoy Manor – the huge house Lucius owned on the outskirts of town, where he no doubt had acres of land to admire. She'd assumed Narcissa would have made that house her new safe space, and that she would feel more comfortable there than anywhere else, especially here.
Of course, Andromeda wasn’t so sure anymore.
Ever since Regulus had come back from the dead yesterday, it felt like the world had been flipped on its head. She wouldn’t have flinched if someone explained that up was now down.
She couldn’t be sure of anything now.
Andromeda turned the doorknob to Narcissa’s room as quietly as possible and pushed it open.
The sight was confusing.
Though Kreacher had told her that Bellatrix was here as well, she hadn’t expected it to mean that the two girls were sharing a room as if they were girls once again.
The bed was a heap of tousled sheets and limbs; they were so tangled together that it became hard to tell where one girl ended and the other began, only distinctly two separate beings because of the sharp contrast of their hair. Blonde silky strands and dark curls looked practically tangled together, but it was only the curls that moved when one of the girls lifted her head.
“Andy,” Bella said groggily, sounding intensely young and out of place from the reality they were living in.
Cissy grunted a wordless response, too tired to move or form words.
Andromeda was struck with an insatiable longing – for sisterhood, for love, for the past. It was a moment where everything felt like it would be worth it. Like reliving the horror of growing up here would be worth it once more just so she could experience this all over again. Just so she could wake up one more morning with Cissy’s hair in her mouth and Bella’s cold feet tucked under her legs. One more morning where they would laugh together and love each other and just live.
Bella flung the sheets open and laid her head back down. She scooted over slightly, shoving Cissy much to the blonde’s chagrin, then patted the empty space in a clear invitation.
It was possibly the most self-indulgent thing Andromeda ever did, shutting the door and crossing the room so she could climb into bed.
They lay just like they always had: Andy, Bella, and Cissy, all in that order.
Bella, either unthinking or too tired for grievances to hang over her head, rolled over onto her stomach so she could fling one leg over Andy and rest her arm over Cissy.
Andromeda allowed herself to melt into the warmth of the other two girls, and slowly but surely, she was lulled back into sleep, the little bird in her chest singing quietly but happily.
Remus Lupin was not a morning person.
He was a lot of things, but a morning person wasn’t one of them.
Now, when someone isn’t a morning person, there’s an immediate assumption that they’re a night person. Remus always thought that was stupid – categorizing people into only two types was unjust and, frankly, made no sense. It made him angry to think that the default was one if not the other. Because it wasn’t as black and white as that.
All this to say, Remus wasn’t a night person either.
Sirius liked to say he was just grumpy all the time – morning, noon, and night – but that it was a key part of his charm.
Remus didn’t like that, though. He felt there was a better way to put it.
He wasn’t a fan of being put into boxes. It felt too limiting and sometimes even judgmental to be narrowed down into one aspect of himself. But he was also very self-aware and would have been the first one to say that this stemmed from a lot of wounds growing up. In primary school, he was first known as the quiet boy, and soon, the disabled boy, and eventually, the gay boy. That categorization was so unfair – he was more than just quiet, more than just disabled, and certainly more than just gay. Even if they were all things that made Remus who he was, they weren’t the only things that meshed together to form him – especially not individually and without input from anything else.
His mother, Hope Lupin, always told him that no one would ever be able to tell him who he was, and that it was up to him to decide.
And so, Remus decided he was neither a morning person nor a night person but a third thing: perpetually tired. Sirius had laughed and laughed the first time Remus declared that to be so, but no one could deny him of this. It was a joke that held too much truth to be brushed to the side.
But even though Remus wasn’t a morning person, and even though he could feel exhaustion pulling at his bones and working knots in his back, he didn’t snooze the alarm blaring at 6:30 in the morning (which was far too early, really). Instead, he got up and shut it off before taking a shower and getting dressed.
James had told Remus not to worry last night, and he’d made sure Sirius called to confirm he was alright, but that didn’t stop him from tossing and turning. It'd been a while since he and Sirius had spent the night away from each other, especially in the wake of something upsetting or bordering on traumatic, so he felt like he had a right to worry. Regret burned in his cheeks, and he felt awful that he hadn’t been there for Sirius even if the other man claimed to be fine. He was supposed to be there for Sirius. That's how the whole relationship thing worked.
He would be there soon, though. Then he’d be able to assess the damage for himself.
Sirius had sounded a little shell-shocked – haunted, even – on the phone last night, but he’d denied it. He filled Remus in about the pub and said that he and Regulus had gone to the Potters’ right after so Effie could patch them up. Remus could tell something else had happened, but he wasn’t going to push for Sirius to share. It would come out in time, he assured himself.
Hopefully.
As Remus left the house, he found himself buzzing with anticipation.
He was quite excited to see Effie and Monty again, though the excitement was tinged with guilt. Truthfully, he was due for a visit, and the only thing that muted this whole trip over was the circumstances under which it was conducted. But he would bet a pound on Sirius being just as pleased to go over as he was, and that made him feel marginally better about it.
The walk to the tube was a slow one – though he was in pain all the time, he was particularly sore from his physical therapy session the day before. He went weekly, and the rest of the afternoon and often the morning after was always characterized by this strange soreness. Still, it was a different feeling from the constant dull ache in his legs, so while it wasn’t his favorite feeling, it was just different enough to almost feel better. It made him feel like he was making progress and chipping away at an impossible feat.
He people watched on the train over, nosy and invested in the lives of others. Sometimes it struck him so clearly that other people were alive as well and it always tore him out of whatever self-pitying or anxiety-ridden reverie he’d found himself lost in.
Remus struggled up the stairs when it was his stop; stairs were never very good for him. One of the criteria when they were picking a flat was that it needed a lift for Remus so he wouldn’t have to fight his way up the flights of stairs. A lift or a place on the first floor. They'd settled on the lift.
He popped out eventually, letting the weak morning light wash over him. The sky was cloudy, but it didn’t look like rain. He glanced up at the swirling pale clouds but walked without worry about the weather.
The Potter’s house, when it came into view, was just as huge as it had always been, and he remembered being young and seeing it for the first time. His parents weren’t poor by any means – growing up, he had everything he needed and more. It was just that the Potter’s version of more was a little larger than his. He'd gaped up at it when he'd first seen it, trying to hide his surprise to keep from embarrassing himself.
Houses like this? They were common for people like James and Sirius. They were normal. Even Peter, another friend from school, had long since grown familiar with the manor’s size after having visited for so long. But this was new for Remus. He was suddenly on the inside of a world he’d only ever looked at from the distance. It was strange.
He'd grown used to it, of course, but there was always a part of him that was surprised by the enormity of the house. A part of him that didn’t quite know how he’d found himself here.
Effie answered the door, an apron tied around her waist.
“Remus!” she cried happily, gently wrapping her arms around him. He towered over her, but she never seemed to mind. He hugged her back without hesitating – it’d been a while, really, since he’d faltered when she’d hugged him. “I’m just making breakfast now,” she told him, beaming up. “Come in, come in!”
Remus allowed her to usher him inside and to the kitchen where she set a cup of coffee in front of him that was made just how he liked it.
“Everyone is still sleeping after such an eventful night,” she explained.
“So I heard," Remus said, grimacing, before taking a sip of his coffee. “James said not to worry about Sirius, but you know me.”
Effie hummed as she thought. “I’ve seen my boy go through a lot – we all have. I certainly think he’s going to need a lot of support from all of us, but I don’t think it’s like it was before. The shock of Regulus being alive might be helping, of course. Although, that still hasn’t really been explained to me, but that’s alright, I suppose. Anyways, I think James would have told you if you needed to rush over here,” she said. And then, just for emphasis, she repeated, “It’s not like before.”
“Okay,” Remus said, nodding. There was something about Effie’s assurance that felt more believable than James’. Maybe it was simply because she was Effie.
He filled her in on everything he knew about Regulus’ reappearance, which wasn’t a whole lot in the grand scheme of things. She seemed to appreciate the debrief but didn’t press for details; Effie had always been good about allowing others to keep their secrets. It was one of the reasons Remus, a private person at heart, loved her so much. That and her unwavering support of Sirius.
Of course Regulus popping up from nowhere, suddenly alive and breathing, was a shock to Sirius – to everyone who knew – but Remus couldn’t help but feel bad for James. The other boy had had this strange fondness for Regulus, and he’d harbored it for as long as Remus knew him. He wasn’t sure what had happened between them (or if anything had happened at all) but it couldn’t have been easy to one day discover the other boy was dead only to suddenly have him show up alive – and still eighteen, nonetheless.
“Can I help you with breakfast?” Remus finally asked when there was a natural lull in the conversation with Effie.
“No, you’re a guest, mijo,” she said, shaking her spoon at him. “Just keep this old lady entertained.”
Remus laughed but indulged her.
They discussed the drama currently going on in Effie and Hope’s book club – but to be fair, calling it drama was a little over the top. It was more just harmless gossiping about the happening going on.
Apparently, one of the ladies was working to become certified in wine tasting – something Remus hadn’t realized one could become certified in. The problem was this, though: she had awful taste in wine. Remus had heard his mother complain about the lady’s taste before, but to hear Effie of all people complain made it even funnier to him. How anyone with such an awful taste in wine gets certified to taste it professionally was the question of the morning, and Remus cackled at Effie’s bewilderment.
“My mum hates her,” Remus confessed, not feeling very sorry at all to sell Hope out.
“Everyone does!” Effie said, eyes wide. “But she’s stuck with us for reasons even I’m unsure of!”
This sent Remus into another fit of laughter.
One of his guiltiest pleasures was discussing Effie and Hope’s book club drama with them. Older women just so happened to have the funniest, most outrageous clashes, and he loved indulging in the gossip.
“What’s so funny down here?” Monty asked, padding into the kitchen. He moved across the room to peck Effie on the cheek before settling down at the head of the table, diagonal to Remus.
“The book club,” Effie and Remus intoned simultaneously.
Monty smiled in mirth. “Ah, yes.”
They filled Monty in on the new updates, and his wickedly funny commentary made Remus’ stomach hurt.
“If her taste is so bad, you should get a certification, mi corazón,” Monty told Effie, growing serious but still sounding light-hearted.
“Mum would go with you,” Remus said. “She’ll do anything to one-up that woman. I think that’s been the sole reason she finishes those books so fast.”
Effie shook her head, tutting fondly. “I’ll have to call Hope and see.”
Remus looked at Monty, smiling, and the older man winked at him. He leaned and whispered, “Good, she needs a hobby.”
“I heard that!”
Breakfast, it turned out, was waffles, eggs, bacon, fruit, and potatoes, and it smelled heavenly. Remus’ stomach kept rumbling, and he was thrilled to enjoy Effie’s cooking once more – there was only so much toast he could take before he grew tired of the bread. And besides, Effie’s cooking was to die for.
James came downstairs when Effie started spooning the batter into the waffle maker. He took one look at the food and then turned to Remus, looking absolutely thrilled at the prospect of waffles, before moving to sit across from him.
“You’re awake?” James asked Remus, looking pleasantly surprised.
Remus snorted. “Obviously. I’m here, aren’t I?”
“Yeah, I knew you would be, but I assumed you’d be asleep at the table.”
“Well, it’s never too late, is it now?”
“Here’s a pillow,” Monty deadpanned, sliding across a cloth napkin. “Or a blanket. Whatever you fancy.”
“I don’t know if it’s big enough to be a blanket,” Remus said.
“Well,” James said, “you can always wrap it around your—”
“Breakfast is ready!”
Sirius chose that exact moment to pad into the room, rubbing blearily at his eyes. He was dressed in one of Remus’ old shirts – how that had ended up here, Remus had no idea, but he appreciated whatever had led it to end up here. His hair was wild and tangled. Plaid pajama pants hugged his hips, and he was missing one sock. In other words, he looked like a mess, but he was Remus’ mess, and Remus felt his heart tug.
If Remus was not a morning person, Sirius was even less of a morning person.
“Good morning, cariño,” Effie said kindly as she plated the waffles, stacking them on top of one another.
Sirius just grunted a greeting as he walked by.
His eyes lit up a bit when he noticed Remus was there, and he sunk into the seat right next to him, leaning over to rest his head on Remus’ shoulder. Remus wrapped an arm around him and pressed a kiss into his hair before whispering, “How are you feeling?”
“Tired,” Sirus said, voice scratchy from sleep. Remus was the only one who ever managed to get him to speak in the morning. Usually, everyone had to wait a few minutes so he could wake up some more, but never Remus. No, Sirius always answered him.
“Go to bed then,” Remus teased.
“I’m trying,” Sirius mumbled.
“Is Regulus still asleep?” Monty asked, glancing at both James and Sirius because he knew how likely it was that the latter would answer him.
“His door was shut,” James said, shrugging. “I wasn’t going to knock and wake him up. It was a long day for him, I imagine.”
“It was a long day for me and I’m still awake,” Sirius grumbled.
“Yeah, but you’re halfway asleep again, that doesn’t count,” Remus cut in.
“Whatever.”
“I’m sure he’ll be down soon,” Effie said as she set the platters on the table. "Let him rest for now."
James offered to help her bring all the food over, but she insisted everyone stay seated. She brought over plate after plate, and it all smelled amazing. The potatoes were golden brown, the bacon was cooked to a perfect crisp, the eggs were seasoned well, and the waffles were light and fluffy. In short, it was perfect.
Remus piled strawberries onto his plate of waffles before drizzling syrup over it and digging in.
For a minute, there was only the sound of forks scraping against plates as everyone (including Sirius, who was always awake when it came time for food) was too busy eating to say anything. It was a testament to Effie’s cooking that everyone managed to stay quiet, too busy shoveling food into their faces to chatter.
“So,” Remus started when he was nearly halfway done with his food. “Is there any reason Regulus looks like he’s eighteen still?”
James and Sirius made quick but noticeable eye contact, seemingly communicating something in the brief second their eyes met. An important decision was made within that quick second, and Remus wasn’t sure what it might have been, but he could tell something was off. He didn’t know what it meant, but he knew something was up.
Sirius swallowed and said, “He hasn’t said much, so I’m not sure.”
“Is he mentally eighteen?” Monty asked, curious.
“I’ll tell you what, he’s mentally a git, that’s what he is.”
James frowned.
“You think those men were tracking him and trying to hurt him because, what? He’s mean to them?” Remus asked, a little amused. “There couldn’t be anything else going on?”
“Now that you mention it, he never did explain that situation, did he?” Sirius said, looking at James for confirmation.
James shook his head and said, “He didn’t tell me anything. He just went to bed without another word.”
“You can interrogate him after breakfast,” Effie decided. “Not during – and definitely not before he’s eaten. That’s just bad manners, boys.”
Bright and awake at the idea of pestering Regulus, Sirius exclaimed, “I’ll go wake him now then!”
“Well hold on—” Effie started, but got the words out, Sirius was already up and out of the room. She sighed. “Poor Regulus,” she murmured, looking faintly amused. “He’s in for a rude awakening.”
“I’ll say,” Remus snorted.
“More like Sirius is,” James said. “Regulus was always like a wet cat in the morning.”
Everyone looked at him funnily.
“That’s what Sirius always told me, anyways," James amended, cheeks dusted with pink. “I’ll bet he’s forgotten in his haste. Moving on. These are wonderful, Mum. The waffles. And everything else. Yeah. All of it.”
He faltered, not sure what else to say.
“No, keep going," Monty said, gesturing with his fork. "I'm curious what else you'll come with, chico amante.”
“Sólo repito lo que dijo Sirius.,” James said quickly.
“We know, James,” Effie cut in, giving Monty a warning glance.
Remus wished, more than ever, that he had context for this. Or maybe a pocket translator. He'd picked up a few Spanish and French words throughout his time with James and Sirius, but not enough to get him through full sentences. He was so nosy he might as well have just become bilingual to listen in more.
From upstairs, there came a loud “Fuck!” followed by a crash.
“Sirius?” Remus called out.
“Maybe he and Regulus are fighting,” James suggested, which caused Monty and Effie to exchange a glance holding more concern than he seemed to have.
“It’s better than them sitting quietly and letting it build,” Remus agreed, albeit uncertainly.
Then what followed was the sound of footsteps rapidly descending the stairs. A panicked Sirius rounded the corner, looking for all it was worth like he’d been through a windstorm. “He’s gone,” Sirius snapped, sounding thoroughly angry. “He’s fucking gone.”
That got everyone moving.
“What do you mean?” James demanded, hurrying down the hallway so he could rush up the stairs.
Remus went straight for Sirius, who grabbed his hand and pulled him along. Stairs were never his strong suit, but Remus moved as fast as he could to get to the top of them, Monty and Effie right on his heels.
Sirius rushed to the room Regulus had been sleeping in and gestured in.
“He’s gone,” Sirius repeated, sounding desperate now.
Remus peeked inside.
The bed was roughed up, which meant Regulus had slept there for sure. The pillow was still creased from the weight of his head, and the sheets were tangled.
And the window. The window was wide open, letting in the cool morning breeze and making the curtains ripple. He’d climbed out of the fucking window.