Chapter Text

3

It feels like he’s barely even fallen asleep when he is quite rudely awakened again, by the deafening sound of his study’s door bursting open and then a cussed, “what the fuck?!” before there’s urgent knocking on his bedroom door.

He turns around in bed, away from the sound, but when he hears, “professor Lupin!” and realises it is Harry’s voice he sits upright abruptly. He’s up and shuffling to his door before he’s even opened his eyes properly because he’s never heard the boy so distressed before.

“Harry, what—“ he unlocks his bedroom door and peeks behind it – Harry’s hair is a complete mess and he’s wearing muddy jeans and there’s something on his sleeves that looks suspiciously much like blood, his wand clutched tightly in his hand.

His eyes are wide behind his rimmed glasses and the overall feel of the boy is not per say panic, but maybe exhilaration. Who’s to say?

“It’s Ron!” Harry says excitedly, “he’s been bitten!”

It’s not something anyone should be excited about, but Harry looks like he’s about to burst, rocking on his feet. Remus feels his face fall in surprise.

“What?!

“Sirius Black bit him!” and now that definitely doesn’t sound like something that his friend should be excited about, but Harry’s already tugging at his arm through the crack in the door, trying to get him to follow him and at the same time making him embarrassingly aware of how he’s topless.

“He—?” Remus isn’t sure if maybe he’s still dreaming. Has he never left his bed?

But then why can he feel Harry’s tight hold so clearly on his wrist?

“Sirius Black is an Animagus and he bit Ron!” when Remus realises the boy is not planning on going anywhere without him, he takes a short robe from his hanger and covers his naked chest, before opening the door fully.

“Um?” he’s not sure what to say, because that does sound like something Sirius could potentially do – except that he’s a wanted criminal and not allowed on school property, and also, not fond of biting people who aren’t Severus Snape.

He’s not sure what he should be doing either – should he be making the raven some tea? Has he had a bad dream? Is Harry dreaming? – because Harry won’t stop talking and it is way too early for this.

“Yeah because apparently Peter Pettigrew is the bad guy and—“

“Harry, Peter is dead,” he tries to sound matter-of-factly but he’s actually yawning through the statement and that is just embarrassing.

“No he’s not, he’s a rat!” Harry exclaims in a way that suggests people who are rats cannot die – which Remus is pretty sure is incorrect.

“He was a rat,” he tries not to sound like he’s giving Harry an English lesson but the boy just stares at him as if he’s a total idiot – which isn’t fair, because Remus is his teacher and he should be respected, not ridiculed!

“You’re not listening,” he insists urgently, “he’s Ron’s rat!” and then, when Remus just continues to stare at him, gives the deepest sigh one can muster, “oh just come on!” he grabs onto Remus’ wrist and drags his teacher along.

Remus isn’t sure of much at this point, but from the sound of it, the Weasley boy is having an even worse morning than Remus is.

The castle is still mostly quiet, which makes him realise that it’s probably a lot earlier than he previously thought. Harry won’t let go of his hand though, not even as he drags him up a set of stairs.

There’s light coming in through the tall windows and Remus notices how Harry looks a little battered, little slashes in his face, his knuckles opened raw. He’s worried, but Harry keeps throwing back furtive glances to make sure Remus is still there so he keeps his mouth shut and picks up his pace, ignoring his sore muscles.

They skip through the fifth floor hallway and Harry nearly trips over his feet so that Remus has to kind of pull him backwards, saving him from the fall. They collide and just like that it’s as if Remus’ brain has been kick-started. He realises Harry must have seen the state of his office. Did he hurt himself on something coming in? Why are his jeans so dirty?

They stop still quite abruptly in front of a door that Remus knows to be hiding the prefect bathrooms – he’s used them countless times during his Hogwarts career – before he can point this out however, Harry has already muttered the password and the door swings open without objection.

This time, he’s pretty sure he is dreaming.

First of all there’s the fact that Hermione Granger has twigs in her hair – he has never seen her being anything less than pristine, tucked in shirt and bushy hair done perfectly – her jeans are ripped and there’s stains on her shirt that look like drool and goo and Remus doesn’t want to think about it. Her shoes, muddy and greyish, are sitting besides her, her tippy-toes stretched out to meet the suds floating atop the water.

Regulus is wearing a jinbei this early morning, soft black fabric covering his skin, but his hair is messy where he’s put it up into a bun, the kanzashi shimmering in the light spilling in through the stained glass window. He’s on his knees, working his wand as he makes scissors dance.

What really sets him off however, is Sirius.

Because he’s here.

There’s water all the way up to his waist, and bubbles hiding his body from sight for the most part but there’s no mistaking – he is here.

His long fingers are playing with the suds, tender wrists moving gently across the surface. The ink splayed across his arms and shoulders is moving, itching around gingerly at the unfamiliar feel of the hot water after all these years. His collar bones dip in deep, pale throat constricting as he swallows nervously and Remus can’t seem to look away, the sight enticing.

He’s shaved, the unruly stubble he has in all the wanted pictures gone as if it was never there in the first place, the skin smooth. His cheeks are more hollow than Remus remembers them to be, accentuating the sharp features of his face. His brother is busy snipping away at his hair, but wet locks are falling into his face, brushing against his red mouth, the colour obscenely contrasted against his pale skin.

It’s his eyes though, that bring Remus back to reality, because they’re smouldering, deep dark holes in his head, and there’s so much emotion there that it crunches away at his stomach and he makes a weak kind of noise in the back of his throat as he stumbles forward.

Hermione is waving at him, beckoning them over as if this is the most normal thing in the whole entire world – Remus is pretty sure it’s actually not.

Thankfully Regulus seems to realise his distress before Remus can even progress it. He lowers his wand which in turn lowers the scissors and comes over just as Harry flops down besides Hermione, tugging up his jeans so he can dip his feet into the bath.

“Remus it’s okay,” Regulus’ voice implies that he already knows it isn’t.

“How is this okay?!” Remus focuses on the younger brother’s face before him because if he doesn’t he’ll—“there is a serial killer in the prefect’s bathroom!”

Before Regulus can disagree, Hermione’s know-it-all voice pipes up from by the bath, “no, professor, that was the rat!”

She sounds exasperated, which just isn’t very fair considering the circumstances, honestly.

“The freckly kid’s rat,” Regulus is kind enough to elaborate, though Remus doubts that it is as much kindness as just that he probably doesn’t want to do anything that could potentially cause Remus to explode with anger, “it was Peter all along!”

This is the point where Remus decides that he must have probably lost his mind, considering he’s been mourning his friends’ deaths and moving past it for years except that now apparently he’s in a room full of people that believe one of them has somehow come back from the death? He’s pretty sure he doesn’t understand and his head is already hurting and he also really wants to cry.

“Oh Merlin, are you having a meltdown?” Regulus doesn’t sound nearly as sympathetic as Remus would’ve liked him to, his face drawn in half a scowl, “I mean I can’t actually make you tea, we’re in a bathroom and—“

He’s not surprised Regulus is so self-absorbed, even now, but he is thoroughly unimpressed.

“Regulus, you’re a wizard, you can make tea anywhere!” he snaps, perhaps a little bit more viciously than he means to, but at least it stops the raven’s mouth from moving and making such idiotic sounds.

Regulus has the decency to look a little guilty, and he then continues to awkwardly wrap his arms around Remus, tapping his back a handful of times in what the brunette supposes is supposed to be a soothing gesture.

It’s mostly just weird and does nothing to calm Remus’ nerves. Parting is equally weird, too, and Remus isn’t sure if he wants it to end or just wishes they’d never even hugged in the first place.

The bathroom is remarkably quiet, only the sound of the bobbing water there to disturb the tranquillity. There’s a poignant silence, and Remus feels it heavy in the air and he kind of wants to take it and toss it out the window and say goodbye to all uncomfortable tension ever, for the rest of his life.

Except then Sirius speaks and Remus kind of forgets how to breathe for a moment. He hasn’t heard the other man speak in what feels like millennia and he’s not sure if maybe he’s just not used to the effect his voice used to have on him but he thinks maybe he kind of melts a little bit.

“Moony, you’re hurt,” he says and it’s like he’s never left, the hoarseness in his voice something of dreams, the familiarity of the name thick in Remus’ throat and he wants to cry or maybe just die because if that’s the last thing he’ll ever hear he’ll die happy, for sure.

He realises he’s been bleeding through the bandages on his thighs, but it doesn’t actually hurt that bad and he kind of doesn’t want to think about it right now. He looks at where Harry has dumped his shoes besides Hermione’s and then up at the boy’s face and there’s this odd tension as he bites his lip, worried, and Remus realises he can’t deny him this.

He rubs a hand over his face tiredly and then resolutely goes to sit beside the young boy.

“Explain,” he prompts, and then watches the smile take over the boy’s handsome face, his curls dancing as he turns to look at Hermione excitedly.

So they tell him the story of how the young Malfoy boy almost got one of Hagrid’s animals – a Hippogriff named Buckbeak, of all things – killed and how they went to comfort him and found Scabbers – apparently Ron has a pet rat who is afraid of Hermione’s pet cat – but then on their way back to the castle Scabbers escaped and Ron got attacked by the Grimm.

Harry drifts off into a bit of a long monologue about how he saw a big black dog last summer – because Sirius is, in fact, a stalker of children – and then they learned about the Grimm in Divination so Harry had been half convinced he was just sort of dying. Remus feels stupid he’s ever put any faith in Harry at all because the Grimm? That’s far-fetched, even for wizards.

The boy falls into an awkward silence when he mentions why Remus’ Patronus scared the bejeebers out of him except he then seems to realise that if the Grimm is Sirius then—

Regulus has gone back to snipping the dead ends off his brother’s hair, and as Harry blinks at Remus with big round eyes, he clears his throat and explains, “well I was bringing Hagrid some pepper-up potion when I saw those three run off and being attacked and was like huh, isn’t Sirius’ Animagus shape a dog?” he shrugs his shoulders as if it’s a very normal thought to have, “so then when I find them in the shack and Sirius is there I’m like, Remus wanted to come but you know it’s his time of the month, and the ginger goes like, professor Lupin is a girl? And then smartest-witch-her-age goes for fuck’s sake he’s a werewolf!”

Hermione has the audacity to blush at the compliment as if she hasn’t been using the f-word around teachers, and Harry says, “we found the shack because Sirius was aiming for Scabbers but mauled Ron’s leg and took him along in the process,” which very much reminds Remus of that one Christmas where they stole way too many chicken legs and for days after the raven was just always gnawing away at the bones in the hallways.

While Regulus puts away the scissors and starts brushing the long black hair instead Harry continues explaining how sceptical their potions teacher was of his brother’s innocence, at first, apparently having stated: “Remus would be devastatingly disappointed in me if I just gave you a hug and made up without even a little fight,” to which apparently Sirius has argued very vehemently, “my Animagus is a dog his is a rat,” and then had repeated in a very loud voice “I AM A DOG,” to which Regulus in turn had stated, “dogs can be traitorous. A dog bit me once!” to which Sirius had apparently just groaned very dramatically.

Harry swears these are all direct quotes, the brunette beside him nodding avidly and the silence from the adults in the room is as much of an agreement he needs to believe it.

Apparently though, in the scuffle between the two brothers, Peter-still-as-Scabbers had escaped and then when they went to look for him they’d been ambushed by Dementors and it had just been one big old mess. Sirius had gotten arrested, Regulus got bit by an upset Buckbeak and Harry got rescued by someone he was sure was his dad but turned out was just actually himself – now usually Remus would think it would be quite silly that the boy had been so convinced, but seeing how two Marauders had showed up tonight, he himself found himself almost wishing it’d been true, for Prongs to have been the one to save him.

He’s also pretty damn proud that Harry mastered his Patronus though.

So apparently Hermione’s been using a time turner the whole year and that’s what they use to go back in time and save everyone which is insane, honestly, but Remus is all in all not surprised Dumbledore condoned that madness in the first place.

They make it sound very heroic, which Remus is sure it was, but then they almost let Peter escape again, apparently, but he doesn’t because now-Regulus just sends a letter to Dumbledore to explain the situation while past-Regulus joins the kids. Although it does mess with past-Regulus’ brain, nothing goes catastrophically wrong and then Peter is arrested, Ron is brought to the infirmary, and Sirius, cleared of all blame, is ushered away by his concerned and slightly grossed-out brother to take a bath.

Regulus finishes drying off his brother’s hair and looks at his watch. He says, very casually, “I think madam Pomfrey will let us into the infirmary now.”

The two Gryffindors nod excitedly, getting to their feet and nudging their still wet toes into their shoes. Regulus gives his brother a look and then ushers the teenagers away, directing his stern gaze at Remus instead, “you should both get some rest, you look horrible.”

Harry waves at his Godfather cheerfully, thrusting a bundle of cloth in Remus’ arm before he gives him a quick hug. Before he can process the move, the boy’s already closed the bathroom door behind him, and he’s left standing there with his best friend’s invisibility cloak.

He tells himself it’s not weird but it’s a big fat lie if he’s ever told himself one. He turns away to give the other man his privacy as Sirius lifts himself from the water, focusing instead on the colours of the yukata Regulus has laid out for his brother. It must have been something Regulus has kept with him for years, because he remembers the shade of crimson interwoven with golden thread, the softness of the fabric as he reaches out to touch it.

He must have seen it on Sirius a thousand times before – paired with a black obi when they’re up in the dorm drinking butter beer, a golden obi on nights spent in front of the fire with Remus’ hands in Sirius’ hair and—

Sirius doesn’t say anything as he carefully swaps out the soft fluffy towels for the cotton yukata, and Remus holds out the black obi for him without meeting his eyes. He’s not sure if it’s supposed to feel weird, when all it is is familiar.

He can’t help the smile that overtakes his face as he watches Sirius’ deft fingers tie his obi around his waist – maybe he’s still asleep and this is all a dream, but if it is, it’s one of the best dreams he’s had in ages.

They get under the cloak, and Remus appreciates Harry’s kindness at the offer – the halls will be filling in with students now – but it is also such an odd feeling he kind of has to laugh. It’s like they’re children again, sneaking around behind teachers’ backs, except that the cloak is too small to fit them properly and they’re both kind of gasping with stifled giggles as they try to hide their feet.

He refrains from looking at Sirius’ face because even just hearing him laugh is already too much. Their shoulders touch and it’s electric and they hobble through the corridors, biting into their fists and giddily thumping into each other as they rush this way or that to avoid colliding into unsuspecting students.

He feels like maybe he’s fifteen again, and he has Sirius by his side, and it’s the best feeling in the world.

They stumble up the staircase leading to Remus’ office in a flurry of limbs and giggles and they ignore the mess, beeline for his bedroom and then Sirius tears off the cloak and they fall back against the door, crying because they’re laughing so hard.

It should be strange and foreign, but when Sirius’ hand finds his face it’s the most natural thing in the world. After all these years, he comes home, buries his cheek into the warmth of his palm, and when their eyes meet there’s a storm – Remus is just very good at weathering those.

Sirius uses both hands to cup his face and he thinks maybe he loses himself a little bit, because he can feel it tingling just below the skin, the heat blooms in his heart and spreads all the way to his toes and he wants this moment to possibly never pass.

It has to though, because he's steadily bleeding through his bandages.

There's this glimpse of the life he's always imagined, as he sits on the bed and lets the raven take care of his – his hands are gentle as they dap Murtlap essence on his wounds, even gentler as they rewrap his bandages. He doesn't hum a tune, like he does when Remus dreams about this, but then maybe the ruffling of his yukata where it bunches at his knees is tune enough.

They nap, and it's the best nap Remus has ever had in possibly his whole entire life. It's not just the warmth of another body, but the smell of tangy lemon verbena and grass and something earthy – it shouldn't be so comforting, but it had been years since that scent had stained his lips; it was the same scent that soaked into his pillow cases, lingered on all his favourite sweaters, drove him crazy every full moon and was there to lull him back again come morning; the scent of his mate.

The warmth of it is indescribable, and he can't quite convince himself he's not dreaming yet.

As it turns out he's not dreaming and the next few days are just a kind of daze of re-introducing Sirius to the wizarding world. He spends long walks with Harry by the lake, until they come back, both pink-faced and eyes filled with mischief, and implores Remus to come creep into the hidden corridors with them, shows Harry how to tie his obi and tells all the embarrassing stories that go with the pictures in his photo album.

“James had been blubbering like a baby before this one, see Remus is very adapt at the tickling charm,” he says, and, “Lily almost forgot her potion essay that morning, not her finest moment,” and Harry is always just stifling his laughter behind his hand, holding onto Sirius’ arm for dear life.

Summer sees them parted, and Remus loathes to watch it happen, but there’s things Dumbledore still needs arranged before Harry can have what he’s always wanted, and thankfully – or maybe sadly? – the sight of Sirius scares the muggles so much Remus is quite sure they will think twice before they mistreat the boy again.

Sirius takes it all in strides – he smiles at every mistrustful look he gets and the fondness that mares his face as he’s introduced to Siri is far too adorable. He makes his home on Regulus’ couch and after dinner tells of his nightmares with hushed breath pressed into Remus’ skin. And he says, “we can take it slow,” and “let me take you out,” and Remus thinks any day now, he’ll wake up, watering can still in hand.

Except he doesn’t.

So instead of worrying he lets Sirius take him out. They go on a date every day for a month, because Sirius is seemingly determined to reduce him to a blushing mess. He brings him flowers – some of them look familiar, and Remus tries not to grin at the thought of the younger Black realising some of his roses have gone missing – and takes him out for ice cream and to watch a movie in the theatre and to eat at expensive pasta restaurants and in the evenings he walks him home and they sit in the garden, watching Sirius’ fingers dance in the air as he maps out the stars they see.

He puts Remus to bed too, always gently, presses kisses to his forehead and hums until he falls asleep and he’s not sure what they’re waiting for – not exactly, not until one evening the older man settles down besides the bed, props his chin up on the mattress.

Today his yukata is yellow with pink woven through, a beautiful display of summery youth that he hasn’t felt since he was a teen. The fabric is soft when their elbows brush, and Remus has been repressing the urge to reach out and touch it all day. It reveals the nape of his neck, where ink runs up to meet his hair and he tries not to think about how many times his lips have followed that pattern – his tongue could trace the shape of it with his eyes closed.

He enjoys a little more ostentatious kanzashi these days – compared to when he was young and he would take the ones his mother would miss the least – and today it’s golden with ribbons of soft green and orange decorating it. It matches his hair beautifully as he pins it upwards, allowing stray locks to frame his face and tickle at his neck.

Remus is turned onto his side so that he can watch the older man’s face as he sings softly, drawing nonsensical figures on the linen with his fingers. His wrists are inked, and there’s been enough time passed now so that he doesn’t feel strange about letting his pinky finger brush past them, as if by mere accident, and he thinks that’s good enough, it really is.

“Well I don’t know about you Moony,” he murmurs into the air between them, close to where Remus’ hips are hiding beneath the blankets, “but I for one find you still as lovely and intellectually stimulating as I always used to,” he’s giggling now, which is stupid, but he’s trying hard to hide his rapidly pinkening cheeks and there’s only so much of his face he can hide all at once, “and if you don’t mind I would very much like to spend the night.”

He doesn’t mind, but he does exclaim a, “you’ll have Regulus all worried,” in fake-exasperation as the older raven crawls into bed and tickles him into submission.

It’s a lot like when they were younger and it’s pretty messed up how nothing has changed because Remus knows he as a person has actually changed a lot. And he knows for a fact that Sirius has changed a lot, too. But for some reason that makes no difference in who they are to each other, and he sees all the ways Sirius has changed and then sees the way he hasn’t and in the end it still kind of boils down to this:

He has always loved Sirius most.

If he were to put it in a graph it would be that very same stagnant line and he likes to pretend things changed and he was convinced of Sirius’ guilt and his feeling acted accordingly, but when do they ever?

Never.

So he just blushes a brighter pink and is acutely aware of where Sirius’ yukata is falling open to reveal his milky thigs, blotted with ink, and he blushes even brighter and then giggles again as the man’s fingers find his ribs.

“Now let me just make sure you aren’t missing any bits,” he says this with a straight face and nudges at Remus’ shirt as he does, “I know how you get Moony.”

He feels like a teenager all over again, but in the best of ways. Sirius blushes too, brighter than he ever has, but then he’s just all feisty teeth and gentle fingers and Remus thinks now, or now, or definitely now but he crashes and his body goes stiff with it too and he doesn’t wake up, his mind just kind of goes blank and he thinks maybe he’ll never breathe again, because Sirius has stolen his breath away.

In the morning Sirius is all smiles as he makes him breakfast, bare-foot in the kitchen with only Remus’ dress shirt to cover up the black scribbles down his back and Remus thinks this is a glorious moment, he never wants to forget.

Today is different. Sirius insists they don’t need to see Regulus for lunch – even though they’d promised – and then kind of nudges Remus until he’s agreed to take them out for a drive.

The drive is really nice though, Remus loathes to admit it. Sirius is wearing blue today, a yukata he’s discovered Remus has been keeping in his closet for all these years and it’s something that caused only shame before, but now, seeing him in those colours, it brings a smile to his face so bright his cheeks hurt.

His profile is just always being framed beautifully by the light, as if the sun revolves around this delicate creature besides him, shapes itself so as to always have his skin set alit. Ink seeps out from under the wide sleeves as the man indicates where they should make a turn and Remus wants to press his lips to the pulse and feel it. There’s one hand always hiding between the hotness of his thigs and Remus thinks he’s home there, that’s where his hand should be making a nest and stay, for all eternity. He’s not dreaming.

They drive a ways away until they’ve gone into town and then passed through again, to the quieter muggle neighbourhoods where all the houses are standalones with big yards and flowerbeds at the front. There’s a white house at the end of the street and they haven’t stopped yet but Remus can feels Sirius’ magic there, crackling in the air and he’s not sure why but his stomach does a summersault and when he glances over at him, he’s grinning, his canines bared.

The shutters are marine blue and the door is the lighter colour of Sirius’ yukata and the roof panes are red and there’s so many plants in the front yard, he can imagine the smell of them even before he’s halted the car.

Harry’s outside, afro a mess as always but his smile is splitting his face in two, white pearly teeth showing and his hand is waving over at them, his whole body practically vibrating with the excitement of it. Regulus stands besides him, a perfect picture as always, with his hair brought up atop his head and his obi done tightly around his waist. He’s smiling, too, and Remus thinks he might be so happy it aches.

“So?” Sirius’ hand finds his own and when their eyes meet he thinks he might drown.

He’s holding out a small blue box and the ring is too obnoxious, gorgeous silver with a gleaming white moon stone set in it and Remus knows it’s going to be heavy and uncomfortable and he’s going to love every minute of it.

“Am I dreaming?” he’s not sure what else to say, but when he reaches out to touch the box, Sirius’ snaps it closed on his fingers, making him yelp and then glare at the other man.

He’s still grinning, “well? Are you?”

He isn’t.

They sit out on the porch that night, with Harry running around the yard, trying to very strategically convince them that buying a puppy should definitely be their next move because Padfoot needs someone to keep him young.

All three of them are insulted, but Harry is grinning and his eyes have little diamonds in them and he’s so happy, life is good.

He’s still smiling when they put him to bed that night, and he’ll wake up with a smile next morning too. It’s nothing he’d ever expected to happen but now he can’t get enough of it.

Out in the yard, Sirius sits in the middle, using his long legs to drive the swing into action.

He takes one of his brother’s cigarettes and they jest about it in quiet, hushed voices, and Remus thinks how lucky they are, to be sitting on this bench with Sirius between them, their hearts so filled with forgiveness and fondness and he watches as the two men inhale and then exhale and their shoulders are brushing, meshed tight, as they continue to exist, together.

***