Remus
Sirius didn’t like the river, and Remus could tell.
Sirius sat next to him, tense and alert, watching the twins splash each other in the face. “Poke, can you touch the bottom?” Sirius yelled.
The low-hanging trees shuddered at his words.
Fred stopped treading water and immediately sunk, his face tipped up towards the sun and halfway submerged in the water. “Yes!”
Remus sighed. “Take five steps closer to us, please.”
The twins erupted into a steady stream of complaints, but they eventually floated over to join Missy and Percy, who were collecting rocks by the water’s edge.
Remus heard Sirius sigh, too, and saw him start to pick at his fingernails.
It was easier now to love Sirius. Before, he’d felt almost guilty for it, canceling out Sirius’ good side with his bad. Now, it was as if everything Sirius did was magic. Remus could see the lessons Sirius had taught him, lying out plainly in the summer evening, that he’d ignored and chastised and denied only weeks before.
For the children.
Sirius hated the river. He hated water. But here he was, sitting on the bank of the river as the water tried to drag him in, almost calm.
For the children.
That was why they were both there in the first place, really. They had been two men who detested the job offer, who didn’t want to stoop so low, but here they were.
For the children.
At that moment, Remus thought that this lesson was the most important one Sirius had ever taught him. Remus vowed that when he died, wherever and whenever that may be, it would be for the children. For Sirius. He vowed to remember this summer, to guard the children with his life, to never forget that they had made him who he was. When he died, he would remember that.
And if he didn’t want to, or if he was too scared, it didn’t matter. It wasn’t about him— it was for them.
Sirius squinted up at the sun, then at Remus. “About time, don’t you think?”
Remus nodded. “Let’s go.”
“HEY!” Sirius jumped to his feet and shouted down to the children. “HEY, YOU SOAKING WET BALLS OF ENERGY, LET’S GO! AND DON’T ANY OF YOU DRIP ON EFFIE POTTER’S HARDWOOD FLOOR!”
The four oldest children shrieked as Sirius pretended to lumber over to them, shooting through his legs and taking off up the path back towards Effie and Monty’s.
“Change into dry clothes and throw everything wet outside!” Remus yelled, but they had already disappeared into the brush. Remus turned to Sirius. “Great. Now half the river will end up in James’ old bedroom.”
“Don’t worry, I warned them.” Sirius threw Remus a cheshire cat grin and swooped up all the towels before Remus could even grab one. “They listen to me, not you.”
“They listen to me!” Remus protested, falling into step beside Sirius as they followed the children’s footsteps up the path. “Percy and Missy do, anyway.”
Sirius shook his head. “Keep telling yourself that, Moony.”
The shadows grew long as they walked amongst the trees. It wasn’t what they were used to— usually, the kids were already home by dusk, but today was different. There had been a tip off of Death Eaters in Diagon Alley, and most of the Order had been stationed there on patrol.
Funnily enough, the Aurors and back-up agents chosen consisted of practically all of The Better Marauders’ children’s parents. James, Lily, Alice, Frank, Arthur Weasley, and Emmeline were all in Diagon Alley, leaving their children with Remus and Sirius. It was advertised as “a super fun, extra-long daycare day” to the children and “necessary overtime” to Remus and Sirius.
The babies had long since fallen asleep (monitored by a noise spell that connected to Remus’ wand and alerted him if anyone woke up crying), but the four older children were so excited at the thought of a night together that swimming had been necessary to rid them of their overactivity.
Remus could sense the river’s distraction had barely worked.
As Sirius opened the door and dramatically bowed Remus into the kitchen, he heard screams and laughter from upstairs, and he was suddenly very thankful for the muffling charm he’d cast on the babies’ room.
“We can’t feed them all dinner in the bath, can we?” Remus sighed, picking up a loose towel and hanging it over a kitchen chair.
“No old tricks, Moony. You have to keep coming up with something new,” Sirius said, flicking on the tap and throwing a bowl in the sink.
Remus watched the water run. “Not possible. I think my brain’s shot. Either that or I’m going absolutely, completely mad.”
Sirius rolled his eyes and shoved a carton of blueberries back in the fridge. “They are pretty loud up there.”
“No shit.”
“Merlin’s fucking toe socks, Moony. Why are you always so sarcastic—”
“Oh, shut up. You love me, really.” Remus couldn’t smile as innocently as Sirius could, but he felt his face pulling into a lopsided grin as he watched Sirius reorganize the fridge.
Sirius averted his eyes, cheeks pink. “Yes, everyone’s well aware. Just not when you’re a sarcastic bitch.”
Remus was filled with a warmth that reached his toes.
This was definitely the man he’d go to the ends of the earth for. He’d pull down the moon, realign every star except for one, harness the winds and bring them back to Sirius in a bottle. Anything, anything, anything for the man trying to balance six yogurt cups under his chin.
Sirius narrowed his eyes in concentration as he pulled out two bottles of firewhiskey and replaced the empty space with the yogurts. He slammed the fridge shut and handed Remus a bottle. “You think they’ll remember this?” he nodded towards the laughter on the stairs.
“I can’t drink on the job.” Remus placed his firewhiskey on the kitchen counter with a clunk.
“Bullshit.” Sirius reached around him and popped the bottle open. “The kids. Do you think they’ll remember this summer at all?”
Remus shrugged, holding the firewhiskey to his lips. “Sure. Missy and Percy definitely will.”
“But the others,” Sirius pressed. “Stick and Poke. I spent so much time trying to teach them all I knew, but will they even remember?”
“Yes,” Remus said, confident this time. “Remember what James said? Everything from this summer is sinking into their subconcious, for better or for worse.”
“Good. It’s been fun.” Sirius’ mouth puckered into a small smile.
And, oh, Remus loved him.
Remus lifted his bottle in Sirius’ direction. “Of course you loved it! You’re still a kid yourself!”
“Oh, don’t pretend like you didn’t love it, Moony!” Sirius cried, grabbing for Remus’ hand. “I know you did! The music and the fake schoolwork and how we almost killed each other every morning? Once the millionth Weasley decides to be born, and the summer winds down, it will be over. And good Godric, we’ll never see each other again.”
Remus slapped Sirius’ hand away, which was reaching up to pinch his cheeks. “Stop being so dramatic. We’ll still see each other every day—”
“It won’t be the same to wake up without your nose practically down my throat and your hands in my pockets—”
“Sirius, stop—”
“I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you!” Sirius grabbed Remus’ wrist. “I’ll be good! I’ll be good for you, Saint Remus—”
“Stop it!” Remus laughed, pulling his arm away. “We’ll live here. Or at a new flat. Together. So just shut up and stop masking how you feel with dramatics, because I know you wanted to come right out and ask.”
Sirius smiled again, that mischievous, innocent smile, and took a deep breath. “But I’ll be good—”
The floorboards creaked above them and Remus’ neck snapped up.
“I’ll do the washing up and the dusting—”
Remus took a quick step towards Sirius and shoved his hand over Sirius’ mouth. “Be quiet,” he hissed in Sirius’ ear.
Sirius struggled for a moment, but Remus didn't let go, and he finally slumped in defeat with his own hand curled over Remus’.
Another floorboard creaked upstairs, a shock that sounded throughout the house. Too heavy for a child’s footstep. All of a sudden, Remus realized the laughing had stopped.
Sirius’ grey eyes slowly widened.
Dread creeped up Remus’ spine, paralyzing him with fear. He kept his voice low, so quiet he could barely hear himself.
“Sirius, there’s someone in the house.”