XI
“Pepper Imps, obviously,” says Sirius, with complete confidence.
“No! Boooo!” Ron says passionately.
“Chocolate Frogs! Even if it weren’t for the cards- but- also the cards! Hello?!”
Sirius looks aghast. Hermione hides a delicate smile behind one hand, watching the interaction play out, and Harry grins as Sirius leans forward solemnly, looking disgusted.
“You would take glorified baseball cards… over the ability to breathe fire?”
“Firstly, I don’t know what baseball is,” Ron says, his mouth full of glazed ginger biscuits.
“And secondly, any old spell can get you fire. Chocolate Frog cards are actually valuable.”
“Don’t mind him, Ron,” Remus says, entering the drawing room where they all sit chattering and playing games. He’s warming his hands on a steaming mug of Irish coffee.
“Padfoot just thought he was cool because he could light his cigarettes by blowing on them like a dragon. Smoked like a chimney, that one.”
“A habit I have since kicked, by the way,” he says, giving Remus an uncharacteristically disapproving look and crossing one leg over the other. Arching an eyebrow at Harry, he adds “And if you smoke even once, I’ll know and I’ll jinx you into next week, by the way.” Harry looks bewildered and shakes his head as if to say he would never.
Remus clicks his tongue.
“Don’t you start on me. You had to quit. You didn’t have access to any.”
“True. There were far fewer cigarettes to be had in prison than muggle films lead me to believe,” he says, musing and scratching his stubble.
“Azkaban’s not exactly a typical prison,” Hermione points out. He shrugs and nods, sipping his tea, thinking wistfully that Remus’ drink would be much more satisfactory. Still, there’s a distinct lack of need for whiskey in him tonight that he can only attribute to Harry’s presence, which warms his chest with a different, much better sort of magic than the fiery destruction of his usual bottle of scotch.
“Did dad smoke?” Harry asks Remus inquisitively. He leans in a little more, the way he always does when he’s ready to soak up new information about his parents. Remus could be regaling what color James’ shorts usually were and Harry would still listen with rapt attention.
“Nah. He was too well-behaved of an athlete- never would’ve risked it interfering with quidditch. Pepper Imps over there was the bad one.”
“How about you, Professor?” Asks Ginny, who’s sitting on a velvet cushion on the floor next to Harry.
“Smoke?” Says Moony nervously, feeling the weight of his cigarette carton in his back pocket. Kill your heroes, kids.
“No, your favorite candy!”
“Oh!” Says Remus, relieved. “Hmm… got to be… licorice wands, I suppose.”
Sirius lifts a hand to his mouth as his lips form the word “oooold” in a hoarse, extremely audible whisper. This receives a chorus of snickers from the teens in attendance, and Remus grins indignantly.
“The word you’re looking for is classic, thank you very much. And need I remind you you’re three months older than me?”
“Not at heart though,” Sirius says, stretching his arms over his head.
“You’ve always been an old soul.” Sirius assumes a thoughtful, academic expression that imitates Lupin’s introspective manner uncomfortably well.
“Oh shush, you,” Remus says, shoving Sirius in the shoulder as he sits down beside him.
The conversation soon wanders, to N.E.W.T.S and exploding snap and the upcoming Cannons V. Harpies match, and Remus places a hand on Sirius’ leg, respectably near to the knee. He let’s the heat of his palm sink beneath the faded denim. Sirius glances away, almost involuntarily, and Remus can’t help but follow his gaze to the mantle, underneath which a fire roars, casting shadows above and to the sides of the fireplace. In one of these small patches of darkness, Remus notices the glint of a metal trinket he cannot remember ever seeing before.
The silvery figure seems to ripple as if with movement at every change of the dim light, running like clear water. It’s forelegs are braced proudly against the ground, forcing the magnificent pelt of its chest forward. The hind legs stretch out behind the creature, one taught and the other bent, as if preparing to run.
Sirius has noticed his staring, and he’s looking at his long, white hands with great interest, as if he never noticed them until now.
“Where’d that come from?” Remus asks him gently, in a low voice that the children don’t seem to catch.
“I was trying for a deer or something-.” Sirius starts gruffly. He seems to notice how unromantic this sounds, because he stops, looking indecisive. He stifles a smile, turning a little red, and rolls his eyes.
“While you were gone. I was trying to decorate for Christmas but my mind was on other things, so…”
“It’s beautiful,” Remus says nonchalantly, but he can feel his throat constrict.
“I never… I just didn’t know a wolf could be beautiful, I suppose.”
“The wolf is always beautiful,” Sirius says very quietly and with unusual sincerity. His eyes meet Remus’, deep and hazy, like grey smoke curling in ribbons as it rises from a smudge stick. Remus watches Sirius’ pale throat work through a heavy swallow.
Someone has started a record, and Remus has only just now become aware of it.
“God, this song is old,” He says, to break the tension that is somehow building despite the busyness of the room.
“Old for you, maybe,” Sirius says, smirking.
“Best thing about being locked up; You get out and there’s a hundred new things to listen to.”
The thought makes Remus a little sad, but he smiles and hums in understanding.
“We’ll take Padfoot record shopping sometime,” He says, though they both know that it could be a long time before Sirius can safely leave the house again, even as a dog.
Sirius doesn’t seem to mind this terribly at the moment. He nods his head from side to side, trying (with mixed results) to get into Spandau Ballet’s ‘True’. After a while, he breaks into an impish grin.
“Kinda corny, right? I mean, not in a bad way, but…”
“This was prime slow-dancing music as I recall. Not that I was doing any at the time, mind,” Lupin informs him.
“No dancing for Moony?” Sirius purrs charmingly. Remus doesn’t bother pointing out to him that the song was released not two years after the murder or incarceration of his dearest friends.
“Too bad, you know. You were an excellent dancer, if I’m remembering correctly.”
Remus snorts.
“Certainly bloody was. One of us had to be a gentleman. Remember the Yule in our fourth year? James managed to squeeze a single dance out of Lily and then stepped on her feet the whole time.”
Sirius laughs softly, his eyes warm.
“Yeah, I do remember that, actually. Ah, the wooing of Lily Evans. Clumsy idiot.”
“That or Severus confunded him,” Lupin considers. To his surprise, it’s Sirius who shakes his head.
“Nah. James never needed help tripping over his own feet where Lily was concerned.” Sirius’ eyes are miles away, fogged by fond remembrance. No wonder he had passed up a free jab at Snape. There’s a balanced measure of grief and adoration in those grey eyes Remus loves so well. It gives him hope that one day thinking of the past won’t feel so much like drowning.
Sirius cocks his head to the side and Remus can almost see Padfoot’s great, glistening black eyes shining with curiosity.
“Did I dance at the Yule? I don’t remember doing any dancing.”
A slow smile spreads across Remus’ face.
“Not a bit. Sat in the corner selling pepper-up potion mixed with gigglewater, you bloody delinquent. I think half the girls in our year were heartbroken when you didn’t ask them.”
Sirius is looking at him knowingly.
“Maybe I was waiting to be asked, too,” he says, eyes dusky and playful.
“I’ll save you a dance next time,” Remus reassures him with a dry wink.
“Why wait until next time?”
“Come again?” Remus laughs incredulously.
“Why wait? C’mon, let’s dance. Dance with me, Moons!”
Remus laughs, rolling his eyes fondly.
“Sirius, I am not going to slow dance with you in a room full of people.”
“So you would slow dance with me if we were alone?” Sirius whispers in his ear, laughing breathily. It sends a pleasurable shiver through Remus’ neck, just below his right ear.
“Most definitely,” Remus concedes, giving the other’s knee a brief squeeze. Sirius stares at him happily, mesmerized.
“I’ll hold you to it,” he says finally, ducking his head down to hide a positively elated grin.
“You’d better.”
…
Sirius breaks off a little while later, tapping Harry lightly on the shoulder, and the two vanish upstairs conspiratorially.
“So, it’s not as crazy as your firebolt or anything,” Sirius begins nervously. Harry, who sits cross legged on the battered bedroom sofa, blushes at the mere mention of the extravagant gift, and reassures Sirius that he hadn’t been expecting anything. It makes his godfather’s heart hurt a little, because Harry should be able to expect Christmas presents, should’ve been able to look forward to them every year- but he sets his regret and his anger at the Dursleys aside.
“I um, well, I put a few old things together,” Sirius explains as he sets a brown paper package in Harry’s lap and beckons for him to open it.
The quiet teen is careful with the paper, as if he’s afraid to tear it too loudly. When the package finally lies open before him it reveals a photo of a cherub-cheeked little boy and a gorgeous, freckled woman dancing in their humble living room. Harry brushes his fingertips over the image of Lily, clearly awe-stricken. He slides the photo sideways with reverence, and underneath the first image is yet another. This time the same little boy is sitting on a devil-may-care young Sirius’ denim-clad shoulders, batting at the great colorful bubbles erupting from a handsome and youthful Remus’ wand.
“They’re letters and pictures and things,” Sirius explains unnecessarily.
“I saved almost everything, and Lils- I mean, your mum, she was always great at including photos. Hardly ever got a letter from her that didn’t have at least one picture of you. And some of my pictures are in there too, of course.”
Harry looks up, in silent shock. Despite his usual stoic demeanor, tears swim in his big, glassy green eyes. Sirius wonders for an awful moment if he’s made some kind of mistake offering Harry such a heavy gift.
“Sirius… these must mean so much to you. You… you don’t have to give them to me.” The boy’s voice is choked with emotion. Sirius grips his shoulder gently.
“I want you to have them, Harry. It’s no trouble at all. We can look through them together sometime if you like.”
Harry nods, pursing his lips and looking away, off toward the wall. His tears are nearly falling, but he’s stubborn, so stubborn, just like Lily, and they stay put.
“Thank you. So much. I- I never got- Until my first year at Hogwarts- I never even saw-.” His voice breaks and Sirius pulls him into a strong, steadying hug. Harry sobs, just once, and brokenly, before maintaining enough composure to speak.
“I just- I just wish I had known them. It’s like- I miss them and I’ve never even met them.”
“But you did meet them, Harry,” Sirius says seriously. “I know it’s not fair that you can’t remember it, but I do. You were their entire world for the year you three had each other. You knew them better than anyone, and you’re allowed to miss them, and love them, and grieve them. God, they loved you so much.”
Sirius closes his eyes and repels horrible images of James at the foot of the stairs, terrified eyes staring out at nothing, of Lily tossed to one side of the nursery like a rag doll, of baby Harry distraught in his crib, straining to reach Lily’s cold corpse, which had been filled with so much fire and love just an hour earlier.
“They loved you so, so fucking much,” Sirius says again desperately. His own tears soak the shoulder of Harry’s t-shirt and he tries not to think of the prophesied duel, of Harry, the most precious thing in the world to his dead friends, lying lifeless at Tom Riddle’s feet. He tries not to think of it because he will never let it happen, even if he himself has to die a thousand times over. He will keep Harry safe, just as he wishes desperately he had been able to keep Lily and James safe. The bittersweet pain of this confidence courses through him. After so many years numbed by the ice of Azkaban, he had forgotten that it hurts to love someone this much.
“And they would be so proud of you,” he whispers, hoping the same can be said of himself.
“Thank you,” the boy whispers brokenly, holding onto his godfather for dear life, the stack of mementos held between their chests like a vice.
“Thank you.”
…
Awaiting Sirius’ return, Remus tries to help in the kitchen, but after being politely kicked out, greets Tonks and Moody at the door instead.
“How goes, Remus?!” Says Tonks excitedly. Her hair is half green and half red, right down the middle, and pulled into an elegantly coiled bun.
“Not bad at all,” He says truthfully, offering her a rueful smile. “Mad-Eye?”
The other grunts, short and gruff, though he looks a little less harried than usual.
“Well. We weren’t followed and nobody’s dead. Can’t complain.”
“Uh… huh. Right. Very cheerful,” Remus says, because he’s unsure how else to reply. Tonks stifles a laugh by quickly turning it into a cough.
“So! How are things here?” She asks, rubbing her cold hands together as Moody shuffles off down the hall, muttering.
“Good,” Remus says simply. Tonks raises her eyebrows.
“Even despite… you know…?” she mimes an epic boxing match. Remus, to his own surprise, laughs, which he has not yet been able to do when Snape and Sirius’ misadventure comes to mind.
“Surprisingly, yeah, it’s been alright. Took him a couple days to get back on his feet but-.” He spreads his hands out as if to say “all’s well that ends well”. Tonks looks impressed.
“And the- thing?”
“Dumbledore’s got it locked up.”
“Does Harry know?”
Remus shakes his head slowly.
“I think Albus is going to explain, once we know enough.”
“Sirius didn’t argue with that?” Tonks asks, surprised. Remus considers this a moment.
“If he disagrees with Albus, he hasn’t mentioned it. I think in some ways, he’s getting more careful about these things. Growing up a bit, maybe? Then again, ever since the fiasco at the Department of Mysteries, the Order’s been making sure Harry is told everything he does need to know. Either way, Sirius doesn’t seem too riled up and reckless for once, which might improve my life expectancy.”
“Yeah, must make it easier on your poor heart,” Tonks teases lightly, and they walk down the hall toward the warm sitting room.
“You have no idea,” Remus says darkly.
“Being around him is like having a child sometimes.”
“And the other times?” Tonks asks innocently, a small smile creeping onto her face. Remus smiles, bewildered, and feels his face go a little pink.
Before he can answer, there’s movement on the stairs behind them. Harry and Sirius appear in the foyer, looking drained but not unhappy. Harry clutches a large stack of something, clumsily re-wrapped in brown paper. He chuckles tiredly at something Sirius says, who ruffles his untidy black hair in turn and sends him off to his age mates.
Sirius stops by Remus, and puffs out a short breath through his mouth. He comes to stand casually next to him, but Remus can feel Sirius’ bicep pressing gently into his own, seeking contact, and comfort.
“Alright?” Remus asks. Sirius tilts his head, considering, and shrugs.
“Easier things have been done,” he admits, and says to Tonks, “Old pictures of Lily and James. Hit him a little hard.”
“Both of you, maybe,” says Tonks, eyeing his red-rimmed eyes pointedly. Sirius hums begrudgingly in agreement, and after his hand mindlessly travels several lengths up and down Remus’ arm, he slides back into the drawing room after his godson.
“Awfully clingy today, aren’t we?” Tonks observes devilishly. Remus is saved from replying by Molly’s call of “Alright, come and get it, all- and Fred Weasley, don’t you dare apparate onto my potatoes, thank you!” from the kitchen.
“Bless Molly. I’m fucking starving,” Remus mutters, stretching his arms creakily.
“Hungry like the wolf, Remus?” Tonks asks merrily.
“Oh god, please don’t say that too loud,” Remus says in an urgent undertone, looking around feverishly.
“He just discovered Duran Duran-.”
A cacophony of howling and steel drum sounds erupts from the other room, and Remus puts his face in his hands.
“-Last week,” He finishes lamely.
The pure mirth on Tonks’ face is almost as embarrassing as Sirius’ call of “WOOOOOO MOONY, YEAH!”
“Murder me,” He begs of her solemnly.
“It’s always been like this hasn’t it?” She asks, grinning evilly.
“You should’ve been there the year ‘Werewolves of London’ came out. I strongly considered obliviating the lyrics from his memory.”