Sirius
Sirius hums as he loads his groceries onto his motorcycle, waving hello to Mrs. Bowen and her son as they pass. He’s feeling curry tonight, he decides as he drives back home (on the road—he hasn’t flown the bike yet, half in fear the charms no longer hold, and half because the last thing he needs is to get caught by muggles or Arthur Weasley).
Remus won’t be home for an hour or two yet, having found a job at a library, so Sirius enters into an empty house. He turns the record on while he puts the groceries away and starts on the curry, singing along under his breath and swinging his wand around like a conductor’s baton. Soon, the meat is cooking slowly and Sirius is dancing to the music while the kitchen fills with the smell of home.
Sirius is cut off mid-lyric to an owl tapping at his window. With a frown, Sirius takes his mail, his frown deepening when he sees that the sender is Albus Dumbledore.
Dumbledore has taken to sending Sirius a letter every few days or so, each with a job offer or invitation to connect him to an acquaintance. Sirius knows Dumbledore is merely passing on offers from his colleagues, friends, and sycophants—Sirius has been steadily burning the ministry mail he gets, and most job offers are something along the lines of government work—but he really wishes that Dumbledore would just take the hint that Sirius is not interested. Dumbledore, of course, seems to think that even if Sirius doesn’t want this job, or isn’t interested in that field, he should still be trying harder to “reintegrate into society”, what with prison and all.
This letter, it seems, is a suggestion that Sirius tell his story to this one reporter at the Prophet, or if not him, a different media company. “They wish to know more about the Black Heir and the War with Voldemort,” writes Dumbledore, but there’s something resigned and even desperate in his words; Sirius imagines that Dumbledore has been fielding the press for a while, and must now be quite fed up and out of options.
Well, tough, Sirius thinks, because there’s no way I’m talking to the media.
Sirius crumples the letter up and throws it away, but Dumbledore’s letter reminds him of his therapy session the day before.
“People aren’t talking about it as much, of course, but I have been asked about you,” Jones had said yesterday.
“What do you tell them?”
“That I can’t tell them anything, of course. It’s not right to talk about our patients without their consent.”
“Even me?”
“Even you; I consider you my patient still even without all the paperwork.”
It had been reassuring, especially since Sirius has been starting to slip more and more into talking about Harry during their sessions. Remus has expressed concern over what information Jones might have (nothing about him being a werewolf, Sirius has assured), but with secrets and lack of communication being the thing that broke them apart during the war, both Sirius and Remus have been hesitant to insist upon more, even when their lingering paranoia tells them that Jones—or anyone who isn’t them, Hope, and Minerva—is not to be trusted.
Some of that paranoia is warranted, as Jones proved yesterday, as people are still curious about him; “they all think you’re mad, and you being in my ward didn’t help,” Jones had said.
“Well, all the Blacks are insane, so I’m not surprised people think that. It’s all the inbreeding,” Sirius had replied, going for joking but falling just short.
Perhaps it is time to make a few more appearances, though. Sirius has interacted quite minimally with the wizarding world, what with moving to a muggle village and learning how to live muggle, as well as the Lupins being his main companions. He tends to be stared at quite a bit when in popular wizarding areas, which has definitely encouraged his avoidance of them, and the last time pureblood society has seen him—and therefore been updated on his mental state—was Christmas at the Longbottoms.
Sirius hates politics, but he’s not so far from it all that he doesn’t know how big a deal it was for a Black to show up at the Longbottom Christmas luncheon. He’s willing to bet Cissy started rumours about his sanity after that, as a way of explaining his actions.
Well, if showing up places the Blacks would hate and proving he is completely sound of mind—even if it is debatable on some days—makes his family angry, then Sirius has got to do more of it, doesn’t he? Maybe get a job in something distinctly Light, or do charity work.
“I’m home!” Remus’ call breaks Sirius out of his thoughts, making him jump. “Sirius? Is something burning?”
Suddenly, the kitchen around Sirius comes back in sharp focus, and the sound and smell of burnt food hits him in a wave. Dismayed, Sirius turns to the stove, waving his wand to siphon the smoke away and leaning forward to turn the fire off manually. Remus enters the kitchen, wand out as well, and he throws the windows open, letting in a gust of chilly air.
They move quickly, trying to save whatever they can of dinner and wave away the smoke, but every second the windows let in the cold it feels like the dementors are coming closer and closer, and Sirius knowsthey’re not here, that they’re gone, but what if they aren’t, what if this is the dream, the warm kitchen and a man who loves him just a figment of his imagination, and soon they’re going to come and he’ll see them again, the Potters, and Lily lying there dead while Harry cries and cries and—
“Padfoot!” Remus’ shake brings him back. He’s seated on the couch, their warmest blanket thrown over his shoulders. “Padfoot?” Sirius blinks at Remus, crouched in front of him. “Are you back with me?”
Sirius manages to nod. He’s crying, he thinks, or at least his cheeks are wet. He’s unbearably cold still under the blanket.
“Alright, can you… have some of this chocolate,” Remus hands him a piece of chocolate from his pocket. It’s one of the muggle brands Sirius has grown used to seeing at the stands in stores, and the strange sense of both familiarity and unfamiliarity brings Sirius fully back.
Sirius takes the chocolate with a whispered thanks.
“It’s alright, Sirius,” Remus replies quietly while Sirius eats. “I’m going to go make some tea, unless hot chocolate would be better?”
“Hot chocolate,” Sirius replies, voice hoarse. He wonders if he’d screamed. Jones has said he doesn’t anymore, but he also said recovery isn’t linear.
Sirius watches as Remus leaves the room, feeling another wave of hopelessness wash over him at the sight. His day had been so good, and he had been making curry, and he’s never burnt Mum’s curry since the first time he tried to make it without her. And now, he doubts there will be anything left of their dinner, which Sirius had wanted to be ready for Remus when he got home from work, because Remus has just started work even though the moon was quite recently, and Remus hadn’t let him join the moon so it hadn’t been a very good one, but instead of Sirius helping Remus, Remus has to help Sirius.
With great strength, Sirius hauls himself to his feet and walks over into the kitchen. It’s a bit colder, but the windows are closed now, and Remus has clearly renewed the warming charms. Remus is mixing cocoa in a mug, a pot scrubbing itself in the sink and another on the stove.
“I’m sorry,” Sirius says, clutching his blanket around himself.
Remus whirls around, surprised. “What for?” He asks, and hands him the mug.
Sirius shrugs. “Burning dinner. Having an episode.”
“You can’t control that,” Remus says, something like pity in his eyes.
“No, youcan’t control turning into a wolf every month. Icancontrol whether or not I’m going to burn dinner and have an episode about it.” Sirius purses his lips. “Sorry, didn’t mean to snap,” he mumbles, and takes a sip of his drink. Warmth starts to seep into his torso, and he hates himself just a little less.
“These things happen, Padfoot.” Remus cups his face and brings it up to make eye contact. “You went through something horrible for five years; it’s unreasonable for that not to affect you.”
“That doesn’t mean it should affect you,though,” Sirius retorts. “You didn’t sign up for this, Moony.”
Remus chuckles. “Of course I did, Pads. I knew exactly what I was signing up for with you.” Remus’ face is a bit incredulous, but his voice is fond, and between that and the heat of his hands, Sirius feels the cold fall away. “Let’s sit for a bit.”
They move back to the sitting room, and Remus starts a fire with a flick of his wand.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Remus asks once they’re situated, Sirius leaning into Remus’ arms.
Sirius shrugs. “Not much to talk about. Got lost in my head.” Sirius explains the letter, and how his thoughts had wandered to politics and the Blacks and what Sirius might want to do in the near(ish) future. “Just… lost track of what I was doing, I guess.”
Remus presses a reassuring kiss against Sirius’ head. “And then after…?”
“It was just… cold. Too cold.”
“Is that… why it’s always so warm in here? Because the cold reminds you of…”
“Yeah.” Sirius frowns. “Is it too warm for you?” Remus tends to run hot, Sirius knows (loves), especially near the full, but he hasn’t ever mentioned the temperature of the house. Having the muggle heating on allows him to be more lax with the warming charms, but he still renews them quite religiously.
“No, no,” Remus reassures, gathering Sirius more into his arms. “Well, sometimes if I’m in bed sharing ten thousand blankets with a shaggy dog, but it's never too bad.”
Sirius scoffs, “is that why you don’t always wanna share the bed?” He asks tiredly, snuggling deeper into Remus. Episodes always take so much energy from him, and since dinner is ruined, Sirius figures he might as well get started on sleep. Maybe, if he’s this exhausted, no nightmares will come, and Remus can share a bed with a human instead of a pet.
“No, that is not why. Just like my own space sometimes, is all. Not used to sharing a bed with someone.”
“Mmm, what about that woman you were with? In France?”
“What?” Remus jolts, dislodging Sirius and causing him to cry out and pout. “Who told you about her?”
“Hope,” Sirius re-situates himself, but he’s much less tired now. He’s been subtly trying to get Remus to open up about the past few years, wanting to understand what his life had been like, but Remus tends to avoid the topic nearly as much as Sirius avoids talking about his own last five years.
“What… what did Ma tell you?”
“Not much, just that you had some woman you were living with in Paris, for a bit.”
“Estee.” Like French for ‘star’?, Sirius is almost going to joke, but then Remus continues, “she died.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Sirius turns to look at Remus in the face. It’s carefully blank, but Sirius can see some of the pain in his eyes. “How did she die?”
“She…” Remus closes his eyes. “She was a werewolf, like me. One of the few educated wolves who was able to get away from the packs and registration and just… live a normal life. But she… well, we… Even in muggle Paris, it was hard to get work and keep it.”
“Was there… some accident during the full?” Sirius whispers in horror. That is one of his worst nightmares (of the fictional kind), Remus Turning wrong or hurting himself fatally. He assumes it’s not as bad when you’re Turning with other wolves, even one other, but werewolves on the full moon are not in control of themselves, pack or no pack.
“No, none of that. She just… decided she didn’t want to keep living, anymore. Said… said what we were doing wasn’t living. Just barely surviving.”
Sirius stares at Remus for a few moments, watching the love of his life look off into the distance. He feels useless, uncertain how to navigate the rest of this conversation, uncertain how to comfort, what to say.
“We hadn’t been together long, just under a year. It was last November.” The November before last,Sirius corrects in his head, but doesn’t say. Last November, Sirius had just moved into this house, and Remus had joined him. That night Remus had left to get drunk and high and probably fucked someone from the club, that night they fought—had that been the same day Estee died? And Sirius had gone and made it all about himself.
“Were you still together when…?”
“Yeah.” Remus clears his throat, “yeah, she… she wanted me to go with her.”
Sirius stifles his gasp. “Remus—”
“I didn’t, obviously, and I… I won’t.” There’s a flicker of hesitance in Remus’ eye, and Sirius feels a wash of fear and grief. He can’t lose Remus, not after everything. “I don’t even really want to, most of the time.”
“Remus…”
“Look, I just mean… Things are shitty sometimes, and sometimes I think… But I didn’t, and I could’ve, and really, it was one of my lowest points but I didn’t.And I won’t.” Remus looks steadily into Sirius’ eyes as he speaks, and Sirius believes him.
“I can’t lose you, Moony,” Sirius whispers.
“You won’t.” Remus’ mouth quirks, “not if I can help it.”
There’s so much you can’t help, though,Sirius doesn’t say. James and Lily didn’t want to leave, either. Marlene and Dorcas fought hard to stay alive, and the Prewett brothers, and so many more.
“I love you,” is what he says instead. It feels as empty as it is loaded, a phrase that Sirius has kept locked up and denied for so long that each utterance is still tinged with that longing, used as an empty platitude. Love won’t keep Remus alive if Death decides to come for him; it didn’t save any of their friends.
Remus leans forward and kisses Sirius gently. “I love you, too,” he replies, and this time, the phrase sounds like a balm, an assurance. A promise, however unspoken. (Love did save Harry Potter,a small part of Sirius thinks, maybe it will save us too.)
Sirius shifts to rest his head against Remus’ chest, listening to his heartbeat for a few moments. Then, he asks, “did you love her? Estee?”
The hand that had been idly rubbing up and down Sirius’ back pauses. “No, I don’t think so. I cared for her, certainly, and there was a sense of camaraderie… but I was too scared to love her, and too in love with you to give her what she deserved.” Remus gives a small humourless chuckle. “Actually, she was the one who told me I was in love with you. I’d kept denying it, for years and years… And even when she didn’t know the details, she’d ask me about the man who wronged me, the one who broke my heart, the one I still loved. She didn’t believe me when I said I didn’t love you anymore, and after a while I stopped believing it, too.” Remus kisses the top of Sirius’ head reassuringly, then sighs. “But now you know why I don’t like talking much about France. They’re… not happy memories.”
Sirius takes Remus’ free hand and presses a kiss to it. “We’ll make new ones,” he promises, “happier ones. With Harry.”
A few hours later, Sirius is woken from his nap by his pillow trying to slip out from under him. Sirius grumbles, but Remus persists, and soon Sirius is sitting up and Remus is standing before him, stretching.
“We should eat, Pads,” Remus reminds him.
“It’s too late to eat,” Sirius complains, “come back.”
“Well, I’m hungry, so I’m getting myself something to eat.”
The words wake Sirius up as he remembers that he had meant to make Remus dinner, and had failed. He dutifully plods into the kitchen, feeling guilty. A glance at the clock shows that it’s nearly eight, and Sirius knows there’s no cooked food.
“Bread?” Remus suggests, “cheese toasties are quick.”
“I’m sorry,” Sirius says in lieu of reply, “I meant to have dinner ready when you came home.”
Remus shrugs good-naturedly, “not a big deal, Padfoot. You’ve already been feeding me loads better than I’m used to.” This doesn’t make Sirius feel better. “Besides, it’s not your job to make me dinner every night. Sometimes we have bad days, sometimes we don’t eat on time, sometimes all we can manage is cheese toasties. And that’s alright.”
“I… I want us to have better than cheese toasties, though.”
“And we do, most of the time. You’re a wonderful cook, Sirius, and your meals are amazing. You made me my lunch today—” Remus sent Sirius a look when he opened his mouth to complain about how lunch was only leftovers from the night before, and Sirius dutifully fell silent. “—so now I’m making us dinner. Unfortunately, I am not a good cook, and so we are having cheese toasties.”
“Well, I suppose I ought to feel honoured, then, that you’re cooking for me.”
“Let’s wait to see if I poison us, first.”
“…Thank you, Moony.”
“Nothing to thank, Sirius.”
As Remus prepares the food, Sirius asks him about his day at work. It’s new, still, and Remus is excited about it in a way Sirius can only tell because he has long since memorised that glint in his eye when Remus is talking about something but doesn’t want to get his hopes up about it. It’s in the almost constant reminders—to himself, more than to Sirius—that he is just starting his job, that it might not last, that it might not be a good fit, that his coworkers and boss may not stay so friendly; even though the work is only minimally menial, fits Remus’ disposition and general love of books and libraries, and his coworkers and boss have been perfectly friendly thus far.
Halfway through their cheese toasties, Sirius blurts out, “I’ve been thinking of going into healer training.”
Remus pauses mid-chew, looking bewildered.
“I mean, I don’t know, it’s just a thought, I probably won’t do it, I mean, I won’t be any good at it, really—”
“Bollocks, you’ve been healing me since we were fifteen years old. You’d be a wonderful healer. I just, I didn’t know it was something you were interested in?”
Sirius cringes. “Well, yeah. I mean, I dunno. I wanted it, back at school. Was taking the classes for it and everything.”
“I thought you were taking the required classes for Aurors?”
“I was—I mean, I did, in the end.” Sirius shrugs, “just seemed silly, is all, to become a healer when we needed more people on the front lines. Didn’t… didn’t think many would want to be healed by a Black during the war, anyway. Auror just seemed the right thing to do at the time.”
Remus is quiet for a bit, and Sirius fidgets with his bread, trying to figure out what he’s thinking. Right as he was about to open his mouth and change the subject, Remus nods. “It makes sense, actually,” he says, “now that I think about it.” He takes a thoughtful chew of his food. “You were a great Auror—in training, I suppose, since you never fully finished—and you’re great at Defense and all. But I can see you as a Healer. I can see you as a better Healer than Auror.”
“Really?” Sirius feels his spirits lift; he hadn’t even realised he was nervous about this until Remus had given him assurance. “I was always scared to tell you lot. Was afraid you’d make fun, or something.”
“You and Lily were already our de facto Healers in the field; why would we have made fun?”
“I dunno, just thought it. James was always so big about becoming an Auror, about fighting for justice and everything.”
Remus rolls his eyes, “yes, well, we both know how great Aurors and the ministry are at fighting for justice.” He shrugs. “I think if you want it, Pads, you should go for it.”
“Will people… want me to become a Healer, though?”
“Why does it matter what other people want? What do you want?”
“I want…” to cure lycanthropy for you,the words come suddenly, unbidden. He’s never thought that before, not in so many words, but they feel familiar, like he’s been thinking it all his life. “I want to help people,” he settles on. “People like you, or me, or Frank and Alice. I want to help the people who think it’s hopeless, who no one thinks can be cured. I want to find the cure if I can, but before that I want to help them live a good life. Cure or no cure.”
When Sirius looks back at Remus, he sees Moony looking at him with so much fondness, his own heart feels ready to burst. Remus takes Sirius’ hand and brings it up to his lips, pressing a kiss there that Sirius feels down to his toes.
“I think you’re going to be the greatest Healer ever, Pads,” Remus says, his voice choked up. “And I can’t think of a single person who wouldn’t want you to become one, with that reasoning.”
It’s not until the next morning that Remus notices the answering machine.
“Did you hear the phone ring yesterday?” He asks, peering at the contraption.
“Er…” Sirius is only vaguely aware of what that would be like, and not at all sure if he had, in fact, heard the phone ring. “No?”
Remus suppresses a smile and shakes his head, reaching out to press some buttons.
Sirius watches in amazement as voices come out of the box. “Hang on, you didn’t pick up the telephone!”
“It’s a recording, hush.”
“Like a record? In that box?” Sirius whispers. He didn’t know they made records that small!
Remus waves an irritated hand at him, and Sirius falls silent, listening. It’s some woman, saying something about a house visit, and please call at the earliest convenience, to set up an appointment, and to finalise paperwork, but not to worry, Mr. Black, we are on your case and have started searching our system for your godson.
“Harry!” Sirius exclaims at that.
“Sh!” Remus hisses, writing down some information the mysterious woman is saying. His left hand flaps again at Sirius, who grabs it and shakes excitedly, since he has been barred from making noise.
Finally, there’s a beep, and Remus turns to Sirius, grinning.
“Well? Harry, right? That was about Harry?”
“Yes, that was about Harry. You’d better call her back—I’ve put down all the information you need: the woman’s name, her phone number, the name of the lawyer in case they ask.”
“Call—call her back?” Sirius glances at the phone in trepidation. He’s never called a muggle before, although he has used a telephone. “Why can’t you do it?”
“Because you cannot be scared of a phone, for one. But more importantly, you are the one searching for Harry. They don’t know I exist, and won’t just talk to me on your behalf, not if it’s important legal business.”
“Can’t you say you’re my… secretary or something?”
“Make your own appointments, Sirius.”
“It’s… for a home visit, yes?” They’ve talked about those before, through their research of the muggle adoption system; it’s partly why Sirius bought this house in the first place.
“Yes, she said to give her your address and what times you’ll be free to take her through the house. Things are going in a bit of a different order, since you’re looking to adopt a specific child, so they will be asking you questions as well, and there might be paperwork, but hopefully we can cross off a lot of boxes with this one meeting, and get a sense of a timeline as well.”
“Do you think they’ll find him soon, then?”
“I don’t know, Padfoot. Let’s hope.”
“Harry…” Sirius feels his smile growing. “So little was happening, I was almost afraid we’d never find him. But this… this is a step in the right direction, right?”
“Of course.” Remus taps the paper with his pen. “As soon as you make that appointment.”
“Right.” Sirius marches up to the machine. “I pick it up and dial, correct? These numbers here?”
“Yes. Her name is Catherine Creevey, she’s a social worker. Now—” Remus checks his watch briefly, “I have to head to work.”
“But—”
“You’ll do fine, Padfoot. Just remember to talk normally into the receiver. She can hear you.” Remus winks, then is out the door before Sirius can protest more.
“You just want to force me into doing this alone,” Sirius grumbles to no one.
He spends a few moments staring at the telephone. He knows how it works; he’s used them before, and Remus showed him when they got it installed. He’d even demonstrated a call to his mother, and Hope had told Sirius he could call whenever he wanted, but since she lived so close it never became necessary. Repeating Remus’ instructions in his mind, Sirius dials the number.
It rings twice, and then a woman—the same woman as on the recording—picks up.
“Ah, yes hello—” Sirius stammers, when it’s clear it’s his turn to speak. “I’m, ah—Sirius Black. I’m calling… because you called me?”
If Remus were here, he would probably roll his eyes and hiss more instructions. But Remus is not here, because he left him to flounder, and Sirius is free from both his judgement and his assistance.
“Ah, yes, to make an appointment for a home visit?” Thankfully, Creevey knows what Sirius means, and he enthusiastically (and possibly too loudly) agrees. “Yes; is there a weekday next week that you might be available to stay home and take me through the house?”
“Oh, yes, certainly.” Sirius rattles off a list of times for each day of the week—he’s quite free, save for therapy and a lunch with Andromeda, as well as any errands and chores. “But Remus will only be free after 5pm on weekdays, that’s when he gets off work.”
There’s a pause as Sirius marvels at the utter lack of filter he has, wonders at how muggles view homosexuality and whether it would impact Sirius’ claim to Harry, and contemplates hanging up and jumping out the window.
“I don’t have a… Remus written here,” Creevey says carefully, and Sirius gulps.
“Well, it’s… only more recently become… that is to say… ah…”
“He’s your partner?” Sirius wishes the telephone allowed him to see people’s faces, because he cannot for the life of him deduce what the right answer to this question would be.
“…yes?” Sirius practically whispers.
“Will he be adopting Harry as well?”
“No! I mean—Harry is—is separate. He’s my family—Harry is, that is. I… I mean, I want to adopt Harry through him being my godson, and there’s… I mean… could he? Adopt Harry, I mean?” Can two men adopt a child in the muggle world? It is unthinkable in the wizarding world, but there are so few magical children in need of adoption in the first place.
“It would be harder,” Creevey says slowly—but, Sirius finally notes with some relief, without any trace of bigotry or disdain. “It would certainly be easier for you to adopt Harry on your own, and to have your partner simply be… a—boyfriend, I suppose. I mean, plenty of single people adopt and then marry later on, that should not be a problem, and the process could likely be more streamlined that way. Does your partner, ah, live with you?”
“…Yes?”
“Is that a question?”
“If it’s a problem, he doesn’t have to.” It would certainly bring their relationship back a few steps, and make Sirius’ own nights much harder, but he is certain Remus would agree to it if it meant they’d have Harry. Remus can move in after they have him legally.
“No, no, if he’s staying over nights or living with you then the child will be exposed to him, and even somewhat raised by him. It doesn’t matter if he’s officially moved in or not.” There’s a pause, and Creevey clears her throat. “Alright, I am free after five next Wednesday. Does that work for you both?”
“Yes,” Sirius assures, “that should work for us both.”
“Excellent. And you’re aware of the expectations of your house when I come?”
“Er…?”
“A room for Harry, child-friendly areas—”
“Oh, yes! I remember. I mean, we’ve researched it. So, yes, I know.”
“Don’t worry about making the house perfect, of course. If there’s anything amiss or what needs to be changed, I will inform you. You’ll have time to make whatever adjustments are necessary before adopting your godson, anyway.”
“Have you… have you found him, yet?”
“No, but they are looking. I have the specifics that your lawyer sent, and we are searching through the files. I’ll give you a further update when we meet next Wednesday.”
“Right, okay. Yes.” Sirius nods, then remembers she can’t see him. “Yes.”
“Very well, see you on Wednesday, Mr. Black.”
“Yes, see you.”
There’s a short pause, a breath, and then a loud beeping sound that causes Sirius to stare incredulously at the phone for a moment before remembering that that meant the person on the other side of the connection has hung up, and he should do the same. He places the receiver back into the cradle, makes a note that the social worker is coming next Wednesday after 5pm, then rushes out the door to Hope Lupin’s house.
By the time Wednesday has rolled around, Sirius has cleaned every inch of the house twice—once in excitement and once out of nerves—charmed a few new decorations, baked two batches of brownies (one to try the recipe and feed to the Lupins, one for the social worker), and nearly spilled the beans to Andromeda during lunch on Tuesday.
Thankfully, Remus has managed to keep a level head through it all, from calming Sirius down from a frenzy to holding him as he whispered about his nightmares in bed. Remus is anxious about it as well, of course, and Sirius can tell in the careful way he holds himself and the way he sweeps his eye about a room when he enters it, as if cataloging the various imperfections; Remus does not express his nervousness, however, not in the way Sirius does, and therefore balances him out in the best of ways.
It helps, as well, that Sirius has spoken to his Healer about properly moving forward into Healer training, and has spent much of his excess energy contacting both Minerva and Dumbledore in order to get the qualifications and letters of recommendation necessary to enrol in a course. (Having been incarcerated, even if only briefly, and having no formal healing experience, Sirius will need quite a bit of help to be admitted; thankfully, he has friends in high places, and Healer Jones agreed to write a letter himself, assuring Sirius’ own mental health.)
Remus is carefully asking Sirius questions about his progress on that front, distracting Sirius from looking at the clock, when the doorbell goes off. Sirius freezes mid-sentence and looks at Remus, wide-eyed.
“Ready?” Remus asks, his smile a bit strained but warm.
“I—what if they say—”
“It’s going to be fine, Padfoot.” Remus drags Sirius to his feet and gives him a tiny shove toward the door. “Go answer the door.”
“The photos—”
“Have been charmed not to move. We are both dressed in appropriate muggle clothes. It is cold out, Pads. Let her in.”
Sirius does as told, welcoming the woman at the door and introducing both himself and his—partner—at the same time. He takes her coat (by hand, quite novel!) and offers her his brownies as they make small talk, Sirius trying his best not to vibrate on the spot or turn into Padfoot so he can run off some of his energy.
Soon, they get started. Creevey explains that she will want a tour of the house, as well as an explanation of their daily lives, their relationship, and finances. Sirius obliges, taking her through the house room by room (they’ve reconfigured the study into a study, Remus’ bed transfigured back into a desk for now), explaining their daily routine as he goes, Remus adding a thing or two every-so-often.
“Is this Harry?” Creevey asks halfway up the stairs, looking at the photographs they’ve hung up along the wall.
“Yes,” Remus says, when Sirius fails to reply, “Harry and his parents.”
It’s one of the few photos Hope had, an early family photo that Lily had given to her before they went into hiding; Harry is only a month or two old. Sirius is fairly certain he’d been the one to take the photo.
“And beside it is us and Harry,” Remus continues, gesturing to the photo a step above. “I believe it was taken the same day.” Peter had been in the picture, but by the time Remus had brought it out a few months ago, Peter had stepped out of the frame, leaving it just Sirius and Remus sitting at an armchair, Harry in Sirius’ arms.
“We thought… We hope it’ll be nice, for him to see baby photos of himself,” Sirius explains, “To let him know… He was loved. And we never wanted to lose him.”
“I wasn’t aware you knew the boy as well,” Creevey says to Remus behind her, as she starts back up the stairs.
“The four of us went to school together,” Remus replies, “Sirius and I and Harry’s parents.”
“And how long have you two been together?”
“Just this year,” Remus says at the same time Sirius remarks, “it’s been on and off for years.”
They make awkward eye contact, then Sirius corrects, “that is, only properly this year. Like, New Years this year.”
Creevey looks like she’s smothering a grin, and Sirius clears his throat to continue the tour.
“Unfortunately, I must ask a few… personal questions, about your relationship,” Creevey states in the master bedroom, peering at the framed photo Sirius has of himself and James, seventeen years old.
“Childhood best friends, briefly lovers in our late teenage years, nothing serious, but we reconnected last fall and agreed to give it a proper go of things this January,” Sirius recites.
“And this history you have, is there a reason you were not in a serious relationship earlier? What caused your falling out?”
“We were young and going through a lot at the time,” Remus says quietly from where he’s leaning by the doorway. “We were… I was… scared of commitment. It stopped working. We broke up.”
Sirius stares for a beat longer than appropriate; it’s the first time he’s ever heard Remus call their fight a break up. “As for the falling out… Beyond the break up, I mean… We probably would’ve figured things out again after, only… James and Lily…”
“We were only twenty-one. They were only twenty-one.”
“I am so sorry for your loss,” Creevey says sombrely. “And I’m sorry to pry, but I must ascertain that you are both capable and ready to raise a child—”
“I’m seeing a therapist,” Sirius replies firmly, “and Remus and I are together in this. Harry comes first.”
Remus nods in agreement. “Harry always comes first.”
“If I may ask, then why did it take so long for you to begin looking for Harry?”
Sirius glances at Remus in fear, but then remembers the excuse they’d given to the lawyer. “After James and Lily, we were both out of it. We—myself especially—weren’t in the right state to take care of a child. Harry’s godmother has a son of her own, Harry’s age, and at the time had been perfectly capable of taking care of Harry. We let him go, but he’d been given to Lily’s sister instead. We didn’t know for the longest time, too caught up in our grief. Alice—Harry’s godmother—is unfortunately unable to parent anymore, and it was only until we found Lily’s will recently that we were able to prove that he should never have gone to Petunia in the first place.”
“Lily and her sister are—were—estranged, with only a Christmas card sent a year, if that. It hadn’t occurred to any of us that he would be put in her care, not when Alice was there.”
“By the time we thought to look, Petunia had already given him away. Abandoned him.”
“It took you five years to remember your godson’s existence?” Creevey did not look particularly impressed; that was fair, because while they could easily falsify records to prove Sirius’ existence in the muggle world, somehow procuring documents that declared Sirius both arrested and exonerated were beyond their own capabilities, and thus they’ve been skirting around that little fact.
“I never forgot Harry; I just couldn’t see him,” Sirius corrects. “I wanted to, but… And besides, I thought he was safe and happy. Alice—Alice and Frank would have been… were… wonderful parents.”
“And after James and Lily passed, I cut all ties with those from school and moved to France,” Remus adds. “It was only in realising what had happened to Harry that Sirius and I reconnected.”
“Trust me, we hate that it’s been so long. We’re going to do whatever we can to make it up to him.”
“He won’t be the same little boy you remember, not after all these years.”
“We’re not the same uncles he knew, either.”
“And we won’t be the parents James and Lily would’ve been, no matter how hard we might try.”
“No, but I’d wager, that you will love him just as much,” Creevey assures, and her smile lifts a weight from Sirius’ shoulders.
They lead Creevey back to the sitting room and answer a few more questions. She looks skeptical when Sirius informs her of his inheritance but appears mollified by Remus explaining that he will be attending med school, whatever that is. She leaves them with a few forms to fill out and the assurance that everything has gone well, and that she will contact them when more information has been found about Harry.
“So long as these forms go through without any problems, you should be able to adopt Harry as soon as he’s found—provided he has not been adopted into a different family,” she concedes.
They thank her profusely, beaming, and she leaves with a small grin on her face.
The next few weeks pass with no news. Minerva comes over, and together with Hope and Remus, they figure out Sirius’ finances and what to write on the forms, such that Sirius proves his financial stability.
(“You could get a job, even a part-time one,” Remus suggested.
“A job? Doing what?” Sirius asked, baffled. “I thought you wanted me to become a Healer?”
“Well, yes, but while you’re applying for training and waiting on news about Harry.”
“What would I possibly get a job in?”
“There are plenty of jobs out there, Pads.”
“…Like the one that fired you last December?”
“…Never mind. Forgot you were allergic to peasant work.”)
Minerva even agrees to go to Gringotts with Sirius the week after, to help him if he gets accosted as he typically is when visiting Diagon. Along the way, they talk more about Sirius’ steps to become a healer, and Minerva’s warm approval settles something in Sirius he didn’t even know had been unsettled, as if something in him had been waiting for her to tell him it was a good idea, never mind that Remus already had.
(“I’m proud of you, Sirius,” she said as they left the bank. Then she offered to take him out to lunch.)
It’s at lunch, in a private corner of a lesser-known pub in Diagon, where Sirius makes a decision, one that he’d been thinking about ever since his phone call with the social worker and her positive visit, one that he’d talked over with Remus and been encouraged towards. One he knows Remus had already made with Hope, and knows had gone well, because honestly Hope already knew and Remus’ words had merely been a formality.
But this is a different decision, with a possibly different outcome, because Minerva might not know already and Minerva is not his mother, or his Mum. But she had said “I’m proud of you,” and taken him to the bank and is buying him lunch, and she visited him in hospital and brought him home when he was discharged and she knew, all those years ago, when not even James or Remus or Madam Pomfrey knew, that Sirius wanted—still wants—to become a healer.
So Sirius comes out to her.
(“Remus and I… we’re, partners. Romantic partners. We love each other, the way… the way a man and a woman are supposed to. Except, we’re both men. Because I… I only like men, like that. I only like Remus, really, have ever since we were young. I love him.”
“Thank you for telling me. And I assure you, this does not change a thing about how I see you. Because if you think I did not notice you staring at Mr. Lupin when you should have been paying attention in class, you are sorely mistaken. That you and Remus are lovers is perhaps the worst-kept secret you’ve ever had. In fact, I did not know it was a secret; Poppy, Pomona and I had a bet going on while you were students.”)
So, maybe Minerva knew already, and maybe she’s a little bit like a mother to him, after all.
After Minerva, Sirius and Remus have a real talk about secrets, and what secrets are well-kept and what aren’t, and what secrets probably should be well-kept and how they can ensure they stay that way. And, in a move that was probably slightly unethical and possibly illegal, Sirius gets Healer Jones to swear an Unbreakable Vow to keep silent about their therapy sessions, except with express permission.
(“Excellent, thank you for doing that. Now, some things that might make a lot more sense that I couldn’t tell you before: Remus is a werewolf—unimportant, but I’m an unregistered animagus because of that, which is important and also illegal—and Harry Potter has gone missing into the muggle foster system, and I am trying to find and gain custody of him.”
“…”
“I did say to ease him into it, Pads.”)
As the days start getting warmer, Sirius is offered an internship at St. Mungo’s, one usually given to Hogwarts seventh years, to start in the fall. The offer is contingent upon him passing an exam that the board agreed to create for him, to ensure that his memory loss—of which they are certain is negligible now—has not impacted his memory of his studies. Remus agrees to help him study, and to let him heal his wounds after the Full—but not, unfortunately, to run the Full with him.
(“But why—”
“Because I don’t want to hurt you!”
“You won’t!”
“You don’t know that! You don’t know—the—the loss I felt. That the wolf felt. I lost my family and he lost his pack and it was your fault,Pads. And until I can guarantee that he won’t try to kill you, I need you to stay away.”)
Flowers start to bloom, and still no news of Harry.
Remus moves fully into the master bedroom, hanging his clothes in the closet beside Sirius’, and the sight of their things side by side—their toothbrushes in the bathroom and books on the nightstands—makes walking past the empty second bedroom a little easier. Sirius learns how to check the answering machine, and what hours are best to call Creevey, and more about race in muggle society than he even knew existed.
(“James was Asian, South Asian. Brown skinned. Lily was white. So Harry—well, it’s hard to say what Harry might look like now, although he did always take after James.”
“Am I white?”
“No, you’re—also Asian.”
“But I’m not brown. I’m as pale as you are. Are you Asian?”
“I’m white. European. I—I’m Welsh. You’re East Asian.”
“Hang on, but I thought race was about skin color—”)
Sirius gets back into his romance books, and then decides, on a whim, to pick up an adventure novel again. It’s appealing in a way it hadn’t been before, a sort of relatability to the stories of war that are comforting instead of hurtful; it’s not an escape, but there’s something reassuring in the way the good guys always win. Remus suggests Sirius get into mystery books, then snaps at him for staying up too late to read—or worse, for accidentally spoiling the ending to him.
Sirius takes his makeshift exam, crafted for him specifically because no one else’s resume consists only of 7 NEWTS (with four Os), unfinished Auror training, and guerrilla warfare and field healing. It also has a five year gap due to wrongful imprisonment, which Sirius knows can only have happened a handful of times in the history of Azkaban. It probably helps, too, that Sirius is related to Phineas Nigellus Black, and that Sirius himself is the only Black of his generation, now that Regulus is gone and his cousins all married. But Sirius doesn’t care too much why he gets to take the exam, nor that it only takes a day to hear the results back—he passed with only a few gaps, and is extended an official contract for an internship at St. Mungo’s, to start in September, provided he spend the summer filling in those gaps.
Remus takes him out to dinner and a show in celebration, and Sirius discovers the wonders of muggle musical theatre. He proceeds to get tickets for three other shows, astonished by the sets and the lights and music, all done without magic. Remus—and, once, Hope—let him drag them to London time and time again, and for three hours Sirius escapes into stories with others in a way that almost reminds him of sitting on Remus’ bed at Hogwarts, reading books aloud. Some musicals are happy, some sad, and Sirius loves each and every one, even when they make him cry.
(“…Sirius, my dear, are you alright?”
“I’m sorry, it’s just—”
“It’s a… bittersweet ending, Ma.”
“All his friends died, and—and then—”
“Oh, Sirius, come here.”
“It was a really good show!”)
It’s the beginning of May, and they are starting to make plans for Remus’ birthday—his gifts are already bought, a few books and a fancy journal, but Sirius wants to do something for it, to celebrate since they didn’t celebrate Sirius’ own birthday—when the phone rings.
Sirius freezes mid-sentence, staring at the phone. Every time so far, Sirius has either been the one calling, or been out and unable to answer the telephone when it rang. It still doesn’t get much use; Hope sees them every few days or so, and the few times he and Remus have been away from each other long enough to necessitate long-distance communication, they’ve used the mirrors.
The phone rings a second, then third time, a shrill brrrring brrrring.Remus gently pushes Sirius away from where he’d been leaning against him, and reaches for the phone.
“Hello? Yes—well, this is Remus. What, really?” Remus sits up, free hand reaching over to grab Sirius’ arm. Sirius clings back, staring at the phone as if it would help him hear the person on the other side of it—Creevey, Sirius assumes. “That’s—That’s wonderful news!”
“Harry?” Sirius hisses. Remus ignores him, only continues talking, saying frustratingly vague—but positive—things into the phone.
“Yes, of course. We’ll go first thing in the morning—I’ll have to look up how far away it is, but—yes, yes. Would it be possible? That would be brilliant, I’m sure Sirius would be overjoyed. Yes, see you tomorrow.” Remus hangs up.
Sirius is on him in a moment, pressing him urgently against the cushions. “Did they find Harry?” He demands.
“Yes, they found Harry,” Remus confirms, beaming up at him. “They found him, and they said we can go meet him tomorrow, and Creevey says she’ll meet us there with the paperwork, and assuming everything goes well you should be able to get full custody that day, and then we can take him home.”
Sirius sits back, half in Remus’ lap still. “Harry… Tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow. Tomorrow,Pads. We’ll have Harry tomorrow.”
They make eye contact for a brief, tense moment, and then everything seems to click, and Sirius is laughing against Remus’ mouth, euphoria building and building in his chest, and oh,this is what happiness used to feel like, before the dementors, isn’t it? This,this bubble of elation, coming out in joyous laughter, pressing smiles against skin. This is a masterful prank gone well, this is Lily saying yes to James’ proposal, this is his and Remus’ first kiss at their engagement party.
This is Sirius whispering into Remus’ ear, “take me to bed,” and Remus pulling away briefly, eyebrows raised in surprise but still grinning helplessly; Sirius giggles at the expression and kisses him again.
“You sure?” Remus breathes when they part, because they’ve been together months and shared a bed, but haven’t had sex yet, because they’re taking things slow and Sirius doesn’t feel up to it as often as he used to and sometimes when things get too heated between them there’s that flash of insecurity, that thought of he only wants you for your body that Sirius knows isn’t true but causes that sad hollowness that Sirius remembers from previous shags, and then the mood is ruined for one or both of them.
“I’m sure,” Sirius says, “you always says it’s okay if we don’t, that we can take our time, but tomorrow there’ll be a sprog running around—” he pauses briefly, both of them smiling too hard at that thought to continue, “and that’s not really conducive to having… us time.” He punctuates those last words with a calculated shift of his hips, causing Remus’ breath to hitch.
“Yeah, okay, bedroom,” Remus agrees, leaning forward to kiss him again. “I love you,” he pants when he pulls away. “Merlin, I love you so much.”
“I love you too.”
When they pass by the empty second bedroom, voices full of laughter and smiles still perpetually on their faces, Sirius doesn’t feel that pang of sadness, the echoing hollowness from the lack of presence behind that closed door. He just jokes that starting tomorrow night, they’ll have to be much quieter making their way down the hallway. And oh, how his heart soars.