Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

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"Wish I still had my bike," Sirius mutters, as they step out. "You used to love it."

"You used to give me rides on it?" Harry asks. "I dream about that sometimes. Or something like that."

He winces as Sirius's expression turns guilty.

"So," Harry says, forcefully changing the topic, as they cross the road, and start walking out of the cramped street. "Where to, first?"

Sirius grins, quick and sneaky, his golden-red eyes flashing bright.



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They disapparate to a rather shady looking alley, abandoned and dusty, and Sirius moves like he comes here everyday.

They walk the short bend to reach the building with the glowing billboard.

"This one used to be my favorite, come on," Sirius runs up the steps, into what seems like a very loud, very  neon  open pub. "You say you've never drank a muggle drink before?"

"Nope," Harry feels excited.




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"Oh, what the  fuck  is this," Harry pulls a face, trying not to spit out the drink. It's bitter, and it makes his eyes sting and his head abruptly feels too warm. Sirius watches him curiously. 

"It's beer," the man at the counter supplies, dryly. "Diluted almost to the point of nothing."

Harry makes a gagging gesture.

"Maybe a cocktail," Sirius suggests. 

Harry chokes on the cocktail, too, at first. It's blue and cold and very different from the beer.

Sirius snorts, downing his beer.

"Do you need Babycham?" he asks, smirking at Harry.

"Oh, shut up."

"Wanna play darts?" 

Harry looks over, and setting down the glass, nods quickly.




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Ping! Ping-ping-ping!

"This isn't fair," Harry is protesting, an hour later, as Sirius's darts hit, one by one, the yellow blocks of the pac-man lighting up as his points go up. "I don't have as much practice as you!"

"You'll improve," Sirius shrugs, grinning. "Maybe not, though, what with your eyesight."

"Hey!" Harry throws his dart at Sirius, which hits him square on the face. "I'm a great seeker!"

"Sure you are," Sirius says, teasingly, going over to the counter and getting Harry another small glass of pink cocktail.

"It's your last one, by the way," Sirius says, handing it to him.

"I was just getting the hang of it," Harry says, scowling.

"You're fifteen," Sirius says,  trying to assume a stern expression. It's a funny look on him. "You have plenty of time to get the  hang  of it."

Harry shrugs, secretly pleased, and sips on the drink. 

"How're you affording all this, by the way?" Harry asks.

Sirius has the grace to look sheepish.

"I-uh. Well, I keep muggle money with me," Sirius clears his throat, before adding, defensively, "I wasn't planning on coming out of Grimmauld. Just. You know."

Harry, unfortunately, does know. 

(He used to keep his wand and his broomstick close to him, too, at the Dursleys.)






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Muggle streets at night are like a whole different world, bright lights and the smell of fried food wafting from the stalls and cafés, faint music streaming in from everywhere.

It's lovely.

For a second, Harry feels wistful, as he realises that this could have been his life with Sirius if Wormtail hadn't...

No point thinking about  that.

"THE SCREEN ON THE GREEN" , the dome shaped cinema theatre reads on the corner, in flashing lights. Harry wonders how his life would have been if he really wasn't a wizard.  'The Pulp Fiction'  and  'The Forrest Gump'  stare back at them. Sirius tells Harry about sneaking off from Hogwarts to watch movies and concerts in muggle London, and Harry again wonders, why they never did all of that.

Why they'd grown up so fast.

Sirius regales Harry with stories about James and Lily and Remus, and Harry listens to them almost hungrily, trying to remember all the tiny details, of how his Dad screamed while watching  Jaws,  how his Mum used to call him a wimp. Of Sirius and Remus and someone called Marlene McKinnon -

("We went out for a month or two," Sirius says, "before we both realised that we really  aren't  each other's type. If you know what I mean.") 

- of people called Dorcas Meadowes and Mary Macdonald - 

("Your Mum's friends were brillant.") 

- and of pranks and classes and full moons.

(When Harry was eleven, this was all that the words  Magic  school had meant to him.)

And in return, Harry tells him things he's never told anyone, the slight flutter in his stomach he used to feel when he saw Cedric, that hate-fuelled pull to Malfoy, of all bloody people. Of the boa constricter in the zoo, and all his bits of accidental magic. Of all the little things that annoy Harry or things that he likes but can't explain why. 

They go for a full pub crawl, walking and talking, and Sirius makes Harry try all these different types of street food that he hadn't even known existed. His stomach feels full but everything's delicious and  oh god  Harry hasn't ever eaten so much. 

They watch the beginning of some street play, and small musicals and dance performances happening at every street bend.

Harry's just...stunned. 

" - that despite everything happening, the war brewing, families dying," Sirius says, smiling softly, "people still manage to be happy."

"We still find reasons to celebrate. To  live,"  Harry nods. "It's beautiful."

"Your Mum and Dad's wedding..." Sirius trails off, sighing. "It was the same. Right in the middle of everything - " he breaks off, eyes trailing away. 

"You know what else is beautiful?" Harry says, in a cheery voice, when Sirius doesn't continue. "Those  Hot Cross Bun Macaron Ice Cream Sandwiches," he reads it off a yellow and blue billboard, and grins when Sirius is startled into a laugh.




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They do buy the  Hot Cross Bun Macaron Ice Cream Sandwiches, strolling down the street to a red brick building.

"It's the best lounge you'll ever find. Also the cheapest," Sirius tells him. "Their honey chilli grill is to  die  for!"

The inside looks more like a bookstore than a lounge, but they go inside, anyway, talking about inane things as they order.

Sirius is, again, right. The food is brillant.




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Sirius reapplies the charms on their hair and faces before they go outside. The sky is rather dark, now.

"You know, Harry," Sirius says, earnestly, turning to face him, "I...haven't enjoyed so much in really long. Really,  really  long."

Harry's glad.

"Neither have I," he says, honestly.

Thank you,  they both think.  For being there.

It's easily the best night of Harry’s entire life. 




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It ends too quickly.

Harry had hoped to go back to Grimmauld Place and take a shower and  sleep.  Except, when they go back, the living room isn't empty.

"And I can smell beer," Remus fucking Lupin says, gritting his teeth.  Bloody wolf.  He isn't even supposed to be here yet. He was supposed to move in the next day. "Did Harry drink, too?"

Harry tries looking innocent. Remus's expression goes from exasperated to  really  exasperated. 

"You filthy hypocrite," Sirius says, shaking his head incredulously. "You've been drinking since you were thirteen."

Remus opens and closes his mouth.

"Need I remind you of the Moonshine incident back in Fourth Year?" Sirius asks, raising his eyebrows. Remus valiantly tries not to flush.

"The  what  incident?" Harry asks, eyes wide.

"We took an oath," Remus says immediately, glaring at Sirius in warning.

"Really,  Professor  Lupin," Harry watches Remus squirm. 

Sirius laughs, giving Remus an exaggerated salute. "What happened during Moony’s formative years," Sirius bumps his shoulder with Remus's as he crosses, "stays in the Marauders' dormitory."

Harry snickers.

"And sometimes," Sirius calls from the kitchen, "in the Hufflepuff girls' dormitory!"

"Hufflepuffs," Harry says, suggestively, waggling his eyebrows. 

Remus looks like he regrets moving in.

"Honestly,"  he says, sounding too much like Hermione for a second. "What if you'd been seen? Or worse?"

"But we weren't," Sirius argues, "that's the whole point. We pulled it off. We're back safe. And we had fun. Not plenty of that to get in Azkaban."

Remus looks guilty for a moment, before plowing on.

"But what if you  had?"  he asks, running an agitated hand through his hand.

Harry doesn't really have a reply.

But,  he thinks,  I still don't regret it. 

"Some risks," Sirius says, softly, once Remus has stopped pacing about. "are worth taking."

(There's a light in Sirius's eyes that Harry hasn't ever seen before, a line lesser on his face, his smile a touch more genuine.)

No, Harry doesn't regret anything at all.





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