Chapter Text
Remus arrives back at Grimmauld the middle of the night to find Sirius’s side of the bed is cold and empty. He heads first to Buckbeak’s room, Sirius’s most frequent haunt, but he’s not there either. When he finds him, Sirius is in his childhood bedroom, sorting through a cache of muggle clothing he’d apparently kept hidden as a teenager, the garments spread across every surface in the room.
Sirius is holding out a long floor length skirt, sparkling with sequins. After a moment, he holds it against his waist, measuring. Privately, Remus lets out a quiet sigh. Out of touch wizards were always doing this, choosing the most robe-like garments available rather than sparing a thought for blending in. Before Azkaban, Sirius had always been fascinated and well-informed on Muggle culture, but naturally, Remus assumes, not even he is immune to the occasional slip-up from ingrained pureblood nonsense.
“Not really your style, Pads,” he says in greeting, stepping into the room.
“Says who?” retorts Sirius a bit sourly, not pausing in his inspection of the garment. It has quite the dramatic slit up side. “Welcome back, then.”
“Thanks. I only meant that’s—you know, that’s Muggle women’s clothing, Padfoot,”
Sirius scoffs. “I’m wearing trousers right now, Moony, I’m not an idiot. I know the difference.”
For a moment, Remus is surprised. It isn’t uncommon to see a wizard mistakenly crossing the strictly gendered divisions that govern Muggle clothing. It just really doesn’t translate to Wizarding culture and fashion, which is broadly gender-neutral. But if Sirius is aware, then why--?
“Oh, so it’s—it’s not yours, then?” he guesses.
“What?” responds Sirius testily. “You think I would’ve brought a random Muggle here? Back then? Are you mad? Muggle-baiting was a time-honored sport among this lot,” Sirius says, sweeping his arm to indicate the generations of Blacks long gone. “You—For that matter, you think I would’ve brought a Muggle girl back home? Surely you recall my proclivities better than that.”
“Er,” Remus chokes a bit at the raised eyebrow Sirius aims at him.
“Must’ve been a rough night on patrol,” says Sirius with a dash of condescension that means to be playful but comes out a bit too sharply. “The women’s clothes”—he makes quotes in the air with his fingers—"are mine, I wear them. Wore them.”
“I—I didn’t know that.”
“Learn something new every day,” says Sirius breezily, his tone careless but his face, turned away, is still a bit sharp and watchful.
“I, erm, I just never knew.” Where, Remus wants to ask. When? And, with a touch of the old school-age envy that used to exist mostly around the unit that was Sirius-and-James—why not me? Why not with me? Why didn’t I get to know about it?
Almost presciently, perhaps sensing something of the sudden unexpected longing awakening in Remus, Sirius abruptly elaborates:
“Well. Well, you know.” he says, sounding almost dismissive, “I wanted to wear them anyway. Never quite got the chance before I had to gather my things from this house and run for it, did I? And after, being disinherited rather put a strain on funds so these things moldered away here, and I couldn’t even replace them.
“I never meant it to be secret, really. It just never came up. Never felt like the right time to be letting loose after joining the Order. So I never got to.”
“Sorry, Padfoot. I—I wish you had,” says Remus quietly. He fingers a blouse draped on the chair nearest to him, feeling its satiny texture, its scalloped edges. “I would’ve like it.” Sirius whips his head around to look at him directly for the first time, gone still like a racing dog waiting for a signal. Now Remus is the one avoiding eye contact. He doesn’t look up, doesn’t see. “I mean, I would’ve liked to, you know… to join you.”
At this, Sirius’s face lights up in a wild grin and he erupts into relieved laughter, which Remus flinches under slightly before catching the emotion in it. Sirius crosses the room in a single bound and with a grunt of effort, seizes Remus about the middle and lifts him to spin in giddy circles.
“Let’s do it, then! Come on, Moony, let’s!” Sirius is beaming, crowing in triumph like they’re children again and he’s managed to cajole Remus into some mischief. Here is the unbridled joy that had gone buried for so long in their adulthood under danger, responsibilities, and suspicion.
“Alright! Yes! Alright, Padfoot! Enough,” he says, dizzy and yet laughing along gladly. This is something new, something they’ve never had before, not tainted by memories or loss, and it is going to be so, so good.