“Fool, you’re a fool. Why would you do something so unbearably fucking stupid? You knew better… you did. There’s theft and then there’s… whatever the fuck kind of nonsense this is.”
The frantic young man paused his own well-earned self-recriminations to look down at the bundle in his arms. The baby was still asleep, peacefully unaware that everything had changed.
Everything changed because there was some fundamental part of Remus Lupin that couldn’t take orders.
Never could, could he?
If someone told him to have a good day, Remus would go out of his way to ruin his own day completely. If a stranger didn’t like Remus‘s shirt, Remus would wear it for three more days straight.
And when he was told, point blank, to leave James Potter’s son alone, what did Remus do? He kidnapped the damn boy.
Remus took a few days for the fervor that James and Lily’s deaths caused to die down. Remus mourned his friends, in his own way that involved very little mourning and quite a bit of drinking and fighting. Remus listened about Sirius‘s arrest, he read the reports.
Then Remus attended the final meeting for Albus Dumbledore’s gang, Order of the Phoenix he called them. That was when Remus found out where James’s son had gone and when Remus had been firmly told to leave him be.
So what did Remus do? Made two phone calls, got an address for Petunia and Vernon Dursley, then he kidnapped Harry Potter.
Remus Lupin kidnapped Harry fucking Potter.
Oh, God. James would be laughing his arse off.
Remus had snuck in the front door of the Dursley house with his revolver in one hand and he sniffed around, quite literally, until he found Harry. The boy had been asleep on a pile of blankets and he only fussed a bit when Remus stole out in the night with him.
It was, without a doubt, the most unhinged thing that Remus had ever done. Someone would notice that the boy was gone, for Christ’s sake. His birthday was already being declared some sort of national holiday.
With very little thought, Remus had apparated as close to home as he could get. Not home, the shitty little flat he had shared with Sirius in London, but home.
Birmingham.
It was late, the witching hour, but Remus knew where he needed to go. Or, his feet did, because God only knew what was going on in Remus’s broken fucking brain as he walked through the streets with the most famous child in all of England in his arms.
Fuck the King’s son, Remus would lose his head for stealing Harry Potter. And that was the kicker, wasn’t it?
Uncle Moony being told he couldn’t go see his nephew? Moony, who read to Harry during his visits? Moony, who taught Harry how to say slag (which endearingly sounded like ‘swug’ when Harry said it)?
That wasn’t right. It was a daft thing to request and daft requests weren’t meant to be followed.
It had taken two drinks before Remus went and stole the boy, but fuck if he knew what to do with him then. Birmingham was a safe place to be, for Remus.
There weren’t many magical families there, and none were connected to Albus or his lot. Everyone in Birmingham mostly kept to themselves, or they were connected to Remus’s family.
Remus had been a Lupin for a few years, before his parents were killed and he was turned by Fenrir Greyback. Remus had been a marauder for nine beautiful years, but there was no gang when Remus was all that was left of the four.
Remus had been a member of the Order. Remus had infiltrated werewolf packs that thought he was one of them. Remus was good at that, slipping in and out of identities.
It was thanks to the longest affiliation of Remus’s life, the one that he held most dear.
The Peaky Blinders.
They weren’t much, just some blokes with less than legal tendencies, big dreams, and a fair bit of violence. But they were Remus’s family, in a way, and they were where Remus turned when he had a baby and no clue what to do with it.
Arthur Shelby was heading up the gang, last Remus knew. His father had left again, leaving Arthur to the other children and their family business. Remus hadn’t spoken to him in a few months, having been a bit busy in a war of his own, but he knew where to find him still.
The Garrison was lit up and Remus could hear loud voices spilling out. It sounded as if a fight was happening inside, a good sign that Arthur would be around.
Remus held Harry closer to his chest and made his way inside, acting for all his might that he belonged there.
And why shouldn’t he? Remus grew up in Small Heath, the same as the Shelby’s. Remus and Arthur went to school together, learned to box together. They worked the docks together, shared their first bottle of whiskey together.
Arthur had been Remus’s best friend, even after Remus had to go to Hogwarts. Remus hadn’t been around since the summer before his seventh year though, that had been when he began to wonder what his role in the building war would be.
Albus had never been subtle, Remus was certain he would be recruited to his gang. Albus gave Remus a wand and an education and his dues had came calling at graduation.
Remus told Arthur that he might be gone a while, he was sorry, he would write when he could. That had been three years ago, so Remus wasn’t certain what kind of reception he could expect.
There was a fight going on inside the Garrison. The pub was a welcome sight to Remus’s raw nerves. Even with the fists flying, insults being spewed, it felt like home.
Truthfully, it was likely the fight that made Remus feel like he was home.
Remus edged around the fights, conscious of the nearly two year old he held, and searched quickly for Arthur or one of his family members.
Arthur had three brothers, one sister, and an aunt. Thomas would be about eighteen, John fifteen, Ada had to be thirteen by then. Finn Shelby was one Remus hadn’t met, only heard of in one of the last letters he received from Arthur. Arthur’s aunt, a lovely woman who had doted on Remus as if he were her own son, was who Remus most hoped to see.
Polly Shelby had always been a woman who knew what to do. It was something Remus resented as an ornery lad and something he desperately needed at the moment.
While Arthur had a temper that ran as hot as Remus’s could, it was a temper that flared out in heated strikes. Remus’s was slower to strike, but more fierce for when it happened. Aunt Polly had been the tempering force for Remus, it was why he needed to find her first.
Arthur might want to fight about the silence between them for years, Aunt Polly would know what to do about the bloody baby in Remus’s arms.
Luck wasn’t on Remus’s side that night though. He had no sooner reached the bar than the bark from the bartender, a new bloke that Remus didn’t know, drew attention to him.
“Oi! Mate! Are ya touched in the head? No bloody babies in here!”
There weren’t many things that could put a pause in a good old fashioned brawl at the Garrison, but that barked statement did the trick.
Remus shifted Harry in his arms and knew that he had been seen before he even heard Arthur. For years, they had been running scams on every block of their town. They had been friends, partners. Remus knew when Arthur was staring at him and he could feel his eyes before he heard his voice.
“Remus fuckin’ Lupin.”
There was a small sound from someone that was quite heartening. When Remus didn’t recognize the bartender, he was worried nobody would recognize him. War, grief, and years of monthly transformations had changed him.
It would have been a shame if Remus had to build his reputation from the ground up.
Remus searched through the mess of bodies, some men literally holding their fists up mid-punch to check out what barmy man had brought a baby in the pub, until he found Arthur.
Arthur was older, of course. At twenty-one he had taken on a man’s appearance with his dark hair long on the top, shaved on the sides. There was a stupid mustache on his top lip, something Remus would mock if he knew that he had that liberty still.
Arthur’s eyes were the same though, the same dark blue that they had been since they’d been boys. Even with the blood on his face - surely not his - and the shock slackening his features… Remus would recognize his first friend anywhere.
Remus didn’t say anything yet, he only waited for Arthur’s reaction past shock. Anger would be fair enough, Remus didn’t know if he would survive the wizarding war and he made that clear when he left. Indifference would hurt, but Remus couldn’t let it hurt him.
Joy wasn’t in Remus’s top three choices of reactions for Arthur, but that was what he received.
It took a few seconds of them staring at each other, everyone watching to see what would happen, before Arthur dropped the bloke he held by the shirt collar and he straightened up with a wide smile.
“Ladies and fucking gentlemen, the prodigal son returns!” Arthur crowed. He had crossed the pub in five long strides, the others moved out of his way, and Remus was caught in his quick embrace.
Remus grabbed him back and sagged with relief that he was home, Arthur was in a forgiving mood, and surely to God, someone would know what to do with a bloody baby.
Harry chose then to cry out, a muffled sound from where he had been held against Remus’s shoulder, and Arthur pulled away to squint at Harry.
“Scar returns with a baby and no wife!” he laughed, his eyes sparkling with what Remus knew to be genuine joy. “Who had money on that? Tommy’ll have your payout!”
“He’s not mine, you dolt,” Remus hissed, unable to keep from grinning. When Arthur cocked his head, Remus leaned toward him.
“I might have - uh… liberated him…” Remus said, not quite the brilliant explanation he planned on giving. Remus should have let everyone assume Harry was his son, it would have been safer for them both.
If it were anyone but Arthur, Remus might have done just that. But it was Arthur and he only stared at Remus for a second before he threw his head back and began laughing loud enough to fill the pub with it.
Remus laughed too then because… because it was absurd. It was absurd and ridiculous and Remus kidnapped Harry Potter.
“Ya never fucking change, do ya, Scar?” Arthur asked when he finished laughing at Remus’s utter stupidity. There was fondness in his tone, enough that the others went back to drinking, no more fighting to be had for the moment.
“Afraid not,” Remus admitted, a bit wryly. Hogwarts had done its best, Minerva had truly tried to make Remus a respectable human being, but Remus would always be the boy from Small Heath at his core.
It suited him well, he had ran circles around his classmates, but it also caused him issues when he acted without thinking.
To emphasize the point, Harry squirmed, fully awake, and Remus had to shift him around to settle him on his hip.
“Well, ain’t you a handsome lad?” Arthur said. He held his hand out to Harry with a grin. “What’s your name, son?”
Harry, who surely didn’t remember Remus - though it seemed he had, looked nervously at Remus and then shook his head. He ducked down to try and hide his face in Remus’s neck, but his curious green eyes kept peeking over at Arthur.
“This is Harry,” Remus explained. “You remember James? It’s… this is his son.”
“Oh?” Arthur knew about James, he had laughed about the ‘shitty gang of witches’ that Remus ‘tried to replace him with’. It had been a small bone of contention between them, but Remus knew Arthur’s anger was only hiding his hurt, his worry.
“He’s dead,” Remus said, cringing when he felt Harry shudder, as if he knew what ‘dead’ meant. “Lily too. And - and Peter. God, Arthur…” Remus felt choked up and he had to close his eyes as he felt the heavy grief cracking in his chest.
“They’re all gone,” he said thickly, a miserably whisper. “I - I’m alone.”
Alone and with a baby.
How did Remus get himself in the worst possible situations?
Arthur’s hand came down on Remus’s shoulder and when Remus opened his eyes, Arthur was solemn and staring at him with calm eyes that were a rarity for him.
“Ya ain’t alone,” Arthur said quietly, with a tone of authority. “You’re home, Remus. You and Harry both, you’re home.”
Remus couldn’t speak, only stare at Arthur with gratitude radiating from his eyes. Home was a novelty, Remus hadn’t been home in years. But if Arthur Shelby said that Remus was home - then that’s where Remus was.
Home, in Small Heath Birmingham, with a kidnapped baby on his hip and no idea what the future might hold.
And that, as a storybook would say, was that.