Stake Out
Remus’ stomach rumbled and he shifted in his seat, stretching his legs. Three days ago, this had felt like an adventure: they’d hurried into town, finding a used car dealership not far from the train station. Sirius had made a beeline for the red two-seater that sat proudly in front of the main doors, but Remus had reminded him what it was for and they had ended up with a little black Golf, that privately, he was rather pleased with. Sirius had paid in cash and it had been down to Remus to attempt to drive it off the forecourt without giving away how long it had been since he’d been behind the wheel of a car. It had been a hairy few minutes before he had got back into the swing of it, and driven them back to the Crouch house, stopping at a Somerfield for some rations, before parking across the road and casting a disillusionment charm to make them as inconspicuous as possible.
An undetectable extension charm had meant that they were really quite comfortable, but blimey, it had been boring. Remus shifted again, peering out of the rain soaked window at the house. So far, absolutely nothing had happened. No curtains opened, no lights turned on or off, and certainly no people coming in and out. They had taken it in turns to nip back home for books, and decks of cards, and in a sure sign of his desperation, Remus had even played (and lost) a few rounds of chess. He sighed loudly, this was starting to feel pointless, just like everything else they had tried in the last couple of months. He looked round as the passenger door opposite opened and Sirius appeared, a pizza box in one hand and a blue plastic bag in the other.
‘Nothing dramatic happened while I was gone then?’ he asked, climbing in beside Remus and settling himself on the back seat, which now resembled a large four-seater sofa.
‘It started snowing,’ Remus said, shrugging.
‘Yeah, that happened around the corner at the pizza place too,’ Sirius replied, shaking his wet hair like a dog and pulling a slice out of the box, ‘That light is still on round the back but I couldn’t see anything different when I checked just now.’
‘Impervius,’ Remus muttered, tapping the window with his wand, and reaching for the pizza box.
They sat in silence for a few moments as they ate, Remus’ eyes trained on the iron gate across the road.
‘Fancy a game of chess?’ Sirius asked.
‘Ugh,’ Remus replied, without turning round, ‘Are you just asking because you like winning?’
‘Pretty much,’ said Sirius, jabbing him in the ribs, ‘You OK?’
‘Yeah, just restless,’ Remus turned to see he looked genuinely concerned, ‘Sorry, I just sort of thought -’
‘That this would be more fun?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Me too,’ Sirius sighed, ‘You want to leave it? We could just come back another time? We could drive home, bit of a road trip, night out in Liverpool or Manchester on the way down? Now we own a car -’
‘Not sure how wise it is for me to drive a long way in the snow, if I’m honest -’
‘You want to just go to the pub? I’ve just walked past one.’
Remus looked back through the window at the sleet. The house was dark and still.
‘Yeah, go on then,’ he said, reaching into the front seat for his jacket.
*
The pub was small and almost empty, with just a couple of grey haired men nursing pints in a far corner and the barman watching a football match on a small black and white telly that was propped on the bar, its makeshift aerial twisted dramatically towards the window.
They ordered drinks and sat at one end of the bar, Sirius pulling the Daily Prophet out of his inside pocket and beginning to read. Remus stared absent-mindedly at the television. The match had finished, the teams exiting the pitch.
‘Bloody ‘ell,’ the barman said, turning the television off, ‘Canaries are creeping up the league. Should be managing more than a draw at this stage, y’know?’
Remus’ gaze slid from the blank screen to the ruddy face of the man who had just spoken. Was he waiting for a reply?
‘Uh, yeah,’ he said.
‘You not a football fan then?’
‘Erm, not really,’ Remus glanced at Sirius for help, but he was busy, nose in an article.
‘Not local either by the sounds o’ yer, whatchou doing up ‘ere this time o’ year? Can't say there's much on up at beach in the snow.’
‘Uh - we were -’
‘Trying to see a friend,’ Sirius chimed in, he’d been listening after all. He had folded the paper under his arms, concealing the moving pictures on the front page, ‘He lives just up the road, but we've not found him, have we?’ he nudged Remus with his elbow.
‘No,’ Remus said, slowly, wondering where Sirius thought he was going to get by questioning a Muggle barman.
‘What’s his name? Mebbe know him if he's from round here,’ the barman asked, predictably.
‘Barty Crouch,’ Sirius said, ‘He lives up in that big house on Victoria Road, or he used to anyway. We're a bit worried if I'm honest, haven't been able to get a reply.’
‘I know it,’ the barman replied, ‘Used to see that fella about a bit - used to hurry up and down to the shop. Funny bloke, though isn't he? Always talkin’ to himself. Not seen him since before Christmas though, now yer mention it.’
‘Did he seem any different last time you did?’ Sirius pushed.
‘Not sure I’d know, if I’m honest, lad. Not one for the pub. Actually though, had a friend with him I think - hadn't seen him about before and it sticks out in a place like this y’know. Short, pasty little fella, big nose. Thought he was kinda rough lookin’ in comparison. Your man Crouch is always suited and booted, this lad didn't look like his usual sort, if you know what I mean?’
Remus looked at Sirius, who was staring at the barman, brow furrowed. He knew what he was thinking, but really? It was a stretch. Sirius looked across at him, gaze piercing.
‘It’s a stretch,’ Remus said, out loud this time.
‘Who else is short and pasty with a big nose?’
‘Literally hundreds of people,’ he gestured to the men in the corner of the pub, ‘Both of them for example.’
‘Padfoot is going to go and have a look.’
‘Sirius -’
But he had already gone. Remus rose quickly, grabbing the newspaper that Sirius had abandoned and hurrying out into the street. It was really snowing now, settling in soft mounds on the bonnets of cars. Sirius was nowhere to be seen.
‘Shit,’ he muttered under his breath, ‘Sirius? Sirius?’ he hissed, ‘What are you doing you idiot? If it is him he’ll recognise you immediately! Come back!’
Remus headed back towards the car as quickly as he could along the icy pavements, searching for any sign of Padfoot, hoping to catch a flash of black fur against the swirling white of the snow, but there was nothing.
‘Pads,’ he hissed again as he reached the Golf, standing with his hand on the door handle, squinting across it at the iron gates, ‘Sirius! Come on, come back.’
Nothing. Remus sighed, and climbed into the car, shifting himself across the spacious back seat and peering anxiously out of the window.
‘Where are you?’ Remus huffed under his breath as he cast a warming charm on the interior, pulling his jacket tightly around him. He clenched his fists and ran his hands through his hair. ‘Bloody idiot,’ he thought, ‘Running off like an idiot. Why does he do this? There’s no way Peter is in there, why would he be at Crouch’s house?’ He stamped his feet against the car floor, trying to wiggle some warmth into his toes. He should go and find him, shouldn’t he? He couldn’t have gone far, there was no way he could get past the wards, even in dog form - unless he could get through the gate - Remus wondered what kind of magic it was. He could get out and go and see if he could stick his hand through the bars, then he’d know - but what would he know? Know that Sirius was in there but that he couldn’t get to him? Maybe he would come back if he called, if he could hear how worried Remus was? But just a whiff of Peter - Sirius was like a dog with a -
‘Oh for goodness sake!’ he said, surprising himself with the volume of his own voice. He scrubbed at his face with his gloved hands. ‘Stop it, just stop. He’ll be back.’
The car had warmed up a bit now, and he pulled off his jacket, tossing it back into the front seat. He cast a fresh impervious on the window and settled himself in front of it, forehead resting on the cool glass. He closed his eyes for a moment, pressing his head harder against it, wondering if it would help slow his thoughts, and as he opened them -
A tall hooded figure was standing at the gate, unmistakably a wizard. For a second, Remus thought it must be Sirius, his hand moving to the door handle, when he stopped himself. The posture was off and - he shook his head - he hadn’t seen Sirius in a wizard’s cloak since school. The figure hesitated at the gate post where Remus himself had rung the bell only a few days before. Remus pressed closer to the window, squinting into the snow, trying to make out what he was doing and watched as the figure reached out a long finger and pressed the button. Nothing happened. Remus realised he was holding his breath and exhaled slowly as the figure stepped back from the gate, pausing for a moment as if surveying the house, before stalking off up the road.
The sound of the door opening behind him made Remus jump so violently he hit his head against the window. He spun round, wand raised -
‘Hey! Hey - it’s OK - it’s me-’ Sirius slid into the car, eyes wide and hands up as Remus lowered his wand.
‘Sorry,’ he gasped, horrified, ‘Sorry - you just - you gave me a fright - what did you -’
‘He’s in there alright,’ Sirius said, ‘Place stinks of him. I couldn’t see anything though, even from closer up - all the curtains were closed.’
‘Someone was at the gate -’ Remus said, ‘Trying to get in - I couldn’t see -’
‘I could,’ Sirius said, mouth in a grim line, ‘Now why would a poorly Barty Crouch be getting late night visits from Lucius Malfoy?’
*
They were half way down the M6 before Remus felt his knuckles loosen slightly on the steering wheel. It was almost midnight and neither of them had spoken a word since they'd left the snowy town by the sea. The snow had thinned as they had made their way further south and was now a constant drizzle, soaking the windscreen. Sirius was gazing straight ahead, his eyes following the rhythmic beat of the wipers as they swept back and forth.
‘You can't do that,’ Remus said, suddenly. Not entirely on purpose, eyes still on the road.
Sirius started and looked across at him, woken from his stupor.
‘What?’
‘Run off like that. It was stupid. We - you can't just - disappear -’
‘I was finding out who was in the house,’ Sirius said, tone sour already, ‘Which is what we had been there to do - for days. And I found out, didn't I?’
‘Lucius would have recognised you. If he’d seen -’
‘He didn't.’
Remus glanced across at Sirius. He was looking ahead again, eyes narrowed now, back on the wipers. Remus tried to breathe steadily, but he could feel the panic still in his chest, radiating over his shoulders and crawling under his skin. Leave it he thought to himself. Later. When you're less tired and not trying to remember how to drive.
‘I had to go,’ Sirius said, ‘I had to find out. We are moving too slowly. It's been months and until this evening we were no closer to finding Peter -’
‘And what do we do with the information now we've got it?’ Remus said, trying to keep the frustration out of his voice, ‘Great, we know he's in there. So what? We waited three days and barely a twitch of a curtain! We can't get in through the magic without tipping him off and sending him running-’
‘We know he's in there,’ Sirius replied, ‘Which is suspicious -’
‘We have no idea why he's there! He could just be a rat again, hiding out in a respectable Wizarding household. It's not like hasn't done it before.’
‘He went to Voldemort -’
‘Did he? Are we sure?’
‘Why are you doing this!?’ Sirius said loudly, his voice high and desperate, ‘Why do you have to pick holes in everything like this? Peter went back to Voldemort, we followed it in the papers, and now he's here. This is significant!’
‘I’m not saying it isn't!’ Remus was losing it now. The road was clear, but he was gripping the wheel tightly again, leaning forward in his seat. ‘I’m saying we don't know what we're doing here, not really. We've got all these pieces of information, but we haven't worked out how they go together - we don't know how any of these things are linked, and we have to be careful -’
‘I know that!’
‘Do you? Because tonight it seemed like you were happy to blab all sorts to any Muggle in the pub and then run off into the night without even telling me where you were going -’
‘Oh come on, you knew where I was going. You had the same thought at the same time.’
‘You left the paper on the bar -’
Sirius laughed, and the hollowness of it cut like a knife.
‘You’re yelling at me because a Muggle might've seen a moving picture in a paper?’
‘I’m not the one yelling,’ Remus said, quietly, eyes fixed on the road. He could feel Sirius watching him, his pale face turned towards him in the dark car, eyes flashing under the motorway lights. He wondered if Sirius would apologise, say he was sorry for running off, say he was just so worried, so desperate, all the things Remus knew Sirius felt, because he felt them too. He imagined the words spilling from Sirius’ mouth, pleading with him to listen, to look back, and he imagined himself softening, believing him when he said he wouldn't do it again.
‘I had to,’ Sirius said, voice almost a whisper.
Remus closed his eyes, just briefly, the spell of the imagined conversation broken. They drove back to London in silence.
*
‘Thanks, Kreacher,’ Remus muttered, as a mug of tea appeared beside him. He was sitting in the kitchen at Grimmauld Place, dull in the wintry light, reading Hogwarts: A History for what might have been the hundredth time.
‘Do you think Master Sirius would like one?’ Kreacher asked.
‘You’re better off asking him,’ Remus said snippily. They had been back from Liverpool for almost a week, but still hadn’t really made up. Remus wasn't really that sure what either of them were so angry about, but he knew he was angry. Or maybe scared. The full moon was in two days, and then Valentine's Day. What a great week to stop speaking to each other, he thought bitterly. Kreacher surveyed him for a moment, his huge eyes searching Remus' face.
‘Kreacher will ask Master Sirius,’ he said, eventually, ‘But he thinks you have things to ask him too.’
Remus rolled his eyes and turned a page in his book. Was Kreacher really giving him relationship advice? If he was he'd at least better be dishing it out to Sirius too.
He sipped his tea. He hated this. It reminded him of the summer, when Sirius had first come home. The periods of withdrawal, of silence. A tap at the window brought him back into the room, and he turned to find a smart eagle owl sitting outside. He crossed the room and opened the window, letting the owl flutter over to the mantlepiece to warm its wings while he opened the letter.
Dear both, it read, in Albus Dumbledore's slanted script, Thank you for the update on your recent findings. Please join me in my office on Sunday evening to discuss.
‘Do you need a reply?’ Remus asked the owl, who was still stretching its wings against the chimney breast. It blinked at him and ruffled its feathers, before soaring smartly out of the still open window.
‘That's a no then,’ he added, as he closed the sash and returned to the table. He supposed he should go and tell Sirius.
The door to the library stood ajar, but Remus knocked before pushing it open to reveal Sirius, sitting at the desk, lamp on, pouring over one of Regulus’ notebooks. They'd long decided there was nothing else to be found in them, but Remus didn't comment, holding up the letter instead.
‘Dumbledore wants us there Sunday evening,’ he said, ‘I’m guessing you wrote to him.’
Sirius nodded, eyes still on the notebook. Remus let his arm drop back to his side and turned to leave.
‘Why did you knock?’
He turned back, ‘Hmm?’
‘Just then, why did you knock on the door?’
‘To - to let you know I was coming in?’
Sirius hesitated, eyes down. Remus watched his shoulders sink slowly as he exhaled.
‘It's your house too, you don't have to knock on open doors.’
‘Ok -’ Remus tailed off, unsure if this was an olive branch he should take.
‘What do you want to do day after next?’
He was talking about the full moon. Remus almost sighed with relief. ‘You want to come?’
Sirius looked up sharply, brow furrowed, as if it was the stupidest question he had ever been asked.
‘Anywhere,’ Remus said quickly, ‘But not Hogwarts. Wales maybe.’
Sirius nodded once, turning back to the notebook.
*
Remus awoke in his bed on Wednesday morning, feeling better than he had in a full week. Longer than that, probably. Sirius was gone, and he wondered for a moment how he had got there, but a hazy memory floated to the surface: strong arms in the cold air, the stretching sensation of apparition, and then warmth and softness. Sirius must be here, he'd brought him home. He climbed slowly out of bed, stretching his sore limbs and feeling around in the half-darkness for a jumper. From the landing he could hear music, and the clattering noises of cooking emanating from the kitchen. His stomach rumbled.
He found Sirius, exactly as he had thought, in the kitchen with Kreacher. Standing in the door for a moment, he watched as Kreacher shooed Sirius away from the frying pan, directing him instead towards the toast that sat stacked on a plate, waiting for butter. The music was a Muggle station, something current and jolly he couldn't name. Sirius noticed him as he turned to put the buttered toast on the table, and smiled.
The moon had been a good one. They'd apparated to the middle of Westwood Forest, 3000 hectares of Welsh woodland stretching out around them and they had run. All night. The wolf had loved it, playing with his friend, chasing him, howling, and Padfoot had been on top form, matching him stride for stride, constantly at his side. Remus could see that it had settled something in Sirius, even from behind, as he added milk to cups of tea - there was no tension in him this morning. He felt relieved, if he was honest, that the feud was over without him having to say anything. Gone with the moon without any more nastiness. Done. He filled a glass with orange juice from the jug on the table and tried to push away the guilt he felt about the fact they never talked about these things and that it would all happen again, as it always did. As it always had.
‘I’m sorry.’
Remus looked up, dragged from his own thoughts by Sirius, sitting down at the table and pushing a plate of eggs towards him.
‘You don't have to look so shocked,’ Sirius continued, speaking slowly and clearly, ‘I am sorry I ran off. I didn't think and I'm sorry I scared you.’
Remus stared at him, his brain taking a moment to register what was being said to him.
‘I’m sorry too,’ he said, ‘I’m sorry for panicking, and for being so anxious. I'm not trying to slow you down, I promise, I'm just so -’ he paused and blinked hard, Sirius staring intently back at him, ‘I’m just so - I'm trying to make sure we do everything right. I don't want anything to - to go wrong.’
I don't want to lose you. He thought. I can't lose you again. I need this to work. It has to work out this time.
‘I know,’ Sirius said, ‘I’m sorry - it was the idea of finding Peter - of finally -’ he tailed off.
‘Peter has done enough damage,’ Remus said, ‘He’s not worth the risk of -’ he hesitated, ‘- of losing you again.’ There. He'd said it.
Sirius looked at him, expression resolute. He reached a hand across the table.
‘That,' he said, 'Is not going to happen.’