Chapter 3
8 November, 1981
Remus
His room smelled like Sirius and sex. Home and happiness. Remus considered this a major improvement on the usual scent of books and chocolate, laced with tea, and an undercurrent of lycanthropy.
Not even sure where his wand had ended up, he cast a cleaning charm without it, magic still surging in the wake of their pleasure. Part of him missed the stickiness. But a naked Sirius in his arms could make up for anything.
Reaching his toes down to the end of the bed, he kicked up the blanket folded there, stretching to catch the edge with his fingertips and pull it over them both. He didn't want to leave any time for the sweat to chill their fevered skin. He wanted to keep this heat forever.
<SMUT WARNING ENDS>
Sirius shifted under the blanket, his head tilting up to meet Remus's eyes. His expression held nothing but genuine love and adoration. They gazed at each other for a long moment, before Remus heard a quiet hum from the floor beyond the bed, where his wand had apparently landed. He sighed. "Harry's up."
Groaning, Sirius sat up, slipping out from under the blanket to gather his clothes. Remus followed. Both dressed again – dammit – they left the room together, cutting off the smell of sex as the door closed. The smell of Sirius persisted, at least. Home.
Letting Sirius retrieve Harry, Remus headed to the kitchen to prepare breakfast. He pulled out a pack of nutritional teething biscuits – they'd acquired appropriate supplies last week – then turned his attention towards grown-up food. They'd mostly been eating porridge and pastries, but this morning called for something special.
By the time Sirius came in with Harry, Remus had sausages and eggs sizzling on the stove, and sliced bread waiting to be toasted in the grease. He heard Sirius laugh behind him. "So, I've finally learned the secret to scoring a real breakfast – sex was the trick, eh?"
Remus turned towards him, spatula in hand, laughing back. "Today, yes," he replied, "but don't expect a home-cooked meal every time you get laid. You can't have it all all the time."
Sirius's grin widened. "Now that I have you, I feel like I have it all, real breakfast or none." He dropped Harry into his high chair.
Coming from Sirius, this sounded so sappy that Remus couldn't prevent the guffaw that left him. He turned back to the stove, adding over his shoulder, "Sex turned me into a chef and you into a sap. This doesn't feel like an even trade."
The hair on the back of his neck prickled instinctively, but he didn't move as he felt Sirius come up behind him, pressing against his back.
"Sap, am I?" Sirius's hands came around to Remus's hips, one moving further around and down to give him a squeeze. "What can I do to even it up then, Mr Gourmet?" he breathed in Remus’s ear.
Letting out the breath he'd been holding, Remus jerked his hips back, ignoring the feel of hardness pressing into his rear. He succeeded in pushing Sirius away, though he regretted the necessity. "Not in front of Harry."
He heard Sirius sigh and pull out his chair. A clink as he sipped the coffee waiting for him there, then a rustle of the packet as he started to feed Harry. "Guess we'll just have to wait for naptime, then." A huff of annoyance. "Parenting blows.”
Finishing the food and bringing the plates to the table, Remus dropped into his usual seat, across from Sirius on the other side of Harry’s chair. "I know one thing that might help. We should move into my room. Harry will still be in easy reach if we hear an alarm charm."
In truth, he'd been missing the comfort and familiarity of his own bed, but had stayed in the guest room to be close to Sirius. He hadn't thought he could get away with sleeping in the same bed without the added excuse of being in the room with Harry. An excuse no longer seemed necessary.
Sirius was grinning, feeding his godson bits of egg and sausage. "Yes, the parents should get their own room, for that special daddy-daddy time." He wagged his brows.
Rolling his eyes but still laughing on cue, Remus stopped and froze when Sirius's words triggered a realization.
"Fuck. We never talked about – what the fuck should Harry call us? He can't keep calling us 'Pads' and 'Moon' – it's too hard to explain, not to mention it's a dead giveaway to anyone who's heard the nicknames."
As if to prove the point, Harry slapped his tiny hands against his chair's tray, chanting "Pads! Moon! Pads! Moon!" and scattering his biscuits.
Sirius looked from Remus to Harry and back again, like he was following a tennis match. "Shit. You're right. Erm… maybe… should I get him to call me Uncle? And you can get him to start calling you Remy."
It was a good idea, but Remus had to say, "As brilliant as that is, we still don't know what Dumbledore's planning. If those identities will be what we use."
"Guess we'll make a note of that for later too," Sirius grumbled. Remus chuckled.
"At least we know he's making preparations. We just have to be patient. Everything is going to work out. We'll make sure of it. Together." Not letting the reassurance lighten his mood, Sirius continued sulking. Probably shouldn't have told him to be patient.
They ate breakfast and chatted about nothing in particular, Sirius gradually drawing out of his sulk. Harry giggled and munched his biscuits and eggs. It was a comfortable, domestic bliss. I could definitely get used to this, Remus thought with a smile.
11 November, 1981
Sirius
Their routine that week was, superficially, very similar to the previous week; there were, however, minor changes which thrilled Sirius to no end.
The nightmares persisted, but they comforted each other with kisses and caresses as well as warm arms and words. They still awoke tangled together every morning, but with the added benefit of being naked in Remus's bed. If Harry wasn't up yet, they spent the morning enjoying one another, snuggling, snogging, and/or shagging until the baby-monitor-charm inevitably alerted them that Harry was awake.
That damned charm was a determined cock-blocker.
The three of them would have breakfast together, accompanied by a first mug of much-needed caffeine for the grown-ups. They'd then move to the sitting room, Harry on his protection-charmed playmat, Sirius and Remus cuddled up on the sofa – finishing their second (or third) caffeine injection, more often than not.
They'd divvy up the Daily Prophet, chat about the latest news, discuss any new ideas related to the impending relocation, or review their various checklists of things to pack, supplies to acquire, and questions to ask Dumbledore.
As the week went on, every item checked off the first two lists seemed to be matched by another added to the third. Most of the questions were Remus's, but Sirius felt he'd made enough valuable contributions to pull his weight. He'd off-loaded his mental "for later" notices, at least.
The afternoons were usually spent packing – with Harry adorably trying to help and tiring himself out – followed by an evening of "daddy-daddy" time as Sirius continued to call it, purely for the satisfaction of Remus's dependable eye-roll. With winter approaching, it was hardly ever warm enough for Sirius to work on his bike – his preferred afternoon activity, at least over Merlin-damned packing.
As Wednesday night’s full moon approached, however, Remus seemed to withdraw rapidly from their domestic bliss. With no further word from Dumbledore, and no one but Sirius to watch Harry, Moony would have to spend the moon alone. Transform alone, run alone, probably scratch himself half to death alone, return to human form alone, and make his way home, battered and bruised, alone.
The woods behind Lupin Cottage were, naturally, warded to keep Moony contained. Sirius would be placing additional wards on the cottage itself but, to be quite honest, he was more concerned for his partner – he’d never get tired of saying that – than himself or Harry.
This afternoon, Remus was aching too much with the call of the moon to be in any shape for packing. He was laid out on his stomach on the floor next to Harry – playing with the toddler with one lazy, outstretched hand – while Sirius straddled his hips, massaging his back, shoulders, and neck. Remus let out the occasional scrumptious moan.
They were interrupted by a knock. All three turned to stare at the door. Harry went back to playing, and Sirius stood quickly from his perch on Remus’s arse, as he was trying to sit up.
“Dumbledore?” Remus wondered aloud, now standing and moving to answer the knock. Whoever was there must not only be aware of the cottage’s exact location, but also bear them no ill-will, to have gotten past the wards – which narrowed the list of suspects tremendously.
Sirius followed behind Remus, both with wands drawn out of an abundance of caution, as he used the peephole to check who was there. “Oh!” he gasped, and opened the door before Sirius could get a look in.
And no wonder. There stood the Tonks family: Sirius’s eldest cousin, Andromeda; her Muggle-born husband, Edward; and their little daughter, Nymphadora.
Sirius gave a shout of surprise and threw himself into Andi’s arms, with her returning the hug enthusiastically. Dora attached herself to “Uncle Sirius”’s leg, while Remus shook hands with Ted, followed by Sirius after he let go of Andi.
“Welcome, all of you! Please, come in!” Remus invited warmly, guiding Sirius back inside with a hand on his shoulder. The Tonkses followed them into the sitting room.
“This must be little Harry!” exclaimed Andi, spotting him immediately and swooping down to the playmat. Harry looked apprehensive of the stranger at first, but when Dora followed her mother, Harry smiled at what he recognised as a fellow child.
“You can call me Aunt Andi,” she told him, snatching the plush snitch he’d been playing with out of the air and holding it out to him. He smiled and took it.
“And I’m Dora!” chirped the eight-year-old, clumsily batting a soft, baby-safe bludger away from his cheek. Harry laughed and crawled right into her lap. The metamorphmagus shifted her hair and eyes to match his, and he burbled in delight, reaching up to pull at her locks. Sirius almost stepped in to stop him, but Dora just laughed and gently pulled his hands away.
Remus trundled back in with a tea tray – Sirius hadn’t even noticed he’d left – as Ted settled in the chair across from the couch. After setting the tray down, Remus practically collapsed onto the sofa next to where Sirius sat. He looked a little green.
“What brings you to Remus’s lovely home?” Sirius said, figuring it was his turn to step up as host. He poured a cup of tea for Ted, then prepared one to Remus’s taste before grabbing his mug of black coffee.
“Babysitting Harry, of course,” said Andi from the floor, apparently more interested in the toddler than beverages. “It’s the full moon.”
She said it so matter-of-factly, like it was a given that they’d watch Harry for the full moon. Despite the fact that they’d never once had a conversation about Remus’s lycanthropy. The Tonkses were Order-supporters, but not members; Andi had no reason to be aware of his condition.
She was, however, smart as a whip, and a Healer to boot. She’d also helped Sirius with the start of his Animagus research in her seventh (his third) year. It wasn’t hard to imagine her putting the pieces together with Remus’s frequent absences and working it out on her own. Sirius shook his head.
“I didn’t tell her,” he said to Remus, who gave him a tired smile. Clearly, he was past caring at this point in the afternoon, almost evening.
“Of course you didn’t,” said Andi. “I’m simply not as blind as most Wixen.” She turned her nose up just a bit. Dora giggled when Harry copied her, babbling an imitation of her haughty tone.
Always so humble, Sirius smirked to himself. He glanced at the clock – two hours till moonrise. Best to get the necessities out of the way now. “Well, if you’re here to babysit, allow me to show you where we keep all Harry’s things,” he said, lifting himself off the couch.
“That would be my cue,” said Ted, setting down his tea and following suit. Leaving Andi and Dora to play with Harry, under Remus’s drowsy watch, Sirius led Ted on a short tour of the tiny cottage. He could hear the faint sounds of Andi conversing with Remus, along with an abundance of childish laughter, but lacked Remus’s enhanced senses to make out anything specific.
They returned to find the scene unchanged, except that Remus now seemed torn between nodding off and fidgeting. The later it got, the more his energy would be drained into his magical core for the transformation. His bones would ache, preparing to stretch and shift. His muscles would throb, his tendons would pop, and his senses would sharpen until, in less than two hours, the wolf would take over.
After the moon, it would happen in reverse; the bones and muscles and tendons all gradually, and painfully, settling back into human form as his senses dulled, his energy level returning to normal. He’d have a few weeks’ respite, with his usual – but still higher-than-average – energy and sensitivity, before the cycle restarted.
Sirius had learned all of this in bits and pieces over the years, coaxed out of Remus with much time and patience. He’d always been reluctant to talk about his lycanthropy, and had always viewed it as a personal failing. The Marauders – well, James and Sirius, at least – had long tried to disabuse him of that notion, to little avail.
At this moment, all the human heartbeats in the room would be starting to drive Moony mad, awakening the wolf early. It was time to get him outside before his thoughts started to spiral and he convinced himself he was a monster for having instincts.
“You were right on time,” Sirius addressed the Tonkses. “We should head out to the garden. Be sure to place some extra wards behind us, please – the property’s warded to Hel and back already, but you can never be too careful with kids in the house.”
Ted’s brows furrowed. “You’re going with him?” he asked, obviously not in on the “Animagus” portion of the secret.
Andi laughed, and said to Sirius, “Show him.” Sirius grinned and obliged by shifting into Padfoot.
Harry and Dora both shrieked in delight, Harry from recognition and Dora from surprise. The two children each clumsily made their way to him. It’s amazing how Dora can be seven years older and still as clumsy as the toddler, Padfoot thought, but wagged his tail and licked her chin to make her giggle. Harry toddled up and received his share of face licks.
Remus was rising from the couch behind him, joints popping loudly. Padfoot could smell the wolf on him already. He whined to tell the kids, Sorry, I have to go. Andi held their hands as he followed Remus down the hallway and out the back door. Harry called out for them, but he heard Andi and Dora distracting him.
Sunset washed the West in layers of shades, fading from the dark blue of the dimming evening to the deep orange of the Sun itself as it sank towards the horizon. The Dog Star, Sirius’s namesake, was already visible as the brightest star, low in the sky as winter approached.
Remus led Padfoot out into the woods, stopping in a clearing filled with Moony’s scent. At the centre was a small, half-buried trunk that smelt of ward-magic. Padfoot watched as Remus removed his clothes, folded them neatly, and placed them inside with his wand. In the Shrieking Shack, he’d always done this part alone, but there was clearly no need for it anymore.
As the clearing darkened, Remus stretched out on the leafmould, rolling his shoulders from his supine position. Padfoot tried to curl up next to him, but Remus waved him to the edge of the clearing.
This would be his first time actually watching the transformation. Remus was clearly aware of this as well; his eyes were closed with an expression of resignation on his face, which slowly faded to grim determination. He continued to roll and flex his joints and muscles, his breathing becoming deep and controlled. The movements were clearly practised, a well-developed ritual.
The sound of songbirds faded out. An owl hooted. Creatures scurried around them in the deepening twilight, their little hearts racing, audible to Padfoot’s perked ears. No doubt Moony could hear them too – he probably could still have heard the humans back in the cottage, if it weren’t charmed to prevent that exact issue.
It wasn’t visible through the trees, but the last sliver of the sun disappeared below the horizon in the west, just as the edge of the full moon rose above it to the east.
Padfoot could hear Remus’s heart begin pounding. He curled in on himself, on his side, panting through clenched teeth. His muscles spasmed, his form rippling. The metallic scent of blood laced the air – he’d bitten himself, his tongue or maybe his cheek, in the battle to stay silent.
A battle he lost seconds later.
Remus cried out – Padfoot whimpered, unable to help taking one step towards him – his cries turning to screams, then howls of pain as he shook himself apart. It was all Padfoot could do not to run to him, to hold his ground. He was suddenly immensely grateful for the layers upon layers of Silencing Charms on the house. Hopefully, Andi and Ted had the foresight to add more.
The snap and crack of bones filled the air. Remus’s howls turned to lupine snarls. A wave of magic rippled through the clearing, noticeable only by its scent: the musky, primal redolence of the Wolf.
Moony’s arrival was both gradual and rapid. Padfoot watched the transformation closely, trying to burn it into his memory, but it happened quickly, like a time-lapse reel of human features being replaced by those of the wolf.
Finally, the snarls faded to whimpers, and Moony rolled onto his belly – and locked eyes with Padfoot.
22 October 1972
Sirius
“I’m telling you, there’s something off about Remus,” said James. They were gathered in their dorm, from which Remus was once again absent. “All these absences… Every month, like clockwork.”
Sirius nodded carefully, eyeing James with a hint of suspicion. He’d worked out what was wrong with Remus ages ago, but he hadn’t shared it with the other boys, just quietly started slipping chocolate bars to Remus before and after the full moon. Remus always rewarded him with shy smiles and grateful nods.
He kept sending them by owl over the summer.
It was no big deal to Sirius, he didn’t share his family’s views on the subject, but he had no idea how James or Peter would feel. He felt the need to protect Remus’s secret.
James would probably be fine, or at least he’d come ‘round eventually. But Peter could be a little shit sometimes though, parroting his parents’ blood-purist views. Oh, they didn’t mind Muggle-borns, they just didn’t want them spreading their, well, Muggleness around the Wixen World. Traditions had to be preserved, and all that rot.
It made Sirius sick.
“Every month, on the full moon,” James continued. He locked eyes with Sirius, across the room on the end of his bed. Out of the corner of his eye, Peter still looked confused.
Sirius took a deep breath. This is it, he thought, moment of truth. “So what?” he asked petulantly.
“So, I’m pretty sure one of our best friends is a werewolf, and he’s too scared to talk to us about it, so he’s been keeping it a secret,” James stated bluntly.
Peter gasped, the blood draining from his face. “A– a w-werewolf-f?” he stammered. “He– he– h-he sl-sleeps in our dormI”
James and Sirius were both on their feet, shouting him down, angry voices overlapping, but the message was clear: they were both on Remus’s side.
12 November 1981
Remus
Heart pounding in time with paws, stride by stride with the one at his side. Howls exchanged, brushes of fur, coarse, warm.
Moon high. They sing to it. A primordial duet, a hymn to the Mother above.
Movement in the underbrush, a rapid heartbeat, the smell of warm fur-and-flesh. Slinking forward on his underbelly, he leaps – his jaws snap – he lands, crunching and swallowing the mouthful in one gulp.
The other yips. Their muzzles brush, the black one licking away drops of blood. Acknowledging him a salpha. He preens, tail and head high, howls. The duet resumes. Running, hunting, singing.
Moon setting… Muscles aching. The Mother is saying farewell, sending him away again. He whines. The other leans into his side, guiding him, an easy lope.
The clearing. The hot-bright-nose-tingle human-thing in the center. His marked territory, once more shared with the other. There’s two not-prey that won’t return, some part of him knows. One returned to the Mother forever, and one who drew blood against his own. Just like a rat, he snarls to himself.
Bones shifting, joints moving, body shuddering… Pain.
Howls.
Pain.
…
Pain. Remus moaned, slowly returning to himself in the gradually lightening dawn. He rolled on his side, noticing his clothes and wand waiting for him, beyond which lay Padfoot, his shaggy head resting on his paws. Grey eyes watched him patiently, the dog’s breath fogging in the early-morning chill.
Remus took a few moments to catch his own breath, tentatively stretching his aching limbs. He rested his weight on one arm experimentally, then sat up, and began dressing carefully.
Padfoot waited calmly, following his movements, until he was dressed – then he shifted. Sirius shook his head in that way that always called to mind his Animagus form, letting his newly-returned wavy locks settle around his face.
“Moony caught a chipmunk, a vole, and a rat – nice work,” Sirius said. He was well aware that Remus wouldn’t be up for talking just yet, and was falling into his habit of striking up a one-sided conversation to distract him from the pain. It was much appreciated. “I only managed to get one little mouse in before you could snap it up.”
Sirius kept up his inane monologue as he helped Remus stand, half-carrying him back to the house. Thankfully, Padfoot’s presence last night meant he had no new scars, but he was still weak and sore.
Andi was waiting outside his – their – room. “I put tea, coffee, chocolate biscuits–” Remus actually moaned when she said that “–and pain and sleep potions on the bureau. You two get your rest now, let us worry about Harry this morning.”
Remus nodded obligingly, not having the energy nor the desire to object to her care. He heard her quietly ask Sirius if he had any injuries that needed healing, and felt him shake his head. He closed the door behind them, depositing Remus on the bed and tucking him in. Sirius brought the tray from the chest of drawers and laid it on Remus’s thighs.
The replay of the previous night’s highlights resumed as they munched biscuits and sipped beverages. Some of Moony’s memories flashed behind his eyes as he recalled a few of the events has partner narrated.
With something on his stomach, Remus knocked back the Sleeping Draught and Pain Potion, and wriggled down under the quilt, Sirius removing the tray from his lap. His partner curled around his back, Remus surrendered to sleep.
***
“Your son said ‘fuck’ last night,” Andromeda informed them as they entered the kitchen.
Remus groaned, dropping into his customary chair. He left Sirius to handle his cousin’s tirade about “watching their language at this stage in their son’s life.”
Sirius placed a plate – a double-sized Full English, prepared by who gives a fuck – in front of Remus, along with a tall glass of pumpkin juice, another of tepid water, and a cup of white, honeyed tea.
Remus attacked the meal with wolfish glee, letting Andromeda’s admonishments and Sirius’s retorts wash over him. He drained the water, then the juice, then the tea. Then the Pain Potion slid to him by Andromeda. He sat back in his chair.
“Would you mind if I cast a few Diagnostic Charms?” Andromeda asked in a professional tone. She’d adopted what could only be called a bedside manner, eyeing Remus with practised ease. He nodded and shrugged.
She stood and waved her wand over him in a complicated pattern, casting a series of diagnostics non-verbally. A conjured parchment hovered in his view, flashing with the multi-coloured results, all of it meaningless to Remus. Andromeda, however, hummed, paused, and cast another charm. Then another.
The parchment extended itself to trail along the ground, then started rolling itself up, the most recent results scrolling into the Healer’s view.
Her brows furrowed. Her lips turned down at the corners. The scroll’s length must have reached over a dozen feet by now, Remus had lost track as the roll grew thicker and thicker.
That’s a whole lot of information for her to process so quickly, Remus admired to himself. He shared that ability when it came to the written word; maybe he should pick up a book on Diagnostic Charms.
Harry burbled in the background, soft-baby scent wafting in from the sitting room. Along with sticky-kid giggles from Dora, and tired-dad murmurs from Ted. Sirius’s home and Andromeda’s healer-potions smells filled the kitchen. The charms pricked Remus’s nose, tingling across his skin. He closed his eyes.
Finally, he felt a wash of healing magic as the last few charms Andromeda cast made him moan in relief. The Pain Potion had taken the edge off, but there was no real substitute for a Healer’s wand. He’d always missed Madame Pomfrey when he was with the Packs.
He gave in to the urge to lay his head on the table. Someone had cleared his plate.
“Your anatomy is actually measurably denser in human form, with an impressive strength-to-weight ratio. Even your nerve endings are denser than a non-infected human's, all of which happens to explain how lycanthropes can expand into the much larger wolf form each month,” she informed him clinically.
Remus lifted his head up and sat back in his seat, nodding. That matched both his research and his experience. “The magic fuelling the increased density fades after a few days, then picks back up when the moon waxes,” he said wearily.
Andromeda got a familiar “Ready for the Library” glint in her eyes. Remus knew it from his own face. “I skimmed a few of your books last night. I’m sure you don’t mind. I’d be interested to hear your experiences once you’re feeling up to it.”
Remus nodded again with a sigh. Who was he to deny a Healer’s interest? He’d loan her every book he owned – temporarily, of course – if she kept using her impeccable skills on him. Madame Pomfrey’s lack of Healer qualification was suddenly put in stark contrast with a true professional researcher.
“Borrow anything you like,” he said weakly, then laid his head back on the table.
“Off to bed with you,” ushered Andromeda. Remus allowed Sirius to help him comply, readily accepting another Sleeping Draught as they passed Andromeda, and knocking it back as he returned to the warmth of his quilt and the smell of home wrapped around him.
Sirius
Remus would sleep the rest of the day, most likely, and then through to tomorrow.
Sirius returned to the kitchen to sit with Andi, the both of them content to allow Ted and Dora to entertain Harry for the time being. Sirius was immensely grateful to his cousin for her Healer’s touch and attention to detail with Remus.
She’d clearly done her research, even going so far as to (have Ted) prepare a Full English for brunch. She took the time to amass several feet's worth of diagnostic results on Remus post-transformation.
She was re-examing those results now, rolling the scroll from one hand up to the other with furrowed brows. Sirius couldn’t make heads nor tails of the parchment if you held a wand to his head. It obviously contained a lot of information for Andi, however.
“I’d like to hear your experiences of Remus’s lycanthropic cycle as well, Siri,” she said after reaching the end of the scroll once more.
Sirius hesitated. Andi was his cousin, a professional Healer, but… Moony was his secret to protect. Everything he’d ever shared with them had been designated “Marauders Only” – now, it was just the two of them.
Andi seemed to read it off his face. "Healer-patient confidentiality applies to partners. I don't have to inform him of what you tell me, but I can use it to inform my treatment of him."
Ignoring her apt designation of “partners,” Sirius told her everything.
“On the day of the full, his energy drains into his core for the transformation. It seeps back out the day after. His bones and muscles and tendons all ache, before, during, and after. Last night, I actually saw it for the first time.” He looked down at his lap, twisting his fingers together.
“It was… awful, it was just awful. He screamed, he couldn’t seem to help it, I think he bit himself trying not to, I smelled the blood. The screams turned– turned to howls, and he shook apart. It was like watching a time-lapse, the wolf taking over the man. I smelled the magic when it happened.
“It’s easier for him, with Padfoot there… It used to be so–” he choked, “with– with Prongs and–” But it’s just us, now. “Having other intelligent animals helps.
“Before we had the Animagus transformation down well enough to join him, he used to tear himself to pieces, alone in the Shrieking Shack. That’s where it got the name. We’d bring him chocolate-flavoured everything in the Hospital Wing the morning after, when he’d let us.
“I know he sometimes let Lily visit, when James and I weren't there. I think she started apprenticing under Madame Pomfrey so she could learn to care for him in her own way.” Sirius gave in to the tears, just letting them roll down his cheeks as he continued. Andi took his hands in hers on the table.
“I think the– the shame of it is the hardest part, for him, I reckon. Feeling like a monster because he has wolfish instincts. His father didn’t help,” he scowled.
“When his– his nerves are dense?” he questioned, tilting his head and raising a brow at the Healer. She nodded. “When his nerves are dense, he hears heartbeats, smells flesh, tastes it all on his tongue, and his mouth waters. His father called him a savage beast for it.
“He eats a lot of undercooked, red meat, before and after. Actually, during too, Moony likes to hunt small game. Not deer. But rats, and such,” he chuckled wetly. “As you saw this morning, he’s sore and weak and sleeps for a few hours, then he eats a massive meal and conks out again. He’ll do the same for dinner, probably not lunch with the Sleeping Draught.
“He’ll have a bit more energy tomorrow since there’s no new scars to heal. His self-inflicted wounds, all wounds really, heal faster than an average person’s, especially around the moon, but it saps his energy. The werewolf scars are all silver. You should ask to see the scar from when he was turned. He was four, maybe five – Fenrir Greyback’s work.
“If Padfoot hadn’t been there last night, he’d sleep through tomorrow, too. As it is, he should be back on his feet in no time, thanks to us,” Sirius concluded with a watery grin.
Andi laughed. “That might be the most words I’ve ever heard you say in one go, Siri,” she said brightly. “You truly have no idea how much it helps. Would you mind if I ask you a few questions? You don’t understand what an opportunity it is to talk to someone who’s not only witnessed the transformation, but spent time with a transformed werewolf for years.”
Sirius nodded, eager to discuss a familiar topic with his favourite cousin. He’d kept Moony’s secret between the Marauders, and later Lily, for years, and knew how freeing it could be to have someone with whom he could talk about it. Now that it was just them… he was overwhelmingly appreciative of the family connection Andi’s awareness offered.
He traded answers and anecdotes with her for a few hours, sipping tea (for her) and coffee (for him) and munching pastries. The kids ran around, coming in and out of the kitchen with Ted following patiently, Harry trying – and failing – to keep up with Dora. They’d already eaten lunch, and a snack, apparently.
“He’ll nap soon,” Andi commented drily. Sirius nodded. Another reason to be grateful for the Tonkses: parental wisdom.
Apparently, he had Dumbledore to thank for their presence, indirectly. The Headmaster hinted to Andi that Sirius had Harry and was with Remus in Wales, so she and Ted agreed to introduce Dora to her cousin and meet their "nephew" for the full moon. “We’d love to make a long weekend out of it,” she said with a sweet smile.
Sirius agreed readily, hoping Remus wouldn’t mind. The Tonkses had taken the guest room with Harry last night, but they could easily move Harry’s cot into the master for the weekend. A bed for Dora could be transfigured in moments, if Andi hadn’t done it already.
Sure enough, when he laid Harry down for the inevitable nap, what appeared to be one of his plush toys had been transfigured into something like a bean-bag-bed for the littlest Tonks. A conjured blanket and pillow completed the adorable scene as she laid down to nap on the floor by her cousin. He set the appropriate monitoring charms as he closed the door softly.
He mentioned moving Harry’s cot to Andi when he arrived in the sitting room, where she had taken the couch with Ted. She was having none of it. “Every parent deserves a break, and Dora adores him,” she said in a tone that brooked no argument. “Harry sleeps with us for the next three nights, Dora gets an extended sleepover, and you and Remus get some well-earned lie-ins.”
Who was he to argue with that logic?
***
When Remus woke and slumped to the table shortly before dinner, Sirius joined him for the inevitable meltdown. The Tonkses, including the recently-awakened Dora, were entertaining the also-awake Harry in the sitting room.
“I… I don’t think I can come with you after all, Pads,” Remus admitted into his hands, not even daring to look at Sirius’s exasperated expression.
“Nonsense!” interrupted Andi, shamelessly eavesdropping. She stormed into the kitchen. “There’s no reason your affliction should keep you from being with your family, Remus. We’ll all be here to help you, every month. Or, some of us anyway – we’ll work it all out.”
Remus groaned and dropped his head on the table. “Werewolves aren’t supposed to raise toddlers,” he mumbled into the Formica. Harry, seemingly in response, toddled into the kitchen and started trying to climb into Remus’s lap.
Andi picked up the toddler in question and dropped him right in Remus’s lap, forcing him to sit up. “There, now, Harry doesn’t care if one of his guardians has lycanthropy, does he?” Remus’s hands steadied him automatically.
Harry giggled and burbled something containing “Moon”. Remus smiled and sniffed his hair. The toddler squished his cheeks. Fucking adorable enough to die, Merlin.
“No one in this family cares about a furry little problem,” Sirius assured his partner quietly. “Harry comes first, but that doesn’t mean you don’t come second. We’ve got this,” he said with confidence he didn’t really feel, yet.
“That’s exactly right,” Andi chimed in. “You’ve got a Healer on your side, and a man in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Along with your partner, you’ve got plenty of support.”
Remus blushed at the word “partner,” but nodded silently.
“It takes a village to raise a child,” Ted said as he entered the kitchen. He started to prepare dinner, with Dora’s eager – and clumsy – assistance. “We’ll be your village, and you’ll find others, you can count on it.”
Sirius liked the sound of that. Parental wisdom, indeed.