Remus
“I think I need a nap,” Sirius announced to the river.
Remus looked up in annoyance. “Shh.”
Harry squirmed in his sleep against Remus’ chest, giving a sigh before going still again. Beside him, Ron was also lost to sleep, arms spread out in the cool afternoon shade. Down by the river’s edge, Missy was pressing flowers while Percy tried to coax a butterfly to land on his finger.
“Oh, wow, you’ve got a rowdy crew.” A smug smile tugged at Sirius’ face. He unrolled a blanket with a quick thwack and spread it out in the sun. “I had to deal with Stick and Poke.”
Remus followed Sirius’ pointed look to where the twins were already soaking wet, splashing harsh jets of water at each other’s faces.
“Do you think they’ll be okay?” Sirius’ voice floated over Remus’ shoulder.
Remus nodded. “Molly said they’re great swimmers.”
“But you’ll help me watch them, right?”
“Of course.”
But Remus noticed that Sirius couldn’t relax until the twins were out of the water. Only after they started to wrestle on the sand did Sirius yawn and lay back on his blanket.
Remus gnawed on his bottom lip. A familiar feeling settled in his stomach, making him grip Harry tighter. It was the overwhelming ache of I love you more than anything, please tell me what’s wrong, followed by the sting of he won’t tell me, he’s never told me anything.
George wandered by Remus, leaving a trail of dark mud where the water dripped off of him.
“Where are you going, George?” Remus asked.
“Going to say hi to Padfoot.” George slowed as he approached Sirius’ blanket, accidentally kicking sand over the fabric. “Missy said he looks like a book.”
Remus took a sharp inhale.
Sirius had pulled his shirt off and draped it over his eyes to block the sun. He lay with his palms facing up, completely oblivious to the heat and his audience.
Remus blinked and forced his eyes away.
“What’s this one mean?” George asked.
Wake up, Sirius, Remus prayed, looking up at the shivering leaves. You devil, wake UP.
“Moony, Padfoot’s asleep,” George complained.
“Sorry, George.”
“I want to know what his tattoos mean.”
Remus steeled himself, rotating back around to face Sirius. George pointed at a tattoo on Sirius’ bicep.
Remus forced a smile. “They’re sweet pea flowers.”
“Why does he have ‘em?”
“They grow outside his cousin’s house.”
George frowned. “They look like they’re dying.”
“Well, Andromeda isn’t a very good gardener,” Remus said hoarsely.
George hummed under his breath, taking a few steps to walk around Sirius’ covered head. “What’s this one?” he asked, pressing a finger underneath Sirius’ collarbone.
“It says 1920," Remus said. “It’s the year his mum was born.”
“His mum? Who’s she?” George poked the tattoo again and Remus thought he saw Sirius tense.
The stab in Remus’ heart seemed to be twisting now. “You met her once when you were a baby. Effie Potter.”
Percy slowly joined the crowd, two butterflies on his fingers and one nestled in his hair. “Did Mrs Potter have a lot of kids, like my mum?”
“Just two,” Remus croaked. Sirius, WAKE UP.
Missy appeared behind Percy. She leaned down to touch Sirius’ wrist, barely pointing at the tattoo before she pulled her hand back. “I know this one. It’s a moon.”
Sirius’ breathing stopped, but Remus didn’t notice.
Missy was right, there was a moon on Sirius’ left wrist. But it wasn’t just a moon. It was a moon Remus knew.
He remembered sitting at his kitchen table at eleven years old, researching the moon phase three months in advance so he would know what to expect. He had worried himself sick over it, burned it into his memory, finally bathed in its light as he crossed the Black Lake.
Sirius’ tattoo was the moon phase from their first night at Hogwarts.
The tattoo was beautifully done, carved around Sirius’ blue veins and pale skin, nestled between spots of freckles as if it had always been there.
Remus couldn’t look away.
For months, Remus had told himself not to look at Sirius. He was afraid that if he was kind and welcoming and familiar, he would remember. And more than anything, he wanted to forget. He knew that if he looked at Sirius, really looked at him, everything would come rushing back.
The painted nails, forever chipped, that Sirius used to incessantly pick until Remus would take his hand. The grey eyes glinting with mischief. The soft lips, one day saying, I love you, and the next, Moony, I didn’t mean to tell Snape, I don’t know why I did it— please, just talk to me.
And Remus knew that underneath Sirius’ skin, the lungs that had betrayed him would still be breathing. The spectacular, wonderful mind would still be scheming. The heart that loved him would beat with all of the same emotion that had been there years before.
Not much had changed, really, except the ink on Sirius’ body and the scars on his own.
The thought made tears prick at the corner of Remus’ eyes and he tried to ignore them, instead lifting a hand to keep Harry in the shade.
There was a shuffling sound from the blanket. Sirius ripped the t-shirt from his face and propped himself up on his elbows. “Well, that was very touching, sweetheart.”
The lump in Remus’ throat kept him from answering. He didn’t need to— his gaze trailed from Sirius’ wrist to his eyes.
He wished someone else could say it for him. He wished the leaves and the river and the grains of sand could tell Sirius the words he couldn’t quite conjure.
I love you and I miss you and I love you and I miss you—
But Remus didn’t need to say anything at all. Amber eyes met grey, and Sirius’ face softened.
Sirius understood.