Sirius
“So, how are you today, Sirius?” Healer Jones asks as he settles into his office seat. Now that Sirius is no longer a resident at the hospital, they have their meetings in Jones’ office, a much nicer setting with wide windows and comfortable chairs. It’s partially because the location is more pleasant, but Sirius is fairly certain the real reason is that their sessions are not quite Healer-approved, and as such Sirius isn’t allowed more than “consultations” (Hope had rolled her eyes and said something about wizards always assuming everything could be fixed and would stay fixed. Remus had raised his eyebrows and said, “like lycanthropy?”). Still, Healer Jones is quite radical in his own right, and had done extensive research into muggle medicine to help the Longbottoms, as well as Sirius himself; when Sirius had approached him about his issues, Jones had immediately suggested he come in regularly for what he called “therapy sessions”.
The sessions are essentially the same as it had been when Sirius was an inpatient: Healer Jones asking questions about Sirius, which Sirius then answers honestly. Only, now the questions aren’t about the past and recovering happy memories; instead, the questions are things like, “what did you eat yesterday” and “did you have a nightmare today” and “do you think you could tell me how you feel about Remus Lupin?”
Today, Sirius doesn’t need Jones to ask any questions. He knows exactly what he wants to talk about, and tells him so. Jones nods and gestures for Sirius to continue. “We went to read Lily’s will today,” Sirius tells Jones. “The Potters had a will, of course, but Lily…” he chuckles, “Lily made a muggle one. We didn’t even know until Hope told us.”
“Lily was muggleborn, was she not?”
“Yeah, and even though she didn’t have much muggle friends or family left, she… she really kept to her roots. So we thought we would look for her will, just… just to see if there’s anything there that wasn’t in the Potter’s one.”
“And was there anything?”
Sirius hesitates. There had been something; a firm order that her son not be left with Petunia Dursley, which was largely useless now; more importantly, though, it had named Sirius as godfather, and the lawyer they spoke to had agreed to help them find Harry and get him into Sirius’ custody. But even though Sirius has been honest with Jones—even though Jones probably knows more about him and his life and his past than anyone living—Jones is still a wizard with unknown alliances, and both Remus and MgGonagall have stressed the importance of not letting anyone in the wizarding world know what has become of the Boy Who Lived.
“Not really,” Sirius says, “nothing significant, at least. Any differences are negligible with how… with how things happened, after they passed.”
“I presume you’re referring to the fact that you would have had guardianship over Harry, if James and Lily’s will was followed.”
Sirius closes his eyes.
“How did you feel, Sirius, reading that will?”
“Awful. Guilty. Heartbroken.” Sirius let out a humourless laugh. “You know, the lawyer, he said it took him a while to find the will because he had set it aside, assuming it’d be nullified? It hadn’t occurred to him that she would die so young. ‘It surprised me that she was even writing a will at all’, he’d said. She was twenty when she made it.”
It hurts, so much, to sit there knowing that Lily, at twenty years old, had looked at her baby and looked at the world around her and thought, I will do anything to make sure he is safe and loved and cared for, even after my death. That at twenty one, her contingency plans had come into effect; and that Sirius, in his grief and absolute stupidity, had fucked them all over.
“She had always been pissed at me for that,” Sirius laughs through his tears, “she’d have some nice date planned with Prongs, or a study plan, or Merlin, even a mission plan, and I’d go and fuck it up by not paying attention or being at the wrong place at the wrong time. She and Moony would both lament about how I was untrainable, and how James and I just fed on each other’s stupidity.”
“What happened to the Potters was not your fault, Sirius.” Sirius scoffs. “And I will tell you that every day until you believe me.”
Sirius pauses. Looks away. Bounces his leg. “I know,” he allows. “I know, logically, that it wasn’t my fault. I didn’t—I didn’t betray them, or kill them. I didn’t murder those muggles—or Pettigrew, for that matter—and I was sent to Azkaban without trial, which was certainly not my fault.” Sirius takes a deep breath. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t feel like it is. No, I didn’t betray them, but it was my idea to switch secret keepers, and to tell everyone it was me. If I hadn’t, maybe they’d still be here. And if I hadn’t gone after Peter—if I had just stayed with Harry, kept Harry and watched over him and raised him—then I wouldn’t have been imprisoned, and Peter wouldn’t have killed all those muggles, and I’d have Harry—“ Sirius breaks himself off before he reveals more than he should. “…And maybe Remus wouldn’t look at me like he’s waiting for me to turn into some evil Dark wizard.”
Jones adds a few more notes on his parchment. “We’ll revisit that last statement, but that feeling you have, that it’s your fault even when you know it’s not—that’s the survivor’s guilt: the guilt you feel about having survived a war many family and friends did not. You’ll find a lot of people feel that way, especially if they were in the front lines. But Sirius, there is nothing wrong with having survived. It is not your fault that they died, but more importantly, it’s not your fault you didn’t.”
It’s not your fault you didn’t. The words ring in Sirius’ ears.
“It was supposed to be me,” Sirius manages to say through his tears. “I thought it would be me—we all thought it would be me. I wanted—I wanted to die at the hands of some cousin, fighting for a just cause, and now—“
“Now you don’t know how to live, when you’re not fighting for your life, waiting for the next attack, prepared for the next duel.”
“I’m trying, but… James and Lily were the ones with plans, with dreams. I didn’t—“ Sirius laughs wetly, “I didn’t even pick a career on my own, I just followed James. I was always just following James.”
“Alright, then let’s work on that, a bit. Maybe, by the end of this hour, we can have a sense of what you want life to look like; maybe you’ll find a dream for yourself.”
Remus is home when Sirius gets back, arms laden with groceries.
“You’re home early,” Sirius remarks as he takes off his shoes and closes the door with a jerk of his head.
“Yes, well.” Remus puts down his book and mug of tea. “I was sacked today.”
“What?” Sirius puts his bags down and gets his wand out, sending them into the kitchen where they will hopefully sort themselves into the right places (it’s a bit tricky, doing that while you’re in another room). “I thought the moon was last week, and you only missed one day, really.” Remus hadn’t allowed Sirius to join him for the moon, but he and Hope had stood vigil that night, and Remus had acquiesced to Sirius assisting him in healing him and providing potions.
“It wasn’t the absence, really.” Remus rolls his eyes. “Christmas is coming up, and I refused to work without holiday pay, so he said I just shouldn’t come in at all if I wouldn’t be working Christmas.”
“That’s bollocks!”
“Yes, well. He said he could find someone more… able-bodied for Christmas, if he would have to pay holiday rates anyway.”
“Able-bodied? What the hell is he on about? How able-bodied do you have to be to put things on shelves? You’re tall enough, isn’t that the only requirement?”
“It’s not the putting things on shelves, Padfoot. It’s carrying things.” Remus sighs and runs a hand over his face. “I just… had some trouble lifting a few boxes last week.”
“Last week.”
“After the full, yes.” Remus shrugs, “usually if I’m having a bit of trouble I’ll do a little lightening charm to help with the weight, but you know my magic can be a bit volatile during the moon, and I just didn’t want to fuck it up, and it’s not like I could’ve pulled out my wand in the middle of a muggle shop, so. So I asked for help, said I was still feeling a bit poorly from being sick the day before.”
“So he refused to pay you what you deserve, and when you refused to work for that amount he sacked you and blamed it on the one time you asked for help lifting something?”
“Sounds about right.” There’s a resigned air to Remus that makes Sirius’ blood boil, because Remus is acting unsurprised, like this just happens, like it’s expected, like it was only a matter of time. And yes, Sirius knows Remus has trouble keeping jobs, but he assumed it was for good reasons, like him missing too many days or continuously being unable to perform his duties or other perfectly normal reasons Sirius assumes people lose jobs for. He did not think that Remus had been getting fired just because his boss couldn’t treat him with human decency.
“Remus, there’s no way that’s legal. That’s not a legitimate reason to fire you!”
“It is, actually.” Remus grimaces. “Or at least, on paper it will be. I could contest it, but it would require more time, money, and effort than I would even get working those Christmas days. Plus, it’s not like I was supremely passionate about my job. Not even all that upset, really.”
“Well no, but it’s the principle of the matter!” And I could pay, he doesn’t add.
“Pads.” Remus lifts his head to make eye contact. “I know you care, and thank you, so much, for being angry on my behalf. But this kind of thing… it happens. And it will keep happening, because I am not able-bodied all the time and I have scars all over my face and once a month I have to skip work because I turn into a bloodthirsty creature that tries its best to kill me.”
Moony doesn’t try to kill anyone when he’s with me, Sirius doesn’t say, because he’s afraid of starting that fight again.
“And again, I appreciate your concern, and even your anger, but I don’t need some white knight coming to serve justice to those who wronged me. I don’t care enough about my boss for that, and if I did, I’m plenty capable of fighting for myself. I’ll take Christmas off, then look for another job in the new year. It’s not a big deal.”
Sirius feels his anger wash away, although he still feels like Moony shouldn’t have to deal with this so much. Instead of continuing that line of thought, however, his mind catches on another important detail. “Wait, does that mean you’re not working during Christmas?”
“That is what I just said, yes, Padfoot.”
“Remus! That means we can celebrate Christmas together!” Sirius bounds forward, prepared to wrap Remus into a hug, but then remembers himself and turns the action into a childish leap onto the couch instead. “We should do a full Christmas celebration. Have your mum over, and I’ll ask Minerva, and—oh, but the Weasleys probably have plans already—but we can put up a tree here in the sitting room—right over there—and some decorations, we can buy some muggle ones, I saw a shop earlier today that sold muggle decorations, and—ooh, can we go to the Christmas markets, let’s go to all the Christmas markets—“
“Padfoot, slow down!” Remus is laughing, and Sirius feels a surge of pride. Making Moony laugh was always his favourite post-moon job. “We can certainly celebrate, and put up a tree and decorations, but I think the guest list will need to be small, since we’re not really advertising to the wizarding world that you’re living here now instead of your flat in London.”
“Oh, bollocks,” Sirius remembers, “I’ve been invited to a couple of Christmas events. Will probably have to make an appearance at one or two and floo in from the flat.” He certainly isn’t going to the Malfoy’s, which he’s sure everyone will be glad of, but Andromeda had reached out to him, and their one meeting in Diagon had gone fairly well.
“We can have our own celebration whenever you’re free; I’m sure Ma would love to join us, or we could go over there, and you’re welcome to invite Prof—Minerva, if she’s available.” Minerva had come to visit just the weekend before, to see the house and assist in putting up wards that didn’t fuck up the electricity—Sirius quite liked the refrigerator and heating and electric lights, now that he’s used to them, and Remus had insisted on them having a tellyphone so that they could contact the lawyer and other such people.
“Right, right.” Sirius springs back up, “I’ll write to her now, ask her when she’s free…” He summons parchment and a quill, then on second thought summons all of the Christmas invitations he’d gotten so far (sans the Malfoy one and the Ministry one, which he threw into the fire). “You remember my cousin, Andromeda?” He asks as he opens her letter and scans it for the details of the event.
“Ran off with a muggleborn, Tonks, was it?”
“That she did, she’s Andromeda Tonks now.”
“Has a daughter, doesn’t she? She invite you to a Christmas party?”
“She did; you want to come with me?”
Remus pauses long enough for Sirius to look up, confused, but his face is strangely neutral. “No, I don’t think that’d be a good idea.”
“Oh, Moony, I don’t think there’ll be anything bad about it. I mean, her husband will be there, so there won’t be any real blood supremacists there, and she got blasted off the family tree anyway.” Remus just smiles wanly and shakes his head, and it occurs to Sirius that there might be another reason he thinks it’s not a good idea to go to a social event together. “And no one will think anything of me bringing you, really, what with most of my other friends being dead or in Azkaban; it’s not like you’re my date, or that anyone will think you are.” I think, Sirius adds, because Andromeda definitely knows Sirius likes men and may even know that Sirius had once fancied Remus (an understatement) when they were in school.
“No, I know. But this is an opportunity for you to reconnect with your cousin, and maybe make some other friends of your own. Me being there… I don’t want you to be stressed taking me around and introducing me to people you barely even know, or slowing you down if you find someone you’d like to be friends with.”
Sirius isn’t quite sure what he means by that last part, but he drops it. If Remus doesn’t want to go, he doesn’t have to. “The offer is there if you change your mind,” he adds, before moving to the next invitation.
He sifts through the small pile of invitations, many from members of the Sacred 28, and decides he may attend the Longbottom one briefly, if only as a tribute to Frank and Alice. That one, Remus firmly refuses to go to, citing that there is no way the Longbottom Christmas party will not involve politics, and Remus would like to stay out of all of that. Sirius doesn’t push it, although having Remus at his side at an event that involves politics would be very helpful. The last time he’d been at such an event, his mother had imperius’d him until he broke out of it, then sent him to his room and punished him for implying his uncle was a bigoted prick who couldn’t find a wife and had to fuck his own cousin. The Longbottom one will be devoid of blood supremacists, Sirius is sure, but there are pricks in any old wizarding family, and there’s so much inbreeding among the pureblood families, he’s certain marrying a pureblood from Britain automatically means marrying your cousin.
That decided, he and Remus spend the afternoon responding to invitations and sending one of their own out, chatting about old schoolmates and Christmas decorations. The conversation eventually turns to previous Christmas celebrations, at Hogwarts or Godric’s Hollow, and Sirius is so buoyed by the idea of spending the holiday with Remus and Hope and Minerva—and still feeling a bit hopeful from therapy today—that instead of feeling that bittersweet longing he typically does when talking about the Potters, Sirius only feels fondness.
When Christmas does arrive, Remus and Sirius have decked their whole house in both muggle and magical decorations. Hope, who had visited a few days before to help them set up the tree, had made a surprised little, “oh!” when she walked through the doorway.
“What were you expecting, Ma, after seeing the front lawn?” Remus had joked. (Sirius had set up so many lights and inflatable snowmen and a character called Santa that Remus had had to stop him for fear of what he called an “electrical fire.”)
Sirius will admit that he perhaps has gone overboard, but he is learning about muggle Christmas, and had managed to convince Remus to go with him to all the famous muggle and magical Christmas markets—what was he supposed to do, not buy presents and decorations at them? Besides, he reasons, he has five years of Christmas gifts to make up for. (He even buys a few gifts for Harry, although he knows the boy won’t be able to be with them for Christmas.)
Healer Jones said that perhaps he should slow down a bit, and that it’s okay to feel sad on a holiday, but if Sirius is honest it’s a bit hard to feel sad, when he’s got Remus all to himself. Remus, who goes on Christmas market dates with him, and buys him hot chocolate and joked that Sirius should be the one to put the star on the tree. Remus, who let Sirius hug him after they finished decorating the sitting room, and who had rolled his eyes at him but let him hold his hand briefly (in public!) after Sirius had said he was “cold”. Remus, who despite the dropping temperatures and snow, seems to be warming up to Sirius again.
And yes, the nightmares are still happening sometimes, and when Sirius passes Harry’s door he’ll feel a pang of sadness that it’s empty and it’s all his fault, but Sirius is trying to focus on the present, on his dreams and his plans—and Sirius knows that although this Christmas will be celebrated without Harry, he’s sure it will be the last Christmas he celebrates without Harry. (Ignoring the fact that they have yet to hear back from that lawyer.)
It’s with this determination that Sirius attends the Longbottom Christmas event on the 24th, new robes ready and a list Remus gave him of probable attendees. He stays for a full hour, greeting Mrs. Augusta Longbottom, being introduced to more than half of the list, and then looking for Neville in order to give him a gift—when questioned about it, Sirius smiles and shrugs, saying that he had been very good friends with his parents, and that Neville had been born around the same time as his godson. Neville looks up at him with awed eyes, and Sirius wonders if maybe Harry will look at him that way, as well. He promises Neville that he’ll tell him stories of Auror training with Frank some other time, because Christmas is not the time to bring up the war, and even promises to look for some photographs he might have of Neville’s parents.
That done, Sirius makes the rounds again, dodges gossip-mongerers or Lords and Ladies attempting to determine Sirius’ political stances and sway him their way, and tells Lady Longbottom that he really must get going, unfortunately, but do please keep in touch. It only takes him about ten minutes to leave once he’s announced his departure, in which he is introduced to the other half of the list Remus gave him, but eventually Sirius is able to step back through the fireplace and floo back to the flat.
Sirius only has about an hour of pacing the flat as Padfoot, trying to shake off the strange feeling of propriety, when he has to transform back and prepare to leave for Andromeda’s. He musses up his hair from the way it had been slicked back, and charms his robes from blue to red. He’s not positive who might be at Andromeda’s party—unlike the Longbottom one—but he certainly doesn’t want to give any of the Blacks any inclination that Sirius has taken any of their political lessons to heart. He is not a perfect pureblood Black heir, and he refuses to appear anything like one in front of Andromeda, who had once given him a lecture about appearances and pretending for the sake of getting through a family dinner without consequences or punishment. If they are to reconnect, Sirius knows, Andromeda will have to accept him for who he is, and no one else.
When Sirius looks improper enough to satisfy himself, Sirius steps back into the fireplace and floos to the Tonks’.
The difference is immediately noticeable. While Sirius had been braced for another, perhaps slightly less political, gathering of social elite, what Sirius steps into is instead a small family affair. The sitting room he enters is relatively small, with a tree sparkling in the corner and presents underneath them. The floor is strewn with toys, as two toddlers stop playing to stare at him. There are two adults in the room, both in muggle clothes, and Sirius suddenly worries about his magical appearance in their fireplace.
One of the men makes his way over, and Sirius vaguely recalls his face as Ted Tonks. This is proven true when Tonks introduces himself, then the other adult as David, his brother-in-law.
“Well, it’s quite a surprise, meeting someone from Andy’s side of the family,” David says, shaking Sirius’ hand.
“Yes, well, my family did blast both me and Andromeda off the family tree,” Sirius shrugs. “Should I not be wearing robes?” He asks Ted, who shakes his head.
“It’s only my family, and they know about magic. Wear whatever’s comfortable.”
“Sirius!” Andromeda sweeps into the room, dressed in robes as well, wand in hand. “I’m so glad you could make it!”
“Andromeda,” Sirius says as he’s pulled into a hug. “It’s good to see you again.”
“Indeed. Have you met David and the kids? And you know Ted, of course, although it’s been years.” Andromeda introduces the two children who have been staring up at Sirius as David’s children, then ushers him into the next room to introduce her own child, Nymphadora.
“Call me Dora. Or Tonks.” Nymphadora says, and Sirius nods in acknowledgement.
Sirius then meets Andromeda’s in-laws, who are perfectly nice, and they chat for a while about Sirius’ relationship with Andromeda, and why this is the first time they’re meeting him. Then the floo goes off, and Sirius is introduced to two close friends of Ted’s, a halfblood and a muggleborn from Hufflepuff as well.
“Heard all about what happened, mate, sounds terrible,” the man says, and Sirius shrugs uncomfortably. “I always did think it was a bit fishy, I mean you were such a Gryffindor at Hogwarts.” He and his wife laugh at that, although Sirius does not recall going to Hogwarts with either of them.
Still, it appears they remember him, because they start telling stories about his first year, and how it had caused such an uproar that he was sorted into Gryffindor, and commenting on some of the pranks he and James (and Remus, and…) had pulled in third year, before the woman—younger than her husband by two years—graduated. Dora comes to sit with them, then, eagerly asking about his Hogwarts days, and Sirius busies himself with telling her about their greatest escapades, like that time James organised a flash mob to ask Lily out, or when they blasted Dancing Queen in the Great Hall on McGonagall’s birthday.
“Have you done any good pranks?” Sirius asks, because she seems to be quite interested in his stories.
“Yeah, but nothing as big as that.” Dora shrugs. “Charlie and I—Charlie’s my best mate—we like to make pranks sometimes, but it’s usually just charming people’s hair special colors, or pretending to be someone else. I’m a metamorphagus,” she clarifies proudly, “so I can pretend to be anyone, I just need to get their mannerisms down.”
“That’s wicked!” Sirius exclaims, and Dora starts showing Sirius all the different ways she can change appearances.
By the time dinner is ready, Dora has decided on a look for the night—cropped purple hair with pink streaks, Andromeda’s eyes, Ted’s nose, and Sirius’ cheekbones. She’s also a bit taller than she had been when he met her, Sirius is pretty sure, but doesn’t question it. “Mum doesn’t like me changing my appearance much for family gatherings and stuff,” Dora explains, “but mostly because not everyone knows I’m a metamorphagus, so she likes to ease people into it before they get a shock.”
“Is how you looked when I first came what you actually look like?” Sirius asks as they approach the dining table.
Dora shrugs. “I’m still trying to decide,” is all she says.
The rest of the night is spent getting to know Ted’s family, and learning more about Andromeda. Although Andy never quite drops that pureblood air about her, she relaxes in a way Sirius has never seen before, even slumping once or twice in her chair. She’s the perfect hostess, and obviously runs the household, but she laughs unabashedly and wipes her mouth hurriedly instead of daintily.
“Oh please, Sirius,” Andromeda rolls her eyes when Sirius tells her this, “this is my family, the people I’m closest to. If I can’t be myself around them, then I’ve married the wrong man.”
“I seem to recall you giving me multiple lectures about behaving properly at family gatherings.”
“At Black family gatherings, yes. But this is a Tonks family gathering. And here, people actually care about you, and not just their image or reputations.” Andy places a sympathetic hand on Sirius’ arm. “Sirius, I hope you know that those lectures—they were not meant to oppress you, or make you feel as if you had no allies in the family. They were to make you safe. I knew what she’d do to you if you misbehaved, and it hurt me so much to see that happen. I wanted you to behave so you wouldn’t hurt, not because it was the right way to act.”
Sirius smiles at her. “Thank you,” he says, “I didn’t always know that, didn’t always understand—but I do now, and I know you cared—care.”
Andromeda squeezes his arm, then changes the subject.
That night, although he went to bed feeling content and hopeful, Sirius’ dreams turn into memories of Black family Christmases. He remembers the anger, and frustration, the way bigotry and hatred seemed to drip off his parent’s lips, the derision in his uncle and aunt’s words as they commented on him being a Gryffindor. He remembers each time he acted out, and the pain of punishment at his behavior. He remembers the cool numbness of the imperius curse and the stinging torture of the crutiatus. Remembers Bellatrix and Andromeda watching as his mother cast the spell, Andromeda pressing Regulus and Narcissa’s faces into her body like she could shield them from the sight.
Halfway through the night, Sirius changes into Padfoot and makes his way downstairs. Remus’ door is open, as it sometimes is on nights like this, and Padfoot noses his way in to find a tired Remus sitting up against the headboard, lamp on.
“You alright, Padfoot?” Remus asks, and Sirius feels a vague pang of guilt knowing that he’s woken Remus up again. “Well, come on over.” Remus pats the covers next to him. “I could do with a snuggle tonight, as well.”
Padfoot clambers up onto Remus’ transfigured bed and lays down beside him. Remus turns off the lamp, slips back under the covers, and places his hand cautiously over Padfoot’s ribs.
“Goodnight, Pads,” Remus murmurs into his fur, and Sirius slips back into sleep, Remus’ scent filling his nose.