Morocco
The remainder of their Egypt trip goes swimmingly; they visit Suez on the fifth day, then follow along the Nile river to explore the many, many temples resting there in the desert. They make stops in the 6th, 7th and 8th days to Assiout, Louxor and Assouan before heading back on the 9th day to Cairo, not before making a stop to the Great Temple of Abou Simbel. Egypt somehow reminds Remus of Korea and Japan; everyone is polite, helpful and amazing hosts. They make multiple friends throughout their journey: Mervet the bus driver, Nesmah, a student who spent the night with them after Lily and Mary complimented her hairstyle in Louxor, and Gil, an old man who lives in a village near a temple who made them try his own recipe of Koshari. They spend one last evening in Cairo and embark at one in the morning on a plane to Marrakech.
Remus takes advantage of the flight to transfer all the pictures he took for the last five days from his SD card to his laptop and starts to edit a few of them; if they’re going to illustrate his thesis, they’re going to need to be good. Also, Remus has secretly toyed with the idea of posting more on Instagram, but he feels like it kills the mysterious image he’s been trying to build around himself. Sirius is sitting next to him, looking at the sky and land beneath them with his headphones stuck to his head. His leg is bobbing up and down following the rhythm of the song, and he’s mindlessly mouthing the lyrics, probably too lost in his thoughts to realise he’s doing it. It’s more endearing than it should be, and Remus smiles to himself as he taps twice on Sirius’ phone to see what song he’s listening to; Killer Queen by Queen.
“Are you ever going to listen to recent music?” Remus asks him, a small smile playing at his lips.
“Never.” Sirius takes off one earbud and Remus can hear just how loud the music is. “Wanna listen together?” he asks, holding his left earbud to him.
“Sure.” Remus nods and takes it, lowering the volume beforehand. Sirius scowls at him but settles closer and puts his head on top of Remus’ shoulder. After twenty minutes of Sirius staring at him and distracting him, Remus decides to discard his laptop to pay attention to him instead.
“Are you going to pay attention to me now?” he asks, apparently reading Remus’ thoughts.
“Only because you were seeking it so bad.” He rolls his eyes and takes Sirius’ hand. He doesn’t even think about it anymore; it’s become their thing. Over the last ten days – Remus thinks it’s insane it’s only been ten days; it feels like they’ve never been just friends – Sirius’ hand has found Remus’ almost on every occasion: during bus rides, under the table at restaurants, in bed at night, trying to get some sleep. Somehow, their hands just become intertwined on their own accord, or maybe because they both want to so badly that their bodies act for themselves.
Sirius just holds his hand mindlessly and sighs, “Fag for your thoughts?” he asks. It’s been a while, Remus thinks. Maybe because they’ve told each other everything. Or maybe because they’ve also withheld so much from each other. Both reasons are plausible.
“I wasn’t even daydreaming?” Remus asks, frowning.
“You were. You weren’t editing your picture anymore; just staring at it. So, fag after the flight for your thoughts.” He bargains, smiling a little. Remus shakes his head.
“Fine. I hope we can smoke in hotel rooms in Morocco though, I really got used to it in Egypt.” He thinks out loud.
“We can’t. I looked it up.” Sirius sighs. “So?”
Remus sighs and decides to tell the truth. “I was wondering if you would freak out if I held your hand in public.” He says in a small voice.
He lied often at ‘fag for your thoughts’, but he swore to himself that he would stop: if he’s going to be more than friends with Sirius, then he’s got to be honest. He owes him that much.
Sirius goes a little still for a second before sighing loudly. Remus instantly feels bad and starts wondering how he can take back what he said or somehow making it better when he hears a seatbelt unbuckle. He frowns and looks at Sirius, who rises from his seat. Panic rises over in Remus’ head and heart, and he only whispers the first things he can think of to make Sirius stay.
“Sirius…I’m sorry…” he blurts out, but inadvertently swallows his words when Sirius doesn’t leave the row of seats but settles on Remus’ lap instead. “Oh” he lets out without meaning it. Sirius puts his feet on Remus’ left thigh and his arse on his right and looks straight at his face. He hasn’t dropped his hand, and Remus instinctively wraps his other hand around Sirius’ ankle. They’re sitting so close that their foreheads are basically touching, and Remus can see so many variations of the grey in his irises.
“Moony…” he starts, pulling up his right hand on Remus’ jaw, “These insecurities I have, they’re the result of what my parents taught me.” He explains, and Remus feels that long since buried deep hatred for Walburga and Orion Black rise back in his chest, “I want to get rid of them, these insecurities, but it’s incredibly hard.” He looks down, as if to give himself the strength he needs to say whatever he’s going to say. Remus squeezes his hand, and it seems to help.
“I never told you this, but I knew you liked boys before you came out to us.” He admits, looking down again, but this time, it’s in shame, “I’d seen you cuddling with Kingsley behind the tapestry on the fifth floor. And, well to confirm my suspicions, I went through your phone.” He squeezes his eyes shut, “I saw yours and Kingsley’s thread message.”
Remus widens his eyes, and he knows, looking at Sirius, that he’s not lying. “I didn’t know that.” He whispers.
“I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t have.” Sirius apologises and continues, “It confused me a lot.” He explains in such a defeated way that makes Remus want to fight for him, “Because my parents had told me that gay people were disgusting and evil and everything that’s wrong with this world, but then I’d look at you, and I thought that you were actually everything good.”
“I was kind of homophobic at that point,” he continues, “because that’s all I’d ever known to be, but when you came out to us, you said that you were terrified you were going to lose us, and that if we weren’t supportive, you’d understand. And that made me realise that you weren’t doing anything wrong, that you just liked a guy, but most of all that you were still Moony. That all the crap my parents told me was bullshit, and that being hateful towards love was the worst thing someone could do.”
Remus brushes a stray strand of hair out of Sirius’ eyes, “You know it’s not your fault that you were prejudiced, right? It’s all your parents’ fault.”
“I know that.” Sirius says quietly, “But I’m still prejudiced. And that’s my own fault.” He shrugs in defeat and sighs, “Not towards others, but towards myself. I’m still terrified that people will make fun of me, that they’ll be just as horrible as my parents. And most of all, I hear them sometimes. I… the first time I was with a guy, I kept hearing my mother yelling absurdities about ‘benders’, ‘poofters’ and ‘twinks’, about how they were heading straight to hell and about how unnatural it was. I couldn’t even bring myself to kiss the guy.” He sighs.
“I’m so sorry Sirius.” Remus says, looking at Sirius. He looks sad, but mostly sorry and tired. He’s got that apologetic look on his face that he shouldn’t ever get. Not on this topic. “I’m not mad at you for looking at my texts. We were young, it’s okay. I understand.” He emphasises, mustering the most honest look he can get. Sirius simply smiles, and Remus understands what he means, the thankful look in his eyes and the apologetic frown.
Sirius continues, “What I mean to say with all of this, is that I’m tired of it. I’m so tired of being the mess of a person my parents made me. I just want to live my life, you know.” He says, looking into Remus’ eyes, “I just don’t know how to be okay with myself.”
Remus looks at him gently and asks softly, “Do you hear them, when we’re kissing?”
“No. Sometimes. But I can drown it out with you.” He admits.
Remus smiles and squeezes his hand, “Well… I may have a solution to your insecurities. But it’s really hard. It’s what I did to be able to go to the beach shirtless.”
“Oh yes do tell. I do want to honour whatever made you take your shirt off.” Sirius jokes, making the atmosphere a little less charged.
“I just told myself to suck it up and do it.” He shrugs, “Fake it ‘til you make it. Just jump out of your comfort zone.”
Sirius frowns, “What do you mean? There wasn’t a big breakthrough or whatever?”
Remus chuckles, “No. Well, maybe.” He adds, after reconsidering. Could his breakdown in the hotel bathroom in Brazil be called a breakthrough? “I was…sad, for some reason.” Withholding information does not equal lying. “And I decided that I wanted to be cooler. And that cool people weren’t scared shitless of getting their shirts off.” He admits entirely, but he’s not scared. It’s Sirius, his best friend before anything else. Remus knows he won’t judge.
Sirius stares at Remus with a look of awe and fondness before chuckling and kissing Remus’ temple, “Christ, you are adorable!” he says through his giggles, “Aw, Moony you’re just so fucking cute.” He hides his face in Remus’ neck, still shaking with laughter. He latches both of his arms around his back, losing his grip with Remus’ hand, and puts his legs behind Remus’ back.
“Fuck off!” Remus pushes him off, but Sirius is holding on too forcefully.
“No, I’m sorry I swear I’ll stop laughing.” He says, still chuckling.
“Will you?” Remus raises an eyebrow.
“Yes, yes, sorry.” He sighs, getting the last of his laughter out, “It was just very cute, Moony.”
Remus rolls his eyes, “Alright, go on, make fun of me. You’re not bumming me any fags for Morocco and Spain.”
“No! I’m sorry!” Sirius apologises and comes back to the main subject, “So, you want me to just jump into the lion’s den? What exactly do you want me to do?”
“I don’t want you to do anything.” Remus clarifies, “My technic that’s not cute and adorable at all and actually pretty hard,” he says pointedly, “is to just do whatever scares you. Don’t think about it and just do it.”
“Alright, first of all, you are cute, not your tactic. I mean, you’re a whole adult who’s 6ft3 and still worried about being cool. Cute.” He sentences.
“Shut up.” Remus rolls his eyes, “As if not everything you’ve ever done in your life was in the attempt of being cool.”
Sirius ignores him, “Second, that’s terrifying. Like what, we just walk out of the plane holding hands and kissing?”
Remus frowns, “No. It’s Morocco. I want you to be free of your insecurities, not go to jail.”
“Ah yeah.” Sirius acknowledges, “True dat.”
“No, no we start simple. We’ll just act however we want to around James, Peter and the girls. No hiding or whatever.” Remus suggests.
And that’s exactly how, after five more hours of plane, a weirdly timed night of sleep from 10am when they got to the hotel to 4pm, a small visit of the surroundings of the hotel and an amazing dinner made mostly of couscous, Remus is sitting in a Moroccan hotel room with all his friends and Sirius tucked onto his side, holding his hand.
It ought to be weirder than it is, is what Remus thinks. None of their friends even bat an eye, which makes him wonder just how close they used to be as friends. Sirius seems to think the same, as far as Remus can tell, because he’s leaning towards Remus ear.
“Why is no one noticing?” he asks.
“I think we’ve always been this close. They’re used to it.”
Sirius groans, “God I want to be done with it! I was ready to rip of the band aid, just to be sure that they don’t care.”
“I know.” Remus nods, “But let’s give it a couple of days.”
_____________________________
They do give it a couple of days. As usual, the first two days are spent in the biggest city, Marrakech, which Remus finds, to no one’s surprise, wonderful. They walk along the souk, where James buys more stuff than he’ll ever need and Mary gets her hair braided, they see the different palaces and the Koutoubia mosque in the middle of the city.
Once again, Remus loves the architecture and the vibe of the city; everything is so full of life, there’s people everywhere and the streets are narrow enough for this huge city to feel like a quaint village where everyone knows each other. In true tourist fashion, Remus always has his camera in hand and buys a tea set for his mum at the souk. On day two, Sirius gets henna on his hands with James and all of the girls by an henna artist named Naila, and Remus is forced by the entire group to get his hands tattooed as well. After a good ten minutes and a reassurance from Naila that it will come off in a week or so and that it’ll look great on his tanned hands, he gets some too.
That night, Remus is too fascinated by Sirius’ hennaed hands that they don’t make it out of their room to hang out with their friends and make do of this gifted time with an hour long make out session and hand jobs. They end up smoking together on the balcony in bathrobes after a second round in the shower at midnight, watching the city lights and the stars which are barely visible under the pollution.
They spend the third day in the desert near Marrakech. They get there in bus, and it’s already a miracle they made it out alive; the driver was so bad and reckless that no one made a sound all throughout the journey; Remus was too scared for his life to utter a single word. In the end, they realised it was actually the state of the roads and not entirely the drivers’ fault (even if he was, to some level, very responsible). They start the day by drinking traditional tea in a hut with a couple of women who briefly explain the history of Morocco; it’s not something they’ve had in every country, usually it’s just Moody who explains them stuff, but it’s very interesting and nice to hear it from local people. He and Lily ask a lot of questions, he gets called a nerd a thousand times but he’s happy as they walk over to the lunch room, with his notes app full on his phone.
They eat tajine, which they ate already the day before, but these ladies claim that it’s better than the one in the city. They’re right, and it gives them just the strength to mount the camels into the desert. Everyone gets in pairs, and the one criteria is that there has to be a smaller person to go on the first bump and a taller person for the second bump. Obviously, Sirius and Remus pair up, and it’s not long before they’re following Peter and Sybill into the desert on top of their camel, Millia.
“I’m scared for my life, Sirius.” Remus says shakily once Millia takes off. For some reason, he’s not as confident as he thought he’d be; he has an experience with riding, Hope has two horses at the farm and Remus grew up mounting them all the time, but camels are so different. He’s terrified.
Sirius chuckles, “We’ll be fine, Moony!” he throws his arms in the air, releasing the reins. The camel continues walking calmly, not at all phased by the lack of directions.
“Grab the reins, Pads! This is still an animal!” he hisses in Sirius’ ear. Sirius sighs and takes the reins back.
“We’ll be okay, hundreds of thousands of people rode camels before. The lady this morning said it.” Sirius shrugs, “There’s no reason our camel should be evil or something.”
“Right, and between the hundreds of thousands of people, none of them died because of them?” Remus rolls his eyes, “I’m telling you, Millia was looking at me weird earlier. She’s going to rear and knock me over. I’m going to die today.” He repeats as he looks down; 6ft3 plus the several feet high they’re up on are not helping Remus’ fear of hights.
“You’re so paranoid.” Sirius rolls his eyes and settles his back against Remus’, tugging the reins with him. “Millia is just fine-what the hell!” he screams as Millia suddenly takes off into a sprint, not slowing one bit as Remus and Sirius shout out of fear. They race their entire group out, and Remus is certain that the camel will not stop until they’re in the middle of the desert where no one will ever find them.
“Get it to stop! Get it to stop!” Remus shouts.
“I can’t! How does it stop!” Sirius yells hoarsely.
“Uh…Oh my God yes!” Remus exclaims after racking his brain for what the instructor said earlier about mounting camels. “Pull on the left rein. The left one!” he shouts.
“Okay!” Sirius shouts and tugs on the left rein. Surely enough, in under five seconds, the camel is back to walking soundly, stopping here and there to munch on cactuses.
“That was a fucking nightmare.” Sirius swears, clutching the reins so hard in his hands his knuckles are white, “I’m never mounting again.”
“That was all your fault, you know.” Remus blames, still holding onto Sirius for dear life, “If you hadn’t tugged on the reins, it wouldn’t have gone off running.”
“How was I supposed to know! They give me reins like I know how to use them!” Sirius continues, “It’s not my fault.”
Remus scowls at him, “They told us five minutes before we mounted her how to use the reins. You would know if you cared to listen once in a while.”
“What’s that supposed to mean!” Sirius asks.
“You haven’t listened to any of Moody’s explanations! Not any since the beginning of the trip!” Remus reproaches when Millia moves weirdly, making them shake, “I really hate that camel.” He adds under his breath.
“You’re just picking a fight to forget that you’re on top of a camel.” Sirius remarks.
“Yes, obviously!” Remus agrees, “Now be mad about how I just called you uncultured.”
“Alright, I will.” Sirius says, then gasps, “I’ll let you know I’m more cultured than most people in this entire desert!” he obeys.
“Yeah right, because most people in the desert are already dead.” Remus rolls his eyes, “Killed by camels, I bet.”
“And you’re the one who’s always calling me dramatic.” He rolls his eyes, when they hear a voice.
“What do we have here!” Gideon’s voice sounds in the distance, “Is that the two little girls who were screaming like crazy when their camel ran?”
“Ha-ha.” Sirius deadpans.
“We’re over here!” Remus calls, “Get us off this fucking beast.”
Gideon’s laugh fades as he gets closer to them. “You’re ridiculous”, he accuses as he dismounts his own camel and walks over to Millia. Soon enough, after a lot of Remus’ curses and Gideon’s laughter, they’re back on the ground, the warm sand finally under his shoes.
“I’m never mounting anything that isn’t a horse in my life again.” Remus swears, and is followed by Sirius and Gideon’s laughs.
The fourth and fifth days are spent in Casablanca, rhythmed between visits of museums and religious monuments, Moody’s history related explanations and incredible food banquets.
They’re given the afternoon of the fifth day free, which is greatly appreciated by everyone. Most of the group decides to go to the beach, but Remus’ friend group decides to explore the city by themselves; they realised, from that drunk night out on Kangaroo Island in Australia, that the best way to discover a country and its culture was to live within in, not simply see the main touristic attractions.
So, all ten of them amble on the streets of Casablanca while staying close to the beach, where the Hassan II Mosque is standing tall. They get ice cream, have a round of ‘guess the story’ where one of them starts to tell a story and the others have to finish it, take a few pictures and, naturally with James, Sirius, Marlene and Dorcas in their group, end up playing football in a city park with a bunch of local kids. Most look quite young, ten years old at best, but three of them look their age. As it turns out, after almost an hour of playing with the rest of the group cheering on them, the three older kids, Ryad, Alisha and Djibril who are cousins invite them over to dinner at their grandmother’s place.
After a bit of coaxing and assuring them that it’s okay (there’s ten mouths to feed after all), the cousins walk with them to a big white house; it doesn’t look very inviting from outside, but once inside, it’s very homey. Everything is white, supposedly to keep the heat off their houses, just like everywhere else in Casablanca (the whiteness is kind of in the name of the city), but it looks very lived in, like every grandmother’s place. It reminds Remus of the Potter Cottage, with all the picture frames and plants everywhere, and immediately, he feels at home.
Almost as soon as they enter, an old woman greets them, Amina, the cousins say, and apologises profusely when she sees how many they are, saying that she didn’t make enough for all of them. Apparently, the cousins always bring back people for dinner, but ten people isn’t what she’s used to. Midway through another apologetic explanation, James, ever the leader, tells her that they’re sorry for butting in, but Amina won’t hear any of it. After many polite apologies and smiles, they compromise on them making their own food; Amina won’t let them leave with empty stomachs and all of them won’t let her lose an hour in front of the stove when she looks so old she might keel over at any moment. So, that’s how they find themselves cooking chicken tajine at some strangers home in the middle of Casablanca under some lady’s supervision and three teenagers laughing stare.
“It’s really not that hard.” Alisha says with a very Arabic accent and smiles, “No, Pandora, you need a zester to zest the lemon. A knife won’t work.”
“Wait, it’s cumin or ginger?” Lily asks them.
“Ha!” Marlene chuckles, “Ginger. Ironic.”
“It’s both.” Djibril sighs, looking more bored than his cousins who are enjoying their troubles way too much.
“How do I get the skin off onions?” Sirius asks, eyeing the vegetables like they personally wronged him.
“I really can’t help?” James asks Amina, who shakes her head.
“No. The good cooks can’t help.” She shakes her head and looks at James, Remus, Mary and Sybill who are standing next to Ryad, “They have to learn.”
“But we’re all going to get poisoned.” Mary mutters, making Alisha chuckle.
“I’m telling you, that’s the zester!” Pandora exclaims, holding up an utensil that looks nothing like a zester, “I don’t know what else that could be.”
Dorcas laughs soundly, “That’s a cheese greater!”
“What’s the difference?” Pandora asks, making Amina laugh.
“Oh, you kids are too fun.” She wheezes and tells something to her granddaughter in Arabic. Alisha nods, smiles and walks over to Sirius to show him how to peel an onion.
“This is painful to watch.” Ryad tells James, who chuckles.
“I know. They’ll all die if they have to live alone.”
“Peter’s doing alright.” Sybill remarks, looking over at Peter, who is gently deposing the now spices coated chicken on a saucer. Almost on cue, a violent frying sound fills the room, along with a bunch of smoke escaping from the tin.
“Did you put any oil, Pettigrew?” Dorcas yells over the deafening frying noise.
“Yes, I did!” He yells, when Lily gasps.
“That’s not oil, you idiot, it’s vinegar!” she shouts and turns the stove off in a haste. In her motion, she knocks over the opened pepper container, which promptly falls on the ground and spills entirely.
“Oh, no.” James whispers, observing the situation from the side of the kitchen. Next to their small ‘good cooks’ group, Amina laughs while her two grandsons hide their faces in their hands in embarrassment.
“Fuck!” Peter swears and takes a paper towel to wipe the vinegar off the pan, stepping directly into the mass of pepper on the floor.
“I’m so sorry Amina!” Lily covers her mouth with her hand and looks at the old woman with despair in her eyes, “As-ee-foo” she tries to apologise in Arabic in a truly terrible attempt that has the four locals laughing.
“Don’t you worry, dear, it’s not expensive pepper, and it’s worth the laugh.” She cackles again, “Oh, you are all a funny bunch.”
“I’ll get the broom.” James sighs and walks over to the pantry, where a broom is visible from where they are.
“I’ll go help them.” Remus volunteers. Ryad, Alisha and Djibril follow him, and with them, it only takes about thirty minutes to get the tajine ready. It’s around nine when they’re done eating, and it’s a very festive meal that feels like it’s a more important occasion, not just the fourteenth of July on a normal home in Casablanca. Pandora and Dorcas apparently become best friends with Alisha, who gives them a golden bracelet each that she made herself and compliments them on the henna they got a few days before, James and Sirius keep talking about Euphemia Potter’s Indian recipes to Amina who demands they give them to her, Marlene talks football with Ryad, Peter and Sybill are sitting together out on the patio and Remus is sitting on the sofa with Lily, who is watching Mary flirt with Djibril. On the background, the final of the Euro 2024 is playing on the TV, which has James, Sirius, Marlene and Dorcas steal glances more often than not.
“That’s funny.” She smiles, “She had a crush on Aladdin for most of our childhood.”
Remus chuckles, “He’d be an amazing cast for a film.” He says, nodding towards Djibril.
“Talking about Princes Charming,” Lily starts, turning to look at Remus, a smirk in her face, “Anything you wanna share with the class?”
Remus feigns confusion, “Prince Charming? What are you talking about, exactly?”
“C’mon.” Lily rolls her eyes and smiles, “James is stupid enough to think Sirius is just being extra friendly, but I’m not. You don’t look sexually frustrated anymore.”
“Christ, Lily.” Remus frowns at her, “You’re getting cruder by the minute.”
“Mary’s influence. Point is, you didn’t deny it, so it means you and Black are totally doing it!” she whispers smugly.
“Hey, I thought you knew how to be lowkey.” He reprimands, “And no, we’re not doing it.” He rolls his eyes, “We’re…not exactly just friends anymore. But we’re taking it slow.” He explains.
Lily gasps, “I knew it!” she exclaims, then seems to catch the end of his sentence, “You’re taking it slow? With Sirius Black?” she raises an eyebrow in disbelief and yes, Remus can see how that’s fair.
“I know, but it’s a bit new for him. I don’t want to spook him.” He shrugs, “Also, it’s been like two weeks, so it’s not excruciatingly slow either.”
“Two weeks!?” Lily whispers-shouts and widens her eyes, “And he’s been able to keep it a secret?”
“And you’re shocked why?” Remus frowns, “He’s capable of keeping things to himself.”
Lily raises her eyebrows and looks at Remus like he’s stupid. “I once saw a text on James’ phone from Sirius describing the colour, shape of his crap and noting it out of ten.” She deadpans, making Remus snort.
“Yeah, it’s a thing they do.” He admits, defeated, “But I know he hasn’t said anything to James. He’s kind of scared.” He explains, making Lily tilt her head.
“Why did you tell me if he’s scared? I know you can be a much better liar.” she asks him.
He shrugs, “I trust you. And we’ve agreed that we won’t hide. He doesn’t want to do a big announcement, but we’re not hiding.”
Lily nods, “Do you want me to tell James? So that you and Black don’t have to?”
“No, thanks.” Remus cringes a bit, “I’m terrified of his reaction.” He admits, and rectifies himself when Lily’s eyes go round, “No, not like that. He’s not going to like that we didn’t tell him but let him figure it out instead.”
“True. But he’ll understand.” Lily says and settles further into the camera, “Five pounds Mary’s leaving with his number.” She changes the subject to Remus delight. He chuckles.
“Bet.”
__________
The rest of their trip to Morocco is, once again, filled with laughter and many camera clicks, whether it be in front of the Hassan Tower in Rabat, inside of a white and golden hotel room with four bottles of Mahia and a playlist, or next to a huge fountain in Fez. During the four remaining days, in Rabat and Fez, the group is falling into a new dynamic: Lily and James and Peter and Sybill, the only two heterosexual couples, stand at the front and back of their group, shielding them, with Marlene and Dorcas, Sirius and Remus and Mary and Pandora in the middle. Obviously, because they’re not idiots, they don’t hold hands, stand reasonably apart and listen to Pandora and Mary rant about their respective men (yes, Mary did leave Casablanca with Djibril’s phone number).
As far as Remus knows, no one except Lily has figured it out about him and Sirius yet, which is mildly concerning considering how close they’ve been over the last few weeks. He shares this thought with Sirius as they enter their hotel room in Tanger on the last night in Morocco.
“That’s a bit unsettling, yeah.” Sirius chuckles as he throws himself on the bed, “I mean, I knew we were a bit more cuddly than usual friends. But to that extent?”
Remus smiles, “I don’t think usual friends sit on each other’s laps. You used to do that all the time.”
“As if you don’t love it.” Sirius rolls his eyes, smirking. Remus smiles too and joins Sirius on the bed, who sits up immediately to crawl on Remus’ lap, likely to prove a point. Or to find a distraction. He puts his knees on either sides of Remus’ hips and sits down, looking at Remus, who plays along. “See, you fucking crave it.”
“I don’t think you used to sit like this.” Remus remarks, a bit hoarsely as Sirius rolls his hips over Remus, “You weren’t exactly that naughty.”
Sirius smirks again, “You were dreaming about it.” He comments and kisses Remus full on the lips. Remus’ hands sneak over to Sirius’ waist, holding him in place over his lap, where he is still rolling his hips, while Sirius’ hands find their way into the tangle of Remus’ curls, just holding on, not tugging. They make out hungrily like that for a while, something they haven’t had the opportunity to do properly for ages, since they’ve been occupied with their friends for most nights, until Sirius pushes Remus back on the bed. Remus pulls him along, and ends up on his back with Sirius hoovering over him on the bed, pinning him in place. It’s not something he’s used to; usually, he’s the one topping Sirius, and being under him makes Remus’ breath catch more often than not. Not long after, Sirius is kissing is jaw, earlobe and neck, making his way excruciatingly slowly down to Remus’ pants, where he takes his sweet time teasing and frustrating Remus before finally taking him in his mouth.
Once he’s done, Remus returns the favour, and around ten pm, they’re cuddling, half naked on the bed in a post-orgasm haze, talking about the next bout of their trip.
“I really want to try actual Sangria. Like, the original one.” Sirius nods to himself as he plays with Remus’ fingers, staring at the celling. It’s Remus’ favourite kind of night.
He chuckles, “I bet it’s overrated. You’ll develop a new love for another variant of vodka though, I can feel it.”
“In France, yes. My favourite alcohols in the world are French.” Sirius smiles to himself.
“Ah yes, sorry Monsieur le Français. » he says in a terrible French accent, making Sirius giggle. “I bet you only love some crazy expensive wine from Bordeaux.”
Sirius laughs again, “Absolutely not! My favourite alcohol is called Ricard. It’s an old man’s drink, but it’s wonderful, honestly.” He explains.
“What is an old man’s drink?” Remus asks, carding his hand that isn’t in Sirius’ through his long black hair.
“Something Lyall would drink.” Sirius smiles to himself, and Remus laughs.
“Alright I get it.” He chuckles and remembers something he heard earlier, “James said that Moody said we’d go to Portugal. Do you think that’s true?” he asks.
“Oh, yeah I was with him when he told us.” Sirius nods, “But it’s during the ten days in Spain. We’ll just go to Lisbon and Porto, he said.”
“That’s great, my mum’s always talking about this Portuguese sheep cheese she wants to try. I could get some back for her.” He says, making Sirius smile fondly.
“I mostly heard about this Portuguese alcohol that I really want to try.” Sirius retorts, “God, I forgot the name already.” He rolls his eyes.
“You think it’ll be better than Arak?” Remus asks cockily.
“Maybe, Mary was really talking it up.” Sirius says absently, “Fuck, I have to look up the name, I won’t be able to sleep.” He moves out of his spot next to Remus to fish his phone out of his trousers that are discarded on the floor. He unlocks his phone and freezes on the spot, his eyes strained on the screen. He doesn’t move for a few seconds, so Remus calls his name a few times without getting a reaction. He tries again.
“Sirius, what’s going on?” He asks, sits up to kneel behind Sirius and takes a look at the screen. He lets out a big sigh when he sees Regulus’ name on Sirius’ notification centre.
One (1) missed call from Reggie.
He knew this was coming, somehow. He felt it in his bones. It’s the 19th of July, Regulus’ seventeenth birthday. He knew Regulus would answer to the birthday text Sirius sends him every year without ever getting a response, despite not having talked since Sirius ran away. He just didn’t know Regulus would call Sirius. That was not in the cards.
“Oh, Sirius…” Remus starts and puts a hand on his shoulder. He looks at Sirius’ face: he’s ghostly white, not an ounce of proof of what they were up to a few minutes ago, no recollection of the warm, cozy atmosphere that was in the room before. Everything feels cold, and Sirius looks like he’s been slapped five times by Dwayne Johnson then met a literal ghost. Remus notices that his hand is shaking, so he lowers Sirius’ arms onto his thighs and puts his hand on Sirius’ thigh to get his legs to stop shaking. “Pads…” he prompts him again without getting a response. He has a flashback of himself, and of his own panic attacks, and takes both of Sirius’ hands, “Can you say something? You’re scaring me.” He says in a quiet voice.
“Reg called.” He says in a hoarse voice, as if he hadn’t talked in years.
“Can you breathe correctly?” Remus asks, just to make sure. Sirius nods, looks back at his phone and something snaps in him. He grabs his phone frantically and calls Regulus again. He waits for twenty seconds, through all the beeps, with his legs shaking incessantly. When it goes to voicemail, he hangs up and swears under his breath.
“Fuck.” He stands up and tries again, pacing around the room. He tries ten times, and on the last one, he doesn’t hang up when it goes to voicemail.
“Reggie, please call me back, I’m sorry I didn’t answer I was busy, I didn’t hear it ring, I’m so sorry. Please call me back, let me know you’re okay. Please. Please, Reg.” he lingers for a moment, as if to say something else, but hangs up instead. He walks over to Remus’ side of the bed and grabs his phone, and calls Regulus with Remus’ phone. It goes to voicemail again, three times, and when Sirius seems to understand that Regulus won’t answer, he shouts loudly, “FUCK!” and throws Remus’ phone on the bed.
He puts his hands in his hair, pulling and tugging as he paces around the room. Remus stays silent, not knowing exactly how to help him. Usually, his way is to offer a fag and listen, but he’s never been around him during this sort of panic. James is way better suited for this.
Right, James! “Do you want me to get James?” he asks, and Sirius shakes his head a few times.
“I’m a bad brother, Remus.” He says shakily as he paces around the room, “He called, and I wasn’t there. I left him alone! Again! Fuck he must hate me.” He cries out, still pacing. He plunges his hands in his hair again, pulling it back so harshly Remus wonders how he’s not pulling it off. He grabs his jeans from the floor and shrugs them on, along with his shirt.
“You’re not a bad brother.” Remus stands in front of him and tries to get his hands. It’s a struggle, but after a moment, he catches a hold of them, “Your phone was in silent. Remember? You put it in silent when we were in that museum earlier.” He reminds Sirius, “It’s not your fault, Sirius.”
“It’s my fault.” He says, completely dismissing what Remus said, “Fuck, what if he’s in danger? Remus, what if he’s dead!?” he shouts, pulling his hands from Remus’ and pacing again, “They almost killed me that night, Remus. They could’ve done the same to him.” He shouts.
Of course, Remus remembers that night in December, just before Christmas. He remembers, on the 23rd, being at the Potter Cottage with James and Peter, playing chess with Monty when they got a phone call from Sirius. He’d turned sixteen two months earlier, and his parents were trying to get him enrolled in some weird cult by force. Litteral force. He remembers Effie yelling at them that Sirius had just called and that he was out in a street in London, completely lost after he ran from home with nothing but his phone. He remembers finding a beaten-up Sirius on a bench near Lambeth, with matted hair as if pulled and bruises all over his body, blood on his clothes and tears falling profusely from his eyes. He remembers Sirius repeating over and over the same phrase, ‘he stayed’, and realising that he wasn’t crying for himself but for his little brother who was left to live alone in this house of nightmares. He remembers sleeping in a same bed with James and Sirius that night, holding him as he kept shivering and crying for his brother who stayed.
“They won’t kill him, Sirius.” Remus tells him sternly, “They need an heir. Regulus is okay. It’s his birthday, maybe he grew up and realised that you weren’t the bad guy. Stop driving yourself crazy because it won’t change anything.” he says and realises too quickly that it wasn’t the right thing to say.
“What the fuck do you know!?” he yells, his stare turning murderous, “He could be fucking dead for all I know and it’s my fucking fault! All because I left him alone in that fucking house.” He cries, defeated, and paces for a second, “I need some bloody fresh air.” He declares and walks out of the room, pushing Remus’ shoulder as he goes and slamming the door behind him.
Remus stares at the closed door for five seconds, trying to realise what just happened, until his brain catches up with him. He runs out of the room, stumbling down the stairs, until he realises that they’re on the fifth floor and that by the time he’ll get downstairs, Sirius will probably be somewhere in Algeria. He runs out of the stairwell on the fourth floor and takes the lift to be met by an empty hotel lobby. He stumbles outside of the hotel; Sirius did say he was getting some fresh air and finds absolutely no one outside. He looks out on the street, on the sidewalk on the other side of the road, calls out Sirius’ name a few times to no avail. As he walks around the hotel, he passes two strangers and asks them if they’ve seen a dark haired guy run around here, but they shake their heads, muttering ‘No English’ and not helping Remus in the slightest. After ten minutes of looking everywhere he can, he walks back up to his room, feeling on the brink of a nervous meltdown and more anxious than he’s even been before. He finds his and Sirius’ phone discarded on the bed and swears loudly. Here goes his plan to track Sirius’ localisation. He paces for a second and walks over to room 504, where Lily and James are.
He knocks twice, and a pyjama-clad Lily opens the door, “What’s going on?” he frowns upon seeing Remus’ face. He must look deranged, he thinks.
“It’s Sirius.” He rasps, looking frantically at Lily, “He just ran out of the hotel. I can’t find him, Lily!” he shouts and grips her arms. She holds him as James appears behind her.
“What happened?” James asks, frowning. Remus enters their room and looks around like a madman, as if he’d find Sirius here, “Remus?” James prompts when he doesn’t answer.
“Why did he leave?” Lily walks over to Remus and looks at him with concern.
“Regulus. He-He called Sirius. B-but we were busy and,” he stutters and tightens his fists so harshly his knuckles whiten and his nails dig in his palms. “He didn’t answer. And when he saw…” he trails off, seeing the mad look in Sirius’ eyes again, the fear and despair.
“Oh fuck.” James swears, “He left?”
Remus nods shakily, “He called back a thousand times, had a fucking meltdown and left saying he needed fresh air.” He explains, “I took, like, five seconds to follow him, but he’d already disappeared.”
“You looked outside?” Lily asks, and Remus nods again.
“He must’ve taken a cab.” James answers for him. “We need to find him. He can’t be alone in a foreign city with no phone.”
“I’ll get the others.” Lily says and leaves immediately, still in her cookie pyjamas. James walks over to Remus and grips his shoulders.
“We’re going to find him. It’s not your fault that he left, he would have gone whether you found him or not.” He explains, and Remus distantly recognizes his football captain voice. “But you need to focus. We have to find him.”
Remus nods again and exists the room without another word. He goes to his room, gets both his and Sirius’ phone and takes the lift back to the hotel lobby. Mary and Pandora are already there, looking extremely worried, but don’t try to talk to Remus. He’s thankful, because he doesn’t know how he could talk about it again without having an anxiety attack. He takes five deep breaths and looks over to them.
“I’m going for the port. Most direction signs point to there, there’s a good chance he just followed them.” He says lowly and leaves, following the signs that lead to the port. He’s walking as fast as he can, but not running because he knows his heart won’t permit it. It takes him twenty minutes at this speed, and five more minutes to actually get inside the port. The panic doesn’t subside at all, but actually seems to come in waves again and again, to the point where he has to lean against a street light and breathe deeply. He takes out his phone and sees that James is calling him.
“Where are you?” James asks, “It’s been thirty minutes.”
“Port. There’s a lot of people, I don’t know how to find him.” He explains anxiously.
“Okay, let me know. I’m with Lily, we’re heading to the town centre. We think he might have gone to get drunk.”
Remus nods, then remembers James can’t see him, “Call me as soon as you find him.” He demands and hangs up. He decides to asks some people; two women waiting in line for a ticket who say they didn’t see anyone, a man dressed smartly answering in Arabic what Remus can only guess means ‘no English’, a mother with her child who shakes her head at him and says ‘no money’, which would make him wonder exactly how scruffy he looks if he wasn’t so distressed, but finally, he gets a bout of hope as he finds a man, sitting on a bench, eating a sandwich. If he’s eating, he’s probably paying attention to his surroundings, Remus thinks.
He walks over to him, “Excuse me, sir, did you happen to see this man?” he asks, holding up a picture of Sirius from the day on his phone, wearing the exact same clothing than he’d be wearing now.
The man frowns and looks more closely at the phone. He stands up and puts the side of his hand over Remus’ chest, “This size?” he asks, and Remus feels a tiny bit hopeful.
“Yes! Yes, this size! Did you see him?” he asks again, looking intensely at the man.
He frowns, “I don’t know. He was running, I am not sure.” He says with a thick accent, “But I think so. Went to the beach.” He points to the beach next to the port.
Remus yells a thanks behind his shoulder and takes off in a run towards the beach the man pointed at. He doesn’t even think of calling James, doesn’t think of anything but getting Sirius. He’s wheezing and sweating when he gets there, and it’s only then that he realises that he never put his jeans back on. He’s wearing a shirt and long, thin pyjama shorts that could very well be mistaken for underwear. He doesn’t care one bit as he looks around for a dark-haired boy and feels some dread crawl back up his throat when he doesn’t see him, but then, the moment he opens his mouth to yell Sirius’ name, he sees a dark figure sitting on the beach. There’s no mistaking him; like birds of a feather, Remus would recognise Sirius anywhere. Just from the haughty way he holds himself, or the mess of his dark hair that he’d find in a hundred.
Remus runs to him, shouting his name, and Sirius’ head snaps towards him in surprise. He gapes at him for a while, and when Remus finally is within earshot, he hears Sirius’ feeble voice.
“Remus.” He rasps, not standing up from the sand but simply looking up at Remus with a look Remus can’t read. Remus is angry, incredibly angry at Sirius for leaving, now that he knows that he’s alive and hasn’t been killed by some gang or something, but when he sees the salty imprint of tears on his cheeks and the red lining in his eyes, the anger dissipates. Instead, the love and care for him takes over, and Remus kneels on the sand to hold him. Sirius goes willingly and sobs quietly in Remus’ neck, his shoulders shaking and his muffled sniffles filling the air around them. After a moment, Remus remembers something and takes his phone out of his pocket.
“I have to tell the others you’re alright.” He whispers and texts James, letting him know everything is okay. He doesn’t wait for an answer and puts his phone back in his pocket.
“I’m sorry.” Sirius mumbles, then leans back from Remus’ shoulder, clears his throat and repeats himself more clearly, “I’m sorry Moony. I shouldn’t have run off.”
He looks ashamed and sad, and it pains at Remus’ heart. “I understand why you ran. But please, Sirius, never, ever do that again. Please.” He begs.
“I’m sorry.” He repeats, searching Remus’ face, “I promise, I won’t run off again. I’m so sorry.”
Remus looks at him more closely, and wipes the tears off his face, “Why did you come here?” he whispers.
Sirius looks at him, oh, so beautiful, with the moon and starlight reflecting on his face, lightning a glint in his eyes, “I wanted to see the stars. The beach’s the only place without all the pollution.” He mutters, “The Leo constellation is starting to be visible.” He explains, and Remus understands.
“You wanted to see him.” He brushes Sirius’ hair away from his face, and Sirius takes his hand. He lies down on the sand, and Remus follows.
“He wouldn’t have called me unless he needed it. He’s too petty to just call me out of the blue, I know he had a reason. And I wasn’t there to help him.” He explains in a small voice, his eyes strained on one star in the sky, Regulus.
“Even if you answered, you’re in Morocco, Pads. There’s not much you could’ve done anyway.” Remus tries, “And it’s not your job to help him. You managed to escape on your own, he’ll manage too. He’s smart, you and I know that.”
“It is my job.” Sirius retorts, “I spent sixteen years of my life getting beaten up to protect him. And I hate that I’m failing to do it now.”
Remus squeezes his hand, “You’re not failing. You missed one phone call, and then called him on two different phones a thousand times and left like five voice messages. You sent him a happy birthday text this morning when he hasn’t sent you one in three years. You’re not failing. You’re still the best brother I know.”
Sirius, at last, looks back from Regulus’ star to look at Remus with eyes full of tears. “Thank you.” He whispers and doesn’t say anything for a long while, simply looking at the star and crying silently. Remus doesn’t disturb him, and an hour and a half later, when Sirius says that he’s ready to leave, Remus simply wraps his arm around him and walks back to the hotel in silence, still coming down from the many emotions they both felt tonight.