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Sirius wishes he could say that the world tunnels when Remus joins the shitshow in the Shrieking Shack. But that would be a lie, because everything else has already tunneled, has been for a very long time. Maybe if Sirius were some other version of himself, if he were younger or sane or more than half-alive, he would look at Remus and make note of his physical appearance—the scars, the shabby clothing, the pale and horribly blank expression on his face—and maybe he would remember when they were younger, the fear and hurt and disgust and betrayed anger that he couldn’t hide nearly so well as he thought. But Sirius has been thinking of that expression, the matching ones James and Peter wore too, and the weeks and months of paying dearly for an immature prank. He’s been thinking about it for years and years and years. It’s never far from the forefront of his mind, because the Dementors never let it go.
But Sirius isn’t thinking about it now, or taking in the differences twelve years can make, or thinking about the prank. He’s laying on the floor of the Shrieking Shack, surrounded by children who are terrified of him, by Peter Pettigrew who has a terrible knack for slipping away from him, and by Remus Lupin with a face devoid of the fear and hurt and disgust and betrayed anger it should have.
And Harry… Sirius’ godson, James and Lily’s son, the baby who felt at times like Sirius’ own heart outside of his body, who used to know him, who used to love him, who used to scream an adorable approximation of “Padfoot!” when Sirius would visit, with the biggest smile on his face, who cried when he had to leave… Harry is standing over him and he’s going to kill him.
Sirius knows he deserves it. He has so many other thoughts bouncing around—does it have to be Harry, Harry is a child still and he shouldn’t kill so young, and of course it has to be Harry because Harry’s parents are dead and it’s Sirius’ fault, and couldn’t he have been able to kill Peter once and for all before Harry killed him, and does Remus really have to be here to see it happen—but they’re impossible to think about because his world is tunneling. Remus in the doorway and Harry standing over him and Crookshanks on his chest.
“Expelliarmus!” Remus shouts, and the wand aimed at him flies away, and Sirius’ chest can do nothing but tighten at the look on Harry’s face, like he’s disappointed he didn’t get to finish what he started.
Sirius has to look away, and can’t stand to look at the other children who are crying and clutching Wormtail protectively, so he looks at Remus instead.
Remus is looking back. His mask cracks, and there’s a bolt of fear and hurt that has his mouth turning down, his eyes intense and not leaving Sirius’ face for even a second. When he speaks—and his voice is a shock wave over Sirius’ skin, familiar and safe but not, because he hasn’t heard it except for bad memories, Sirius are you fucking KIDDING ME, how could you do this to me, I trusted you, I thought this could work out and I thought you would trust me, I’m not a spy I would NEVER do that, how could you even ask that, is it because I’m a—his words shake with emotion. In another life, Sirius, who knew Remus as well as he knew the back of his own hand, would’ve called it regret or fear. Now it’s just wobbly, undefinable.
“Where is he, Sirius?”
Sirius. Sirius Sirius Sirius. Not many people still call him that anymore—Bella always did, her horribly shrieky voice echoing in the hall, Sirius the blood traitor, Sirius the cowardly lion, Sirius you did the right thing betraying those half-breeds, Sirius do you hear me, Sirius ANSWER ME—and it’s like a miracle, hearing it from Remus, from Moony, a miracle and an olive branch and a lifeline.
Then he takes in the words—where is he, where is who, where is—and then it hits him. Does Remus believe him? It’s almost too much to ask for. It’s definitely too much to ask for. Sirius has been begging for it for so long it can’t possibly be true.
Cautiously, he lifts a hand, not sure if he’s just finally cracked and Remus will kill him at any sudden movement, and points at Wormtail, still in the child’s arms.
Remus looks away only long enough to see their old friend, the third and final living Marauder, before turning his eyes back to Sirius. There’s a familiar sheen in them, the same expression Remus always got when he thought someone had figured out his secret, when he caught Sirius staring and neither of them backed down, when he was trying to see the grander scale of their pranks by focusing on the littlest things.
“But then… why hasn’t he shown himself before now? Unless—” and Remus looks at him, eyes wide, fear and hurt and horrible revelation, so unlike when the last details would click into place and he’d have an epiphany that made their schemes a hundred times better. Too much like after Sirius ruined everything the first time around. “—unless he was the one… unless you switched… without telling me?”
We can’t tell Moony, Peter had said, his face tight with what Sirius had thought was rather obvious and rather stupid fright. We can’t tell him. Godric only knows what he’s up to—he says Dumbledore has him on missions, but do any of you know what they are? And when the four of them couldn’t come up with any kind of concrete answer, Peter doubled down, and put enough doubt into their minds that James sighed and didn’t look at Sirius or Lily when he said, Fine. The fewer people who know about this, the better.
Peter had nodded in the kiss-arse way he always did, and asked to get started.
It isn’t right, Lily said, only once, later on when everything was said and done. And Sirius had thought, I know it isn’t, but he hadn’t said it, and had never told Remus or anyone about the switch, except for Bella who laughed herself silly and told him he was even more pathetic than she’d ever thought.
Sirius can’t help but think of these things. He can’t remember their voices except for these memories, can’t easily recall the better moments where Lily wasn’t calling him a toerag and where James wasn’t scolding Sirius for the prank and where Peter wasn’t sending their friends to their deaths.
But he has to focus, and he forces his mind away from all of it, forces himself to look Remus in the eye and nod.
“Professor,” Harry interrupts, loud and jarring. Sirius’ mind rebels as he remembers the time Harry, hardly a year old, had nearly fallen out of Sirius’ arms, and sobbed for long horrible minutes from the fright—as he remembers only a few minutes before when he was blaming Sirius for the deaths of his parents, threatening him with a wand. This is his godson, someone he’s always loved with everything in him, but Sirius’ mind is brittle and it takes shamefully long to tell himself Harry is not someone he can or will ever defend himself against. He’d rather die than hurt the boy. “What’s going on—?”
If he says something else, Sirius doesn’t hear it.
Remus lowers his wand. He doesn’t take his eyes away, not for a second, and steps forward.
Sirius’ whole body seems to react—spending so much time as Padfoot has left some things close to the surface, and the familiar smell and presence has him recognizing Remus as ally, friend, family, lover, pack, protector and protected, everything. More than anything, he feels—safe. Safe safe safe. He doesn’t know how this will end, can hardly even think of anything past this moment and the intense desire to rip Peter to shreds and to hug Harry and never let go. But he’s been in the wind for so long, and Remus isn’t looking at him with fear or hurt or disgust or any of it. He reaches out and takes Sirius’ hand and the touch is another shock wave, human contact and more importantly it’s Remus—it’s Moony—and he finally knows and maybe believes Sirius and—
Sirius is pulled to his feet, Crookshanks dropping gracefully to the ground, and then Remus is all around him, touching and protecting, one arm around his waist and one higher up, across the back of his shoulders. He’s holding so tight that Sirius’ breath stalls in his lungs.
It doesn’t seem real. He thinks, if this is a dream, he doesn’t want to wake up from it.
He throws himself into Remus. There’s not much room to go but he does it anyway, sending them careening back a step, but Remus is steady and they don’t fall, and he holds Sirius tighter like he’s trying to become one with him. Sirius never wants to let go, never wants to catch his breath again, it doesn’t matter so long as he’s right here, safe safe sa—
“I DON’T BELIEVE IT!”