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Sirius and Regulus had first heard about it when they were eleven and nine, respectively. They hadn't really thought much about it, not at first. Didn't give it the attention it deserved.
“I still think they're too young for this," Walburga Black had raised an eyebrow at her husband, expression imperious and demanding. Surprisingly, Orion, someone who usually acquiesced to his wife's wishes, had merely shook his head, and motioned for the boys to follow him into the study.
They had shared a wide-eyed look of wonderment with each other before they entered their father's study for the first and last time. The entire study was filled with shelves that contained books, most of them that looked ancient to Sirius. The room had the pleasing smell of old, well-kept books, and Sirius had to resist the urge to inhale the scent; his father would never allow something so plebeian. Orion gestured for them to sit in the uncomfortable seats placed in front of his desk, settling back on his comfortable chair as he did so.
“There's something... important we have been withholding from you," their father had started, paying more attention to them than he had ever done through the course of his lifetime, and once again, probably for the last time. “Our family has a... curse placed upon us, one that has lasted for generations."
Sirius and Regulus sucked in a breath simultaneously; they both knew that if a curse had lasted that long and no-one had done anything to counter it—well.
It was permanent.
“It's called the Hanahaki Disease," his father had intoned, almost whispered it, as he rose up from his table and retrieved a worn, leather-bound book from the bookshelf. Magical Diseases and Genealogy, it had read, in faded gold lettering. Sirius and Regulus had looked, almost unable to take the book and make their family curse all the more real for it.
At long last, Sirius had reached out a trembling hand and took it. The cover had felt fragile beneath his fingertips as if one touch would cause it to blow off. “All the information you need is in here." He motioned for them to go on. There was a bookmark placed in the middle of the book; they knew enough about their parents' thoroughness to know that everything they needed to know would be in there. It hadn't made Sirius's resentment for them any less, though.
And that was it.
They had trooped upstairs almost militantly, Sirius clutching the book in his hand, afraid it might slip and grant him his father's ire. Again. He had never been the best at acting the Pure-blood heir like Regulus was.
By unspoken agreement, they had both settled on Sirius's much larger bed and prepared to read, anticipation and something that resembled fear in their hearts, somehow knowing their lives would be changed irrevocably by what lay within.
The Hanahaki Disease, it read, is a curse that would cause its victims to discharge flowers through their mouth in the presence and when thinking of someone they love romantically, and who they believe would never be able to return their feelings. While this curse may not seem harmful at first, if left untreated, the afflicted would be forced to give up their life to the curse due to blood loss and suffocation through how the vines wrap around the victims' heart.
While this curse may seem like gruesome revenge, it had nearly fallen into obscurity due to the complexity of the spell and the fact that no-one knows exactly how it can be reversed - or how it would affect the family of the cursed, either. For instance, the Black Family....
“Sirius?" a concerned voice asked as he vomited into the sink, unable to even keep his dignity intact enough to close the bathroom door behind him. And it was James, he shouldn't even have felt embarrassed. He's practically a brother, Sirius thought, resolutely pushing thoughts of Regulus out of his mind, Regulus, who had stubbornly insisted on staying with the Black family even though the only thing they truly received from it was copious amounts of abuse and an inconvenient curse.
Though inconvenient might be an understatement.
“I'm fine, James," Sirius said back, grimacing as he coughed once again, a petal slipping out of his mouth despite his own volition. He closed his eyes and leaned his head against the sink, feeling the cool tiles beneath his forehead. His throat ached. And he didn't even want to look at the flowers on the sink, at what seemed like an endless supply of Daffodils. Unrequited love. Figures.
“Of course, you are," James said, his tone unimpressed. Sirius laughed wetly, glad to see that the flowers seemed to have receded for now, at least. “Want to tell me why you started coughing up flowers as soon as we stopped talking to Remus?"
“You know why," Sirius said, his cheeks heating up despite himself.
James shot him a quick grin, though it still didn't mask the concern in his eyes. He, being a pure-blood, knew more than Moony or Wormtail about what the Hanahaki disease entailed - you didn't die instantly from it, not really. First, it was the uncomfortable sensation of having flowers come out of your mouth; ornamental, pretty. You only had to worry about it when it wasn't just the flowers that came with it. When the blood came out when you started coughing.
For now, despite how much Sirius's throat ached, it was a minor inconvenience. This was why Sirius felt it was well within his rights to stride past James who was leaning against the doorway of the bathroom to flop himself down on the bed and heave a theatrical groan.
James just sighed and made to lay down beside him. “Move, you oaf," was hissed quite a few times before they managed to find a comfortable position on the bed, both of them gazing up at the wall, enchanted to resemble the sky much like the Great Hall at Hogwarts. Sirius knew James, who had grown up in the Potter Manor, wouldn't have found it noteworthy, but Sirius, who had only seen house-elf heads around his house as “tasteful decoration" found it delightful.
“You should tell him, you know," James said finally. Quietly.
“Tell him what?" Sirius asked, eyes fixed firmly on the roof, not able to acknowledge his feelings, not yet.
James just sighed again. “It's only going to get worse; you know."
“Not for at least two years," Sirius attempted to joke. “I'll definitely tell him when the blood starts coming."
“That's not fucking funny, Sirius," James said, and Sirius started. He had never heard James sounding quite so furious as he did right now as if one word would wrench him apart.
“I didn't say it was," Sirius hissed, equally furious, somehow. “Just that - the fuck am I going to do, except make this into a joke? Do you think I like throwing flowers up every day just because of something stupid my ancestors did?"
“Sure seems like it, sometimes," James replied softly, a direct contrast to his voice from before. This one sounded weary - and Sirius hadn’t known James was capable of sounding weary.
Sirius just rested his head on the crook of James's shoulder, having no answer for that.
Instead: “You know, it started in February?”
“February? " there was no mistaking the hurt in James's voice. Sirius winced. “Remember what else happened in February?"
“What do you mean, what else— oh. "
When Sirius, in a fit of rage, had told Snape to go to the Whomping Willow on the day of the full moon. If James hadn't intervened and rescued him - Sirius shuddered to think what would have happened to Remus. To both of them. Snape would have probably been turned, and Remus - Remus would have likely been expelled. Or consider if the Ministry got involved, much worse. Sirius shuddered to think what much worse entailed.
He would never forget the next day when Remus looked at him with undisguised hurt on his face, his look of betrayal making tears and something else clog the back of his throat. He opened his mouth to say something, to say anything - how he was sorry, how he didn't actually mean to tell Snape, how it slipped out, how he never thought Snape would actually go through with it - when Remus shook his head and looked away, and that was damning.
Sirius had turned and fled.
He hadn't been in time to reach the dormitories, instead going to the nearest bathroom and locking himself inside a compartment and coughing out a small, solitary flower that had been threatening to break free ever since Remus had stared at him with a cold, unforgiving look in his eyes.
A lonely yellow carnation. You have disappointed me. Sirius closed his eyes.
Remus hadn't talked to Sirius for months afterwards. Even James, who had been far more sympathetic, had refused to talk to him for a week until he realized how absolutely miserable Sirius looked.
Now, James fell silent, apparently unable to say something, for once.
“I don't want to tell him, not yet," Sirius raised his hand when James looked like he was on the verge of saying something. “It's too early James, you know that."
“Yeah, well." That's mostly your fault, Sirius went unsaid. Or maybe Sirius was being entirely unfair to James. Sirius knew, realistically, that Remus knew him better than anyone else, and now that he was talking to him, it was only a matter of time until Remus figured it out for himself, but.
But.
James nudged Sirius's head with his shoulder, standing up and stretching. “Want to go downstairs and play some Quidditch?"
“Do I ever, " Sirius replied, conversation forgotten for now.
“What are we going to do about it, Sirius?" Regulus asked, wide-eyed, only knowing that his brother had all the answers in the world.
“I'm never going to fall in love, of course," Sirius replied, puffing up his chest as Regulus nodded, something thoughtful in his face.
Sirius just wished they had come up with a contingency plan.
Remus found out much sooner than even Sirius intended. He had managed to stop himself from coughing up flowers when they all visited Diagon Alley - but Sirius clamping his mouth shut and not talking again was very noticeable when he usually would not shut up. He had caught Remus looking at him with surprise in his eyes more than once when he didn't join in on their jokes. James had tried hard to keep Remus's attention away from him, but no-one could stop a stubborn Remus from finding out what he wanted.
“Sirius - " Remus had started when James had finally run out of breath and they were enveloped in awkward silence. Even Peter, usually very much oblivious to social cues, had seen the tension thick in the air and was glancing between James, Sirius, and Remus nervously.
It was only that—Sirius, when he tried explaining himself in response to Remus’s hurt and imploring look, opened his mouth, and a pink orchid slipped out, brilliant in its capacity to silence everyone around him. James, who looked sympathetic; Peter, who looked confused; and last of all, Remus, with a dawning look of comprehension in his eyes.
“Yeah,” Sirius coughed, more and more orchids falling out, intermixed with daffodils. The mix would have been something Remus would have appreciated, some other time. This time, Remus looked frozen, apparently unable to believe what was in front of his eyes, face paling rapidly. They were attracting attention, too; Sirius could see the unsubtle glances the passing wixen gave the ground in front of Zonkos where they were standing, the whispers of Sirius Black, the Black heir you know… I don't think he's any longer… fat load of good that did him…
James, taking one took at both Remus and Sirius's faces, dragged them both back to the Leaky Cauldron and ordered a butterbeer for all of them.
"Who is she?" Remus finally managed, his voice somehow deadened.
Sirius blanched, realizing that the time had come for him to confess, to matter if he wanted to or not. "Not a she, actually," he hedged.
"Who's he, then?" Remus asked impatiently. "Or they—whatever. And why haven't you told them yet?"
Sirius exchanged a surprised glance with James, both of them realizing two things at the same time; one) Remus, who was a half-blood, had heard horror stories all his life about what the Hanahaki curse entailed, and two) none of them were even close to the truth. Even James knew not to be that panicked about the curse because he had a distant Black relative. Sirius envied that sometimes; that they didn't have to live their whole life knowing that if someone didn't love them back, they’ll have to die a slow, painful, uncomfortable death tasting of rotten flowers and regret.
"Can someone please tell me what's going on?" Peter burst out, and Sirius jumped. With Sirius's preoccupation with Remus, he hadn't even realized he was ignoring his other best friend. He gave Peter an apologetic smile that he hoped meant, I'll tell you everything later. Their waiter, who set down Butterbeers in front of everyone, looked at them all in ascance, but didn't comment.
"What's going on," Remus said, before Sirius or James could answer. "Is that, Sirius is dying." Peter gasped and looked between Remus and Sirius as if they were doing some kind of elaborate prank on him.
"I'm not dying, not exactly," Sirius exclaimed, before Remus could get carried away. He clutched his Butterbeer tightly, letting the cold seep into his hands, and wondered if he could get away with ordering something far stronger just to get through this conversation. "There's this family curse—no one knows exactly how we got cursed, but it causes everyone with Black blood to cough up flowers when they're… infatuated with someone who they think doesn't love them back," his gaze drifted to Remus's figure almost involuntarily, nearly cursing when he realized that Peter, at least, had noticed. "It doesn't really get serious until about two years after that—that's when you start coughing up blood. Even then, it'll take—"
He had to stop talking as the coughs wracked his body, the constricted feeling getting worse and worse until he had no choice except to cough, his body giving in and spilling whatever secrets it wanted to. Pink camellias. A dozen pink camellias. Sirius had thought, at least I don't have to explain that I only cough up flowers when there's someone I know around, when he had first begun explaining, but knew he couldn't explain it away now—with a pink camellia that said longing for you as clear as day for Remus, who had always been obsessed with the meanings of flowers.
"The person you fancy is one of… us," Remus realized, causing Peter to choke on his Butterbeer. James patted him on the back, though he didn't seem inclined to take his eyes off the scene in front of him; Sirius clutching on to his last thread of sanity and Remus with something unreadable in his eyes.
"Yes," Sirius said, not taking his eyes off Remus's amber ones, not even for a second. He had liked Remus since the moment he had met him; this boy who had endured hardship and still came out of it alive to be gentle and kind and so, so, courageous.
Sirius had always taken from Remus's courageousness, and he wasn't about to let Remus down again; Sirius's confession was what he deserved.
"Is it..." Remus licked his lips. Sirius felt his eyes follow that movement, an endless moment suspended in the air as Remus waited for Sirius's response.
"It's you, Remus," he said.
In Azkaban—a place where your hope was sucked out, your happiness that you once took for granted became extinct—it was hard to summon anything that resembled happy memories when everything was tinged with betrayal, with nostalgia, with grief.
It was just—Remus hadn't come back for him. No one had come back for him. He had held his hope out for seven years, seven fucking years when he had thought Remus would come back, tell him this was all a big mistake, that Remus, at least, believed him.
He realized no one was coming back for him seven years after that fateful Halloween night, when Sirius had realized one of his closest friends was responsible for James and Lily's death.
That was the day—a gloomy, rainy day that didn't distinguish any other day in Azkaban—that Sirius gave up all hope.
He coughed, long and hard, enough so that his throat hurt, knowing what was about to come before they almost tumbled out of his mouth, what seemed like an avalanche of daffodils and marigolds bringing tears to his eyes.
He still loved Remus—he had spent more than half his life loving Remus Lupin, so how could he have stopped, really?
"You two are disgusting," James complained light heartedly, looking at both Sirius and Remus wrapped up in one another in the loveseat next to the fire, boneless and comfortable. James was doing his Potions homework, while Sirius, who had decided to not take Potions for his NEWTs, was blissfully free to snog his boyfriend for as long as he wanted to.
You're one to talk, Sirius nearly said, remembering the countless times he had seen Lily and James cuddled up beside the fireplace, though they still refused to admit they were dating— before Remus, already anticipating what Sirius was about to say, nudged him on the shoulder that was as clear a sign for him to shut up as any.
James shot a grateful look at Remus, before changing the subject to ask: "So, what are your plans after Hogwarts? I can't believe we only have a few months left." Sirius couldn't either, not really. Seven years had seemed like a long time for him, then, when he was a tiny first year who knew his parents weren't happy about his Sorting; now, seven years seemed to have passed in the blink of an eye, leaving nothing but memories behind.
"It's not like I can keep intruding on your parents," Sirius said, raising his hand when James looked as if he was about to protest. Remus shifted beside him, interested; Sirius hadn't even told Remus what had gotten him so excited when he had received a letter in the morning. "Uncle Alphie, my favorite relative—well, after Andi, really—left me his flat. " He was immediately crushed up in a sideways hug by Remus, who pressed a kiss to his cheek in the process.
"I'm so happy for you, Sirius," James said, and he sounded it, too; his eyes alight with happiness for his friend. He had known, more than anyone else, how Sirius felt about not knowing what to do for himself anymore; he was effectively penniless and contactless in a society that relied entirely on connections to get by.
"What about you, Moony?" Sirius asked, smile widening as Remus blinked through his long lashes at him. "Want to move in with me?"
"Sirius," Remus said, in a tone that said, why do I love this idiot as much as I do, honestly. Sirius loved to bring that voice out of him. "You really need to think this through, you know."
"And what's there to think through?" Sirius asked, rolling his eyes fondly. "You're my boyfriend, I love you, and I want you to move in with me. And besides, it'll be more convenient for us like this, anyway."
"And what did I say? Disgusting," James muttered, not sounding even vaguely disgusted, his fondness for his best friends evident. "Just move in with him, Remus, you know he won't shut up otherwise."
"You know, that is a good incentive," Remus mused, not even flinching at Sirius's glare. To be fair, Sirius's glares, while lethal aimed at anyone else, was downright soppy when it concerned Remus.
"Hey!" Sirius said. "I'm your boyfriend and I think it'll be great fun for us to live together—so, please? At least think about it?"
Remus sighed. "Fine," he replied, and Sirius's heart leapt. "I'll think about it." And coming from Remus, this was as close to an agreement as Sirius was going to get.
It had been three years since he had started coughing up flowers, so reminiscent of the latter half of his fifth year but nothing like it. Being a dog helped with the flowers, though Sirius knew it wouldn't really keep him from coughing up blood for much longer. When he was a dog, he couldn't think— at least not about Remus, though the hunger pangs and the loneliness never went away. The dementors didn't care, they simply left him his food and went to further, better locations, where they could suck out the happiness of someone else, someone who wasn't an Animagus.
Sometimes, most of the time, Sirius transformed back into a human. He wanted to remember— remember James and Lily and Remus and Harry and even Regulus, as they were the only people who kept him sane; Harry, most of all.
Harry, who would have been eleven years old today. Harry, with black hair and green eyes that were so reminiscent of his mother. He hoped, against all hope, that Harry, at least, was living well; that he had a family who loved him, who did all the things that Sirius—and James and Lily— missed out on.
He had tried to stop thinking about Remus, but it was Remus his thoughts were drawn to despite his own volition; whether he was okay, whether he had anyone to look after him now, whether he still had the same scars that he got in the full moon that Sirius had always told him was his and was beautiful because of it, or whether more had been added, intricate patterns that Sirius wanted to run his mouth through, as he had done countless times.
He coughed, and he felt it this time; the copper tang at the back of his throat, uncomfortable. He knew what was coming for him, had known since he was eleven, but that didn't matter, not really, with the crushing reality that he was spitting blood to the cool, uncomfortable surface of a cell in Azkaban, and he was going to die this way, with no one believing he was innocent.
He sank to the floor, and didn't know what to do.
"I thought you said you were moving in with me?" Sirius said, heart sinking with every word Remus uttered.
Remus's face, which had previously looked like he was about to face an army, immediately gentled. "I am." Remus assured him. "It's just—Dumbledore's told me to try and convert as many werewolves as I can to our side, and I really don't think—you know what I mean."
"No," Sirius replied, finally letting a hint of anger sneak into his voice, glad of the silencing charms that Remus had placed around their table at the Leaky Cauldron. "I don't understand what you mean. So you're, what? Just going to a place filled with werewolves with nothing except your clothes? And you want me to not hope that you're going to come out of it alive?"
Remus looked alarmed at Sirius's vehemence. "I didn't mean that," Remus said, sounding truly sincere. "I just mean—if I didn't move in, and you didn't keep waiting for me..."
"It'll be easier for me to accept it when you don't come back?" Sirius hissed. "Well, fuck you. I love you, Remus Lupin, and whether we are living together or not doesn't change that. I just want you to be safe. I just want everyone to be safe." His voice cracked at the end.
"Fuck, Sirius," Remus whispered. "I'm sorry, okay? I love you too—I just, I wanted to keep from hurting your feelings more—"
"And a right shoddy job of it you did, too," Sirius sniffed, surprised to see the tears gather at the back of his eyelids. He looked away. Remus took his hand.
"If that's how you feel—I'll move in with you."
"Really? Not because I want you to, right? You actually want to move in with me?"
When Sirius finally looked at Remus, he was smiling. "You idiot," he said, smile unbelievably soft. "There's nothing I would like better."
When Fudge came to visit him— the only visitor in twelve years, his mind couldn't help but point out—it was all Sirius could do to not snatch the Daily Prophet out of his hands and hit him on the head with it.
At least, through his gloating, Sirius knew Harry was alive and safe— living the life that Sirius couldn't give him. Which all went to the back of his mind when he saw the Weasleys— Doesn't it make you sad to know that your godchild is associating with blood-traitors— with a rat that looked too familiar, to be anyone else except Pettigrew.
After Fudge left, Pettigrew was all he could think about—how the fucking traitor was still living, how he could do real harm to his godson and no one knew of it but him. And that was all he needed to become determined, more than ever, to escape.
He didn't know how he had escaped, not really— everything in Azkaban had been hazy, and this was no exception, him transforming into a dog and slipping out, swimming across the island, shivering with a single-minded intensity.
Being a dog didn't help with the curse now, not really. Even though his emotions were dulled, he could still feel the vines wrapped around his heart, suffocating him, bit by bit. He knew he didn't have much time left, that everyone thought Pettigrew was dead and he, a criminal.
"Remus is still at a camp," Sirius said mournfully. James and Lily looked at him sympathetically, the latter's baby bump evident. Sirius still couldn't believe that his best friend was going to be a father soon, though he knew James would be the best father his child could ever ask for. He couldn't wait to see them raise Harry, to make memories and have the family that they've always wanted. They were all at Godric's Hollow, after Dumbeldore had insisted they go into hiding under the Fidelius Charm due to some prophecy. With how Remus was in and out of werewolf camps as much as he was, he was the most likely out of them all to give something away, as much as every one of them hated to admit it.
"I'm sorry, Sirius," and James looked like he really meant it.
"It's okay, James. I just… really miss him, that's all."
"We know you do," Lily said, laying a comforting hand on Sirius's shoulder. "Is there anything we can do to make it better?"
"Tell me something cheerful—something that's not about the war. Please."
"Well," James and Lily looked at each other, their expressions commiserating. Go on, Lily mouthed, alighting Sirius's curiosity further. "We want you to be his godfather, Sirius."
"Really?" Sirius asked, the joy in his heart almost making him believe this wasn't real, that this was some elaborate prank that James had cooked up. But looking at James's expression that said, of course really, you daft bugger, Sirius couldn't help but laugh, more joyful than he had felt in a while.
"I'll be the best godfather," Sirius promised, his grin widening.
"And we don't doubt it."
Stealing a human disguised as a rat wasn’t really easy, even with a cat’s help. And especially when there were flowers blocking you from breathing, flowers that might have been pretty coming up with too much blood.
He was dying, and there was no one who could help him.
When he finally, finally caught hold of Pettigrew, he couldn’t help the satisfied smile that crossed his face, feeling a pang of sympathy for the boy who was holding on to him, looking terrified of who he knew as a criminal and nothing else.
And when he saw Harry—brave Harry, who James and Lily would have been proud of, willing to defend his friends until his very last breath—he couldn’t help the awestruck you look so much like your father, Harry, that he exhaled, the flowers forgotten for once. It was just for one minute—but that was enough. Then Remus was here, and Sirius couldn’t help drinking him in; he’d gotten thinner, but he was still the Remus that Sirius knew—older and with a look in his eyes that mirrored Sirius’s, a look that he’d seen on everyone who went through bloody fucking war, but the Remus that Sirius knew all the same.
(Sometimes, Sirius felt as if he knew Remus like he knew himself. He knew better now; Sirius knew Remus far better than he knew himself.)
Then they were explaining a lifetime of memories—but they weren’t a lifetime for Remus, was it? In Azkaban, Sirius hadn’t been allowed to grow, not really— in a few words, Remus filling in for him when the words got too much and he had to cough and cough and cough, trying valiantly to hide how blood and flowers came up with it, how his chest ached with it.
(Sirius was dying. He had known that for a long time.)
(At least Harry was safe. At least Remus was.)
“Are you okay, Mr. Black?” Harry’s smart friend tentatively asked, the only one not preoccupied with Pettigrew and his betrayal to notice Sirius’s discomfort. Though discomfort was an understatement—the pain, which had been manageable just this morning, had only gotten worse in the excitement, his heart going Remus Remus Remus whenever he was near.
“I’m fine,” Sirius managed, trying to keep his voice even, utterly unable to contain his wince even as he looked away to try to hide the remnants of blood and flowers in his mouth. But Remus, even after all this time, knew him too well; he knew the signs when Sirius was hiding something, even better when Sirius was hiding something that would spare Remus any hurt.
“No…” Remus whispered, actually stepping away, and his eyes were only on Sirius’s, the bound Pettigrew forgotten for the moment. “It’s not…”
Sirius smiled, slowly. As if on cue, he felt himself coughing, unable to stop himself in the face of Remus’s earnest gaze. He could hear the others gasping, but he only had eyes for Remus, who looked like he had seen a ghost.
Someone—he didn’t remember who—had told him that he had the horrible habit of killing the things he loved until nothing else was left, and though he had known that wasn’t true, Sirius had been determined to never do that—but had he really succeeded? James and Lily were dead.
Sirius figured that it was about time that the thing he loved—the person he loved most in the world—would be the cause of his death, too.
He coughed and spat out one, singular, blood soaked rose, that made a loud thud in the ensuing silence.
He looked him square in the eye, the Gryffindor in him reaching up for one last time. “What do you think, Remus? Do you really think I could have ever stopped loving you?”
"It's you, Remus," he said.
Remus licked his lips, looking like he was unable to say anything in return for the first time since Sirius had known him. James stood up and dragged Peter along with him, making a half-assed excuse that didn’t sound sincere to the both of them.
Then, softly, slowly, Remus smiled. “You know, I think I’ve had a crush on you since third year, at least.”
Sirius felt his heart leap, hope and uncertainty equal, warring factions, a tidal wave of emotion. “I knew I fancied you—I just didn’t realize how much I did until last February.”
Remus frowned, remembering what happened last February, and Sirius winced. Then suddenly, the smile was back on his face again, though his eyes held something that looked a bit like fear, much to Sirius’s confusion. “You know I forgave you for that,” he said. “And I really want to make this—make us work.”
“You know I do, too,” Sirius replied, and he could finally breathe again, both literally and figuratively. He knew it would take more than a week for the vines to leave, but he could live like this, without the constant coughing that made him feel like he was suffocating, at least. “I know we’re never going to let anything happen to what we were before— I won’t let anything happen to it.”
And Remus, like all the times he had gone along with Sirius’s plans, rolled his eyes with a fond smile on his face. “Fine—but if this blows up in our faces, you really owe me one, Sirius Black.”
“Sounds like a deal,” Sirius laughed, finally reaching out and intertwining Remus’s hands in his own. It felt like a new beginning, and Sirius felt all the joy that came with it.