(The Anatomy of an) Accidental Necromancy

Chapter summary: He could strangle Sirius to death later. Priorities and all that rot. 

“I’m more than thinking about you

I’m living about you

my love, my happiness. 

My sunshine, my tremor of joy, 

had you been here with me

I would have been completely happy.

I love you.

I can hear your little toothy sigh. 

And the rustle of your lashes against my cheek. 

Kisses, my love, deep ones, 

to the point of fainting,

I love you,

I move carefully so as not to break you,

as you ring out inside me – so crystal-like, so entrancingly.”

Letters to Véra, 1924.

***

Security was lacking at Godric Hollows. People seemingly did not care as much about safety as before the fall of the Death Eaters and their master. It was odd thinking about it. Not months ago, any wizarding dwelling worth anything would be armed to the teeth with caterwauling charms and the likes of intruder charms at least. It was almost disappointing how soon they were all lulled by the period of peace. 

No wonder Voldermort had managed to play them all like a flute. 

Remus had spent the rest of the winter and all of the spring travelling across the continent, searching for the knowledge to raise the dead. All the while hating himself for pursuing the idea. It was difficult, but nothing his single-mindedness could not accomplish once he decided to do it. Besides, the task on hand would allow him to solicitously ignore the dire truth in his situation. He needed to fix this. It was his fault as much as Sirius’. 

He allowed this to happen. 

At the end of his journey, when he had paid for his mistake with blood and unmentionable currency of pain behind the counters of halfway houses and the non-existent sub reality of witches' den, Remus returned to the ground zero of his heartbreak, Godric's Hollow. He had put off the return as long as possible, but it was inevitable. There was a time crunch on his part; of the months he spent on his research would be useless. 

Still, Remus took his time, never for a second skating over safety precautions and protocols he insisted he must follow. Instead, he wore the grief and suspicion around him like a shroud, separating him from the rest of the world who was so adamant to bring him to his knees.

Finally, one blistering cold December night, exactly a year after that last night he spent in his flat moping around for betrayals and the dead, Remus Lupin appeared behind the rows of shops in the village with a soft pop. He landed in a thick layer of snow behind Church Lane. He’d visited James in the summer often enough to know that the St Jerome's Church was just up the road, about five minutes walk away. Not far from the graveyard. Where all the Peverells and the Potters were buried. 

Well, not for long.  

Remus took his stock. When he finally decided that it was safe, he walked to the cemetery, his heart fluttering in his ribcage so loud that he was afraid he might have woken up the ghosts before he had even crossed the kissing gate. 

As he walked, he wondered about all the celebrations he had missed - Christmas, the birthdays, and little Harry’s moments. Thanks to when they all believed in him being the spy. He was grateful that it was so dark, and nobody was around to see him wiping off the tears that had rolled down his cheek. For all the preparation he did, he never did once consider the emotional toll it would take on him just to take the ten-minutes walk from his apparition point to the graveyard. 

His feet carried him weakly, and as his hands brushed against the cold iron of the kissing gate, he had managed to calm himself down enough to remember why he was there. He was a soldier, for Merlin’s sake. This was his sin to atone. It wouldn’t do for him to just give up before he even tries. 

From then on, his mind went on autopilot, and his body went through the motions of the ritual that he had practised so much that he could do it with both his hands tied up behind his back and blindfolded.  

However, just as Remus finished setting up the last few ingredients - black bread, lynx gut left marinating in the ashes of phoenix, and vines forcibly taken from dead druids - and he was about to begin the recitation of infernal invocation, the sound of a branch snapping into two made him freeze. 

Remus’ head snapped up, eyes sharp and alert. His body thrummed with adrenalin. Then, in a flash of movement, he was in his battle stance and holding his wand out instead, pointing it in the direction of the intruder. 

From the depth of the graveyard, a grim raised. Remus watched as the Grim transformed into his lover, walking closer and closer to Remus, James, and Lily’s grave. Remus kept his eyes on him and watched as the swirl of mists parted to make way for the prince of darkness. 

Remus kept his wand pointed at Sirius’ heart the whole time. Bluebell flame on the other. He refused to be afraid. 

“You’ve been busy,” Sirius said in lieu of greetings and exchanging pleasantries once he was close enough. Too close, in fact. Close enough that he could see Sirius’ chest falling and rising calmly. Close enough that the tip of Remus’ wand was pressing against it. Remus could smell him, his usual scent of bergamot with a tinge of roses. It was as if instead of being on the run like the wanted fugitive he was, he had been staying at luxurious inns, stretching his legs and tanning his pretty brown skin. 

Of course, as opposed to looking worried, which would be other people’s normal reaction to having wands pointed at them by a scorned lover, Sirius was grinning madly. He never did change, did he? He was still acting like nothing on the earth could get to him.

Somehow, Remus did not find it in him to feel afraid anymore.  

“Give me one good reason to not fucking murder you right now,” Remus said calmly, steeling himself for a fight.

Maybe this was what everything he had laboured for months was for. Perhaps this was the way the journey was meant to end. That it all led down to this road. Retribution for his penance. For being so fucking stupid. A chance to repay the crime he had aided with blood. He was not surprised to find himself meaning every word he had said just then. 

“Moony …I know that there’s nothing that I could say to make you believe me, but I didn’t do it. I didn’t kill them.” Sirius said in reply. He almost sounded like he was pleading, but that couldn’t fucking be it. In a heartbeat, his stance changed, that is, if he ever had one. In any case, Remus never wanted to go down that road again and believe the cold-hearted bastard. Cross that, the insane, cold-hearted bastard. 

“Yeah? I’ll tell you what to say. It was a mistake to let me live.” Remus said. 

‘And that you’ve never loved me. That you’ve just been fucking around all this while. There. You might as well just have murdered me too instead of wasting your breath saying all of that,’  

His heart wanted to scream. But he would never say it out loud. Remus would never admit that Sirius might as well have killed him too on that night. 

“It was Peter,” Sirius said, almost desperately. Almost tripping over his words in a rush to make Remus believe in yet another lie. His grey eyes looked dark, pleading. Remus wondered why he had never seen them in this light.

“Peter died, Sirius. You killed him.”

“No. He was the secret keeper. I thought that it was a brilliant ruse. We thought it was. Nobody would’ve suspected.”

“Why the fuck would I believe any shite that comes out of your mouth right now?”

“I made Prongs do it, and Lily said if anything happened to them, at least they know that Harry would be in the hands of someone they trust. I didn’t know that I might as well have handed them to Voldermort, Moons. But it was not for the reason you might think. I was selfish, I know, but I can’t … I don’t think I can just leave you if anything were to happen to me.” 

‘You might as well empty chambers of silver bullets into my chest or tell me you have never loved me. Either way, a much easier way to kill me too,’ Remus thought, because he had always been one melancholic, poetic little fucker. 

But instead, he found himself saying, to the audience, of the death and decay in the Gordric’s Hollow graveyard, in a voice no louder than a wisp of wind. 

“No, fuck you, Sirius. I can take care of myself.” 

“Right. Running around with werewolves, living in burrows for that crockpot old fool or wherever the fuck you go instead of our home. You want to call that a living? See, this is what I wish people would see when they said you’re the most sensible of all of us and made you a prefect.”

At that, Remus couldn’t help but to crack a small sardonic smile. Our home, he thought. That was a nice touch. Oh, and that mention of him being a prefect to lure him in with the nostalgia of it all. Fuck, Sirius was born to do this, to spindle foolish werewolves into thinking that they’d ever be worthy of being one of them. That he’d somehow deserve love. Fuck this bastard. Truly and honestly.

Remus was done talking. He pointed his wand at Sirius’ throat. He stepped closer. He had bedded a serial killer, who had in part obtained the status of a mass murderer in a matter of days, all before he was 21. He had ran with werewolves, including the one who had turned him into a colossus of children’s nightmare and, in due process, shred his dignity with every snarl and whip. 

He was not afraid. Remus Lupin was not a fucking coward. He was not his father. 

“Make a move, you fucking bastard,” he heard himself growl. 

All the while baring his teeth at Sirius. He didn’t know if actual fangs and sharp canines were growing full in his mouth right then or if that was just some phantomy he developed or a side effect he got from running around on nothing but Z drugs induced sleep every couple of days. He tried to shake his head clear and took a deep breath that he heard could calm you down or some shite. 

But that was a mistake. All that he could smell was the entropy of heartbreaks and unrequited love that refuses to budge despite being solely unwanted past its time (it was a graveyard, after all) that tinged green on the edges with what he thought of family and that sharp tang of sweat, blood, and musk of a lover. Remus did not want to look at him. It was indecent the way he stood here, daringly, presenting lies as truth in front of the court of the fallen. 

As if pain was his redeeming quality, and the evil glint in his heart was what separated him from the banality of others. God forbid if the bastard was ever associated with kindness.

It was as if he could sense that Remus was lost in the roundabout way his mind worked, and Sirius made another bold step forward. ‘Indecent,’ Remus thought again.

“Come on, Moon. For Harry, yeah?” Sirius said with a smile dancing on his lips. 

‘Uncouth,’ Remus thought this time. ‘Pride and joy of the Blacks, their indecent, uncouth heir.’ 

“You know, there is this saying an old man from Borneo told me once. ‘Being made into candy,’” Remus said instead of spitting out insults. 

“Yeah? What’s that?”

“It’s olden-day speak of how someone is perceived as something sweet for others' selfish gain only until the sweetness runs out, or whatever it is, is accomplished. Then, they’ll be carded aside like day-old rubbish.”

“That’s what you really think of me, huh? No need to make up some poor old bastard from Borneo to puppet your thoughts, Moony. Don’t be a fucking coward .”

He just knew which button to push to make Remus unravel, did he? Suppose that was what he had been doing all along. All these years when he was declaring undying love and making sweet, decadent love to Remus. Studying him like he was some sort of manual to humanity that he had to tear down to its fundamentals. Memorising all parts of him down to the moles on the side of his face. 

As if all the words he had ever said had been some sort of academic research for a Dark Wizards-101 class that he needed to pass. 

A case study, if you will. 

Remus let his eyes wander and considered his options. The dark landscape seemed to offer him a way out, but would he make it out was the big question. This was not the Sirius that he knew. 

Also, now that Sirius knew the questionable nature of his visit to Lily and James’ graves, he doubted that Sirius would ever let it go. Even if he managed to apparate somewhere, where would he go? He was not flushed with the options of safe houses. He was a werewolf, for Gordric’s sake. 

It would be lucky if he had a meal every two days. Of course, who was to say that Sirius would not grab onto him for side along apparition? That bastard’s reflex was definitely unprecedented when he was the Gryffindor team beater. Not to mention, he was one of the best duellers in the Order despite just graduating from Hogwarts.

Remus thought of his mother, Hope, and how in a moment of weakness, he and Sirius had spent their sixth year’s summer there at the cottage. It was an attempt on that bastard’s part to atone for his sin (read: using Remus to do his dirty work to murder someone and nearly gotten Remus sent to Azkaban for life). His mum would be watching them working in the garden with a big wide grin on her face from the kitchen window, making a lamb cawl for dinner. His favourite. 

“What was that like?” Sirius had asked him, “Having a mum that knows your favourite dish and cooks them for you?”

“Loved, I suppose.” He had said back then. 

But now that he had lived through unprecedented horrors and unmitigated disasters, he realised that it was more than that. It was having a fixed point in your life, permanent knowledge of always having somewhere to go home to.  

A precedent, if you will. Something that filled the hollows of your heart and would moor you to humanity. A compact of kindness, tolerance, sympathy, or whatever it was that stopped you from turning to the dark side and from your heart from turning as black as the speck of ashes that floated away from your best friend’s burned down cottage. 

Remus was fucked. 

“Alright, do your worst, Black.” Remus finally said, relented. He was never going to make it out of this war alive. Might as well try his best to bring down the Black heir with him. Never mind the fact that he was sick to the grey of his bones at the thought of having to play house with someone he thought was his everything. 

In the dark, Sirius’ molars glinted against the flickering light of Remus’ bluebell flame as he grinned his wildly beautiful Sirius Black smile that used to make his knees buckle. Damn him. Sirius extended his left arm towards him, and Remus fought the urge to push back his sleeve to check for a Dark Mark tattoo. Instead, he held onto Sirius tightly, as he had done so thousands of times before to apparate. 

With a soft sound barely louder than a bubble popping, two pawns of the opposing side of the war disappeared together into the darkness of the cold winter night. 

***

They reappeared in the middle of the street of Private Drive. Remus blinked his eyes a couple of times to adjust to the sudden onset of yellow lights. Once his vision returned, he growled. He knew where he was. He knew exactly what the fuck was going on. He turned to look at Sirius, who had the indecency to look pleased with the fact that he was right.

Remus considered his option. He imagined throwing a punch and feeling Sirius’ cheekbone split into two under his knuckles. God, the sheer thought of it was enough to light up his dead eyes.

'This was your fault; this was your doing,’ he wanted to scream at Sirius. Remus wanted to argue with him, screaming his lungs out and throwing insults that were thinly disguised as knives. But, instead, he wanted to strangle the most wanted criminal of all of Great Britain in the middle of the fucking road, right there and then, and he’d happily go to Azkaban for it. 

Instead, the sensible part of his brain supplied warily, ‘this is fucking great.’   

Sirius must've understood the commotion that was going through Remus’ entire being because his face dropped. Truly, he couldn’t keep blaming inbreeding on everything, right? He must’ve had to develop some fucking common sense at some point, right? Jesus fuck. Sirius couldn’t even pretend to grasp the concept of extending an olive branch. He was genuinely fucking clueless at common decency that used to be some sort of endearing with his charms. But that was back then when they were at Hogwarts. When they were children. 

Now, it felt like Sirius had dipped the olive branch in poison and gasoline first, set the bloody thing on fire, and then he threw a brick the size of a large cauldron through Remus’ living room window to toss the fucking thing in. In what universe would be letting Remus know that their best friend’s son was currently suffering at the hands of the worst human beings alive (as far as Remus was concerned. Oh, yes, he had met them. Lily’s and James' wedding. Once was more than fucking enough.) Was it an extended olive branch? Sirius had finally and truly gone fucking mental. 

Remus thought about the fact that they were never great together. Sirius was mercurial, and Remus hid his emotions as well as he hid the monster that came crawling out of his skin every full moon. They were not how Sirius and James were - severely, chronically codependent in every aspect of their lives that Remus had never stopped wondering if Sirius truly loved him or the contrived idea of Remus that lived in Sirius’ head? 

Remus had spent years watching how James anticipated Sirius’ thoughts and needs with terrifying accuracy. James somehow always knew what Sirius was thinking, even before he had said it. Hell, he even knew that Sirius had fallen for Remus almost a whole year before either Sirius or Remus did. So James would know what to bring up from the hall to coax Sirius into eating something if he was in one of his episodes, which was a prophecy-level seer knowledge considering Sirius and his volatile mood changes.

Remus always had to think, had to walk around fucking eggshells around Sirius to make sure that he was never saying the wrong thing, never choosing or doing what could accidentally set Sirius off. James, on the other hand, was cruising along. Barely even breaking a sweat, somehow just knowing what needed to be said or done to avoid Sirius-level disaster from occurring. It was uncanny, the whole fucking thing. 

Even when it was god fucking awful and disasterous, James would just strut in, do something that would absolutely get Remus decked if he was the one to do it, and Sirius would just give in. 

Nobody even dared to talk to Sirius the first time he and Regulus had a shouting match in the hallway that very nearly became a duel if it was not for James. 

Sirius lived on a steady diet of cigarettes and alcohol for days. Remus didn’t even want to know what he said to Madam Pomfrey or McGonagall that they allowed him to miss his lessons. He just sat there on the alcove in their dorm room - the one next to the window that never properly opened all the way through. Their dorm room resembled an opium den all those wretched days, dense with clouds of cigarette smoke. Sirius would just sit there, staring outside of the window, putting on records after records (of what was left that he did not break) of depressingly loud music of Weird Sisters and the likes. 

Then, one day, James just walked up to him, not even saying anything, and started to spoon-feed him Effie's (James’ mum) homemade stew and pieces of eclairs that he tore up with his hands first. It was baffling. 

If anything, it made Remus think about how Sirius never made it easy for him. He was always ready to pick up a fight with Remus like the whole thing gave him the will to live or something. Eventually, Remus figured out that arguing was like crack to Sirius. 

In the beginning, Remus certainly felt like it was a privilege being allowed this close to the fascinating enigma that was Sirius Black. But, unfortunately, he was too blinded to realise how fucking toxic the whole thing was, and he was more of an emotional punching bag more than anything. 

Why then, couldn’t James anticipate this, that sodding, mother fucking dead berk. He was the one who made the wrong choices, trusted the wrong person, hanging around with blood traitors, cowards, and a beast out of the sheer kindness of his heart. Who the fuck does those sorts of things. 

Now, Remus had to fucking pay for it in the form of breaking a couple of hundreds of laws, Muggles and Wizards alike, to save a traumatised (and possibly abused) year old boy that he had no idea how to take care of and to go through it all with a murdering mad heir that he was in love with.

Maybe Remus was the one who had fucking lost it. 

“Spit it out,” Sirius said suddenly, cracking the chasm that had grown between them wide open. He was never tactful. Never once to mince his words. He was always brash; he didn’t care who he hurt as long as what was brewing inside his ugly chest was out in the open. His words were often a truth that was told with bad intent. How could Remus be so blind?

Remus sighed and fiddled with his lighter and cigarette. It was a nasty habit that he picked up during the war. But who gives a fuck by then? They were all dying, and what’s one vice. 

“Whatever it is on your mind, let’s fucking hear it before we go in,” Sirius said, undeterred. 

He couldn’t even afford another man some peace to smoke his cigarette, Remus thought. How could Remus ever be in love with him? Remus thought about all the words that he wished he could say, bubbling under his skin, simmering with a potent poison. But what would be the point? The damage was done. What was the point of all this talking? What would they even accomplish? 

This was just so like Sirius. Talking shite around and around Remus’ ankles. Saying two things that were the polar opposite of each other, not even thinking about the fact that nobody in the god fucking world could keep up with his train of thoughts. This was Sirius, all feelings, talking, and doing things his heart wanted. What a fucking disaster. 

So instead, because Remus was determined to be logical and to prove that he was actually the brain of the operation instead of this overprivileged arse that skated by on his looks and charms. Truly, nobody at Hogwarts gave Remus a second thought. He doubted that a handful of his professors even remembered him. How could they, next to Sirius fucking Black? 

He doubted that they even fucking care if it wasn’t for his furry little problem. Although, of course, he was a speck of shite compared to the other pureblood heirs. But, in any case, it was good, you know, to lay low and not stir up trouble and all that. Still, the whole thing sank his self-esteem right down to the bottom of the Black Lake. 

‘Where were you?’ Remus wanted to ask, ‘Where were you when I was missing you so much I thought my chest would collapse? That I thought my very existence was coming undone? Where were you when I had to mourn the loss of our best friends on my own? Where were you?’

‘What the fuck happened to you? You said one thing, and you do the complete fucking opposite. Which version of you was I supposed to believe now? Are you even listening to yourself fucker? We’re suddenly talking about our problems now? I don’t even know what to fucking think. Was it my fault for believing in you? Was it my fucking fault for having a stupid enough heart to fall for someone as heartless and as selfish as you? ’

Instead, Remus said, “You left me.” For the first time that night (his entire life, perhaps). It gave Remus pleasure to know that those three words had managed to shut him up for once. Remus turned to look at Sirius right in his dead, bleak eyes and continued,

“When did you decide that all the things you've promised me were null and void? Was it when you betrayed our friends? Or was it the moment you decided that you were sick of acting nice and rather have them killed so you could be the next Dark Lord? Or was it when you stopped loving me?”

“I never did stop loving you. Stop putting your words in my mouth,” Sirius managed to say after a while. 

“Well, what am I supposed to say?” 

“I don’t know! Aren’t you some kind of a prodigal magical wonder kid? Figure it the fuck out!”

“Well, I can’t fucking figure you out! You’re just saying opposite things. I can’t keep up with you!”

“I can love you and still want to fucking murder you, Sirius. It’s not that hard. Some of us have the capacity to feel two opposite things at once, and they can both be true.”

“Fucking Merlin. You were always something else, Moony. I know that you’d believe none of the words I said right now, but trust me, I do care about you.”

“How the fuck can you say that when you’ve decimated me, dismantle all of the reasons I exist. You fucking killed our friends. You broke my heart. You hurt me,” and don’t even get Remus started on the guilt of missing and loving someone that fucked up his life.

Sirius did not say anything. Instead, there was plain hurt on his face. Like he was the one struggling to keep it together. Fucking typical. 

“What’s the fucking plan anyway?” Remus spat out. He didn’t mean it to come out so venomously, to show how affected he was by the whole tirade of rescuing his ex-lover’s godchild. But, it was way past 3 a.m., and if he’d learned anything by now, nothing good happened after 3 a.m.  

They couldn’t use magic anyway, not if they did not want to alert anyone who might be watching right now. There were enemies on both sides now. Remus didn’t really feel like fighting against what was left of the Dark Lord’s minions and the rest of the Order that was surely giddy with their win. So Remus bit his tongue and listened. 

“I’m going to knock on the front door, be civil and all that,” Sirius said, with a shit-eating grin of someone who had never acted civil in their entire life. 

‘Really?’ Remus thought. Couldn't even fucking act like he was regretful for a whole minute. Fucking bastard. Remus sighed. This would be just like the good old days. He had to be the reasonable one here, keep his head on while Sirius had his way with the world. He took a deep breath and counted to five. 

“They’ll call the muggle police on you. Your face is all over their newspapers.”

“Oh? Have you been keeping tabs on me, baby?” 

Remus was thinking about that time he and Lily did their homework by the Black Lake on one of those rare, beautiful days of spring in the Scottish Highlands. She promised him that he’d be the godfather. Him. Not this fucking bellend.

“Moonbeam?” “Come on, baby, I didn’t murder all those people. When did I ever hurt the innocent?”

The Slytherins, Remus wanted to say, but they were hardly ever innocent, weren’t they? Mulciber, Knott, Avery, and the Malfoys. The Marauders (James and Sirius, because they were protected by their full-blood status and wealth, Remus joined in when he was a prefect) only ever go against those who deserved it. The scum of society. 

Remus couldn’t fucking stand this. The audacity. The sheer nerve. There wasn’t even a sliver of guilt, a hint of remorse in those grey eyes. ‘It’s my turn now,’ Remus thought. ‘I’m going to slaughter this bitch,’

“How could you do that to Lily and James?” Remus spat out. Sirius's face showed vulnerability for the first time in the godforsaken night.

“They're dead, Moony. We should ... ,” said Sirius, hardly able to finish the sentence. He looked like he wanted to say something else. It looked like it took him all of his strength to not shatter into pieces. Of course, Remus couldn’t lie and say that this was something that he wanted. But, he had to be strong.  He needed to walk into the operating room, use the scalpels handed over by the perioperative nurses, and cut the bastard open, damn it. 

But he couldn’t do it. He’s not cold and calculating and cynical. He tried but Machiavellianism is Sirius’ forte. How could he play the game in his term if he couldn’t even get past this qualifying round? He’s fucked. He’s going to lower his pants, bend over, and take it. Metaphorically, of course.

Remus sighed. 

“We?” said Remus. That was for his indecency. Sirius deserved that at the very least. There was no more we.

Sirius stared at him for a long time in lieu of responding. So long that it passed the notion of being socially acceptable minutes ago. His face was unreadable. Finally, after a long stretch of sheer agonising silence, Sirius looked away. He sniffled and scratched his nose absently. Remus didn’t notice he had been doing that a bit. 

Sirius’ nose had even started to turn a little red. He swayed on his feet a little bit and took a step back unconsciously. 

Remus wanted to frown. This might be a little odd. Sirius was the most cocksure bastard around. So now,now, he’s acting uncomfortable? Remus wanted to look away. But instead, he kept his eyes on Sirius. Looking for other tells. 

“Come on, Moony,” said Sirius, finally. His voice went up an octave when he said Remus’ name. It didn’t sound foreign at all that bit; that was what he always sounded like when he was trying to convince Remus that everything was alright. Anytime a prank had gone too far, or he had gotten one of the accursed letters from home, that was what he would always say. Those three words. 

“For Harry?” he asked again, nearly pleading this time. And the Black doesn’t ever plead. 

At that, Remus had the decency to stop staring and look away. 

Remus agreed, though. This was definitely not the time. Harry first. He should’ve not let the monster in his chest steer his emotion in the first place. He relented and nodded. Remus didn't want to turn to look at Sirius’ face, though. Who knows what Sirius would do next.

“At least change into Padfoot first for fuck sake," Remus said, thinking of the worse that could happen if anybody sees them. "Not that it matters to me since you’re equally rotten either way.” Remus grumbled into the empty space next to him.

“Glad that you think so highly of me, baby.” Sirius quipped. Even without looking, Remus knew there was a smile dancing on his face. He got his way. Again. Of course. 

Remus wanted to retort and say something clever or snappy. But why was he lying to himself? Every time Sirius called him baby, his kneecaps and spine would be fucking useless. The fact that he was still standing upright and not currently swooning was a sheer miracle. Well, either that or he was still ridden with guilt and anger; and those filled in the ridges of his spine. 

Instead of dwelling on uncertainties, and the clear sign of madness that had risen within him thanks to being in the close proximity of the maddest pureblood heir of it all, Remus knocked on the front door of No 4, Privet Drive, Little Whining. It was time to get their baby boy back. He could strangle Sirius to death later. Priorities and all that rot. 

For Prongs, and Lils, at least, he would keep it together.