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The door to the attic was not locked. Keeping his right hand on the knob, Remus rapped the knuckles of his left against the wood gingerly, waiting only a heartbeat before he opened it.
The whole country had suffered under a dry-spell and heatwave throughout the summer, and even now as the end of August rapidly closed in on them, the evenings were unusually warm. While most of No. 12 Grimmauld Place retained the cool better than its muggle neighbours most likely did - Remus suspected some kind of insulating charm at work - the air up in the attic felt hot and smothery, a condition only amplified by the funk of the hippogriff that was curled up and snoring in the far corner.
The wizard sitting with his back against the hippogriff’s wing was in a funk as well.
Remus leaned his shoulder against the doorframe. “Shame you can’t open a window up here. This room could use some ventilation.”
Sirius did not respond in any perceptible way, but Remus had not expected him to. He still made a point to ask “Mind if I join you?” to give Sirius the option to say no if he truly wanted to be alone.
Other people might have locked the door to indicate that they didn’t want company - people who had not spent twelve years locked up in a cell.
When Sirius remained silent, Remus slipped into the room, closing the door behind himself in spite of the stifling atmosphere.
There was no point in pretending like he had come up here with any other motive than to talk to the other man, but Remus still tried to give an impression of casualness. He sat with his back against the wall, deliberately not facing Sirius, who was staring blankly into space and had yet to acknowledge his presence.
“Harry asked for you at dinner,” Remus remarked after some minutes during which the silence and heat had made the air feel thick enough to cut it with a knife. “Told him you’ve got a migraine,” he elaborated without being asked. “Don’t think he quite bought it though.”
“He’s not a fool, Remus.”
Remus tried to conceal his relief at Sirius’ response. His next breath came a little easier, as though a breeze had gone through the windowless room.
“No, he isn’t,” he said with the hint of a smile. Sirius’ words, though uttered in a huff, carried an unmistakable touch of pride in his godson.
Remus was not above taking advantage of Sirius' love for Harry if that was what it took to get through to him.
“He worries, you know,” he said lightly.
Harry was not the only one to worry about Sirius, but perhaps the person whose worries Sirius most took to heart. Remus’ own sorrows had to take second place; he was used to worrying anyway. Sometimes it felt like it was all he’d ever known to do.
Sirius did not say anything in response, but Remus could see him flinch ever so slightly from the corner of his eye.
He did not want to make him feel guilty. Still, Remus cared for Harry, too, and he could see that the boy would have liked to spend some more time with his godfather before heading off to school in a few days’ time.
Sirius had been in a mood almost ever since Harry had gotten the verdict that he could return to Hogwarts, and Remus knew that he dreaded Harry’s departure.
Molly seemed to assume that he was sulking like the teenager he sometimes still appeared to be on the inside, his coming of age impeded by Azkaban, but Remus thought there was more to it. He was no stranger to Sirius’ depressive episodes; he’d witnessed them once or twice while they had still been boys, and become rather well acquainted with them over the course of the weeks spent at his cottage. It was possible Sirius simply did not want to face Harry only to have to let him go because even this temporary goodbye frightened him.
Even for Remus, who had taught Harry for almost a year and come to know him as his own person, the resemblance to his father was striking. He could not fault Sirius for seeing James in him, not when James’ loss had been constantly called to his mind for twelve consecutive years and felt much more recent to him than to Remus, who had had time to grieve and let go.
He did not say any of that. Instead, he said, “I saved some of Molly’s bean stew for you.”
And anticipating Sirius’ reply, he added, “In case you’re hungry later.”
Sirius exhaled heavily, his gaze fixed on the wooden floor. “I know where to get food in this house, Remus. You needn’t coddle me.”
“I know I don’t need to,” Remus shrugged, his nonchalance a mere imitation. “But maybe I want to.”
Sirius stayed quiet, perhaps disarmed by his frankness.
“Besides,” Remus added, “dinner is a dull affair without you. No one to make fun of Severus with.”
Impossibly, Sirius seemed to sit even stiller than before. An animal of prey, ready to pounce. He sounded much more alert when he asked, “Snape was there?”
“Stopped by briefly.”
Just as quickly as he had tensed up, Sirius deflated. “Of course. He gets to come and go as he pleases.”
There it was - the underlying cause of his gloom. To be confined in the house he’d grown up in, at the scene of many a traumatic childhood memory.
Remus swallowed against the painful lump in his throat.
“You know,” he said, his voice softer than before, his eyes glued to Sirius’ averted face, "it’s alright if you want to be alone sometimes. Just please don’t shut me out, Padfoot. Not after everything. I couldn’t bear it.”
Hearing his nickname more than anything seemed to rouse Sirius. His gaze sought out Remus’ face, however briefly, before he glanced away. Remus watched the bob of his Adam's apple as he swallowed.
“Trust me, Remus, you wouldn’t want to know what’s going on inside my head.”
“You’re wrong,” Remus countered urgently, leaning forward. “I do want to know. Of course I do. After thirteen years of not being able to speak to you, there is nothing I wouldn’t want you to tell me, no matter how dark and unpleasant.”
Sirius had to know this. It was important that he knew he did not have to deal with this darkness alone.
Remus waited for a moment, but Sirius only picked at a loose thread on the hem of his trousers.
“If you don’t want to talk,” Remus continued, a little desperately now, his heart beating against his throat, “then at least let me distract you.”
It pained him to know that Sirius was spending hours a day sitting in this poorly lit chamber with barely breathable air, just brooding over his darkest thoughts with no other company than Buckbeak.
They’d made such progress at his cottage that Remus had felt sure that Sirius would open up to him. From the beginning, there had been no pretense of platonic barriers, much to Remus’ relief. They had not parted as friends, and they were not reunited as friends either. Remus had no second bedroom and insisted that Sirius, who hadn’t slept in a bed for thirteen years, should take his. He couldn’t have cared less if his back got sore from sleeping on the sofa, but Sirius would have none of it. They had shared the space comfortably enough, but never quite crossed the threshold. Remus hadn’t dared to broach the topic of what they had been once, before the war had come crashing down upon them.
He had felt the point of no return fast approaching, though, before Dumbledore’s letter had summoned them here.
In the attic of No. 12 Grimmauld Place, Sirius looked up sharply, his face guarded. Remus mourned the days when he had been able to read every emotion in the shape of his eyebrows, the quirk of his mouth. He’d hoped the closeness they had carefully built would last. But now, sitting only a few feet apart, the distance between them felt substantial.
Then Sirius opened his mouth, and there was the point.
“I’m not in the mood for sex.”
Remus heard the hiss of his own breath escaping him. Heat rose into his cheeks, unrelated to the room’s temperature.
It had lingered between them for weeks, unspoken until now.
“Look where your mind’s going!” He raised his voice unwittingly. “I wasn’t propositioning you!”
He really hadn’t been. Or... had he?
Sirius had not blushed. His eyes were still trained on Remus’ face, his gaze burning holes into his skin.
“I just meant,” Remus stuttered helplessly, “we should - do something. Like go somewhere.”
His usual eloquence was rather inhibited by the fact that he suddenly felt like the fourteen-year-old Sirius had first off-handedly flirted with, that September when Remus had come back to school with a tan from earning his pocket money as a harvest hand at a local farm.
Back then, Sirius had looked him up and down slowly, whistled, and said, “Merlin’s balls, Moony. We’ll have to keep the birds from running you down at this rate.”
Remus had not been able to sleep for a week without…
Well, this was not helping. He could not sit in this cramped room with Sirius for a minute longer. Remus sprang to his feet, his knees cracking with the sudden movement. He may have felt fourteen, but his body was quick to remind him of his age.
Sirius’ eyes followed him, narrowing. “If you’re trying to be funny -”
“I’m not.”
“You know Dumbledore’s orders are for me to stay in the house at all times.”
The ghost of his teenage self did not seem ready to let him go just yet. Remus turned slowly, letting his gaze sweep the room as though searching it closely. “Well, Dumbledore’s not here, is he?”
Sirius raised his brows, his expression turning from indignant incredulity to one of mischief, and Remus felt with a pang that he had missed this face perhaps more than anything.
“He’ll be very upset, you know. He’ll think I’ve led you astray.”
Remus shrugged. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”
“Last time the stakes weren’t quite as high. Detention versus Dementors -”
“Oh, who’s going to suspect a man walking his dog at midnight?”
Sirius opened his mouth, then closed it. He stood up slowly, brushing hippogriff feathers off his backside.
“It has been rather too hot to walk a dog during the day,” he said slowly.
“Exactly. You wouldn’t want the poor thing to burn his paws,” Remus stated matter-of-factly. “But a dog needs his exercise. So I’m sure most people would agree that a walk at nighttime is simply the most responsible option.”
“Most people minus Dumbledore,” Sirius pointed out.
“To hell with Dumbledore,” Remus said hotly. “Keeping you locked up here when he knows - should know, it’s plain to see -” He cut himself off. “Come on, let’s go, before I think better of it.”
Sirius grinned at him, a sudden flash of teeth, and then in his place there stood a shaggy black dog, pushing its wet snout into Remus’ palm.
Remus patted him lightly on the head.
“We’ll have to be careful sneaking out, though. Stay close behind while I check if the coast is clear,” he ordered.
Padfoot growled softly in assent.
They lingered briefly on the floor below where they could hear Harry, Ron, and Hermione talking in hushed voices, no doubt up after the bedtime Molly had set for them. Remus set his feet very carefully to avoid the telltale creaking of the wood. Behind him, Padfoot whined quietly.
“Heel!” Remus whispered.
Padfoot turned away from the door and crossed the landing obediently. Remus rewarded him with a scratch behind his ears.
“Good boy,” he muttered when they had made it down the stairs into the foyer. “Now we’ll just have to get past your dear old mum.”
He imagined Padfoot pressing closer to him as they crept past the painting whose occupant was snoring behind the curtains, but then they had reached the door and Remus let the dog pass outside, only allowing himself to breathe when he had noiselessly closed the door behind himself.
They had made it out of the house unseen.
Outside it was still warm, even though the sun had gone down hours ago. Remus found that he could breathe more deeply. The house that was vanishing from view behind them had a depressing effect on its inhabitants; it made you hold your breath almost without noticing. Remus thought briefly of a young Sirius growing up within those walls and shivered.
Above them, the sky was uncommonly dark. A new moon - Remus counted his blessings.
Next to him, Padfoot seemed entirely too occupied with the smells and sensations of the street to pay heed to such things.
“Off we go, then, come on,” Remus urged gently. “We can’t be out too long. We’ll just go round the block and then it’s time for bed.”
He kept a grip on the wand in his pocket for the first few minutes of their stroll, ready to conjure up a leash at a moment’s notice, but when they had walked several hundred yards without encountering anyone, he allowed himself to relax.
For some time, Padfoot seemed perfectly content to trot by his side, panting and wagging his tail, his ears turning this way and that. They halted occasionally so he could sniff at something on the ground - or lift his hindleg (Remus politely looked away). But eventually, the great black dog grew restless, whining and jostling against Remus’ legs.
Remus sighed. “Alright, alright. But just for a bit, I’m not in top shape, you know.”
He fell into a jog. Padfoot let out an excited bark and jumped, licking at Remus’ hands before he set off in a run.
“Padfoot! Stay close!” Remus called softly, not wanting to rouse any neighbours. “I’m not as fast as you!”
Padfoot came sprinting back, circled and nudged him and accepted a few head pats before he took off again. Slowing down to a walk, Remus supposed that as long as he could keep his eyes on him in the street lamps, it was fine.
This cycle of Padfoot exploring a spot and returning to him repeated itself several times. He was not the one to get in a lot of exercise, but nevertheless, Remus found himself yawning more frequently by the minute.
“Padfoot,” he started, blinking his eyes open after a particularly big yawn, “let’s head back.”
But there was no Padfoot. Not next to him where he had last been, nor further down the street, investigating the light posts.
Remus froze, his heartbeat quickening.
“Lumos.”
But even with the light of his wand, there was no sign of him. How could such a big, noisy dog suddenly vanish?
“Padfoot?” he cried, softly at first, then louder. “Padfoot! Heel!”
Nothing. He couldn’t hear him, either - no panting or barking, whining or footfalls.
This was all wrong. It was too quiet.
“Padfoot! - Fuck,” Remus whispered to himself, picking up pace. Where could he have gone to, how far away could he have gotten? What if he had been seen - what if he had been caught?
And it would all be Remus’ fault, his foolish idea, risking it all just to appease Sirius for a half hour!
He started to run again, staring around wildly for any sign of Padfoot, not giving a damn who might see him with his wand out. If Sirius was captured -
He couldn’t think of it.
He simply wouldn’t allow it - he could conjure up a Patronus, he’d fight them if need be, anything to make sure Sirius was alright, that they couldn’t take him away, not again -
Remus came skidding to a halt.
There, at the end of the dark alley to his left, stood a man, just barely touched by the light of the nearest street lamp.
As the man took a step forward, Remus raised his wand -
“Bugger fuck, Sirius. Don’t do that! You scared the bloody piss out of me!”
Sirius smiled with just a vague notion of remorse.
“Sorry, Moony.”
“Don’t you ‘Moony’ me! How dare you just disappear!” Remus advanced on him, wand still drawn. “I’ve a good mind to hex you for that, you know? I thought they’d taken you! And then what would I have done? I’d have had to go back and tell everyone that I lost you, that I got you captured by Dementors… and Harry -”
“Remus,” Sirius said sharply. “It’s alright.”
They were face to face now; Remus had backed Sirius into a corner without noticing. It was for the better; they were hidden from view here where the glow off the street light did not reach.
“I’m sorry,” Sirius repeated, more sincerely this time. “I didn’t mean to make you worry. Padfoot just gets the better of me sometimes. I promise it won’t happen again.”
“Bold of you to assume I’m taking you on another walk after this,” Remus huffed, but his anger was rapidly fading even as his chest heaved with his breath.
Sirius’ face, illuminated only by the light of Remus’ wand, looked suddenly very young, his grey eyes still shining with prior excitement.
Remus found himself startlingly reminded of Sirius at seventeen, mischievous and carefree.
And entirely irresistible.
He could hardly tell who'd moved first, but suddenly Sirius’ arms were around his neck and none of Remus’ very rational arguments about how they ought to apparate back right now measured up to his persuasive tongue.
Fourteen years.
Remus felt a tremendous sense of relief settle into his bones, as though the world had righted itself a little bit with that kiss, despite the chaos and terror of the burgeoning war around them.
It was a natural progression.
They had not kissed during the weeks at Remus’ cottage, too busy settling into the new rhythm of their lives, Sirius getting used to being a person again and Remus to not being alone. But apparently kissing was one of those things you did not forget how to do, like swimming or riding a broom. Sirius had always been a good kisser, and he still was one now, even though Remus could reasonably assume that this was his first kiss in fourteen years.
They parted after endless minutes. Remus pressed his forehead against Sirius’, gasping for breath, feeling positively drunk on bliss. It seemed to course through his veins; he imagined this was how one must feel after drinking felix felicis.
“God,” he murmured. “I feel bloody sixteen. When we’d sneak into the broom closet between classes - remember that?”
Sirius was quiet; when Remus blinked his eyes open, he found him looking briefly forlorn.
With a nasty jolt, he recalled the primary function of Dementors. He’d taught Defense Against the Dark Arts, for Merlin’s sake. Feasting on happy memories, drawing them out of you until all you were left with were your darkest moments…
And Sirius had been surrounded by them around the clock for twelve years.
Remus swallowed. Before he could ask, “do you remember?” Sirius had caught himself.
With a strained smile, he murmured, “refresh my memory, would you?”
Remus did not waste time in granting his request. He kissed him as though making up for lost time, and for more than those fourteen years - he was making up for all the fragments of the past that had been taken from Sirius in Azkaban.
The second kiss was more urgent and desperate than the first. Remus felt tears burning in the corners of his eyes, fury and love churning simultaneously in his stomach, joined by something else when Sirius made a noise he had not heard since 1981.
Almost instinctively, Remus pushed him up against the wall, with only enough sense to put his hands on the back of Sirius’ head to shield it from the bricks. Sirius’ fingers were tangled in the fabric of his shirt at the small of his back and he tugged him closer still, until Remus’ right leg was situated between the two of his. Remus angled his hips to push his thigh upwards and was promptly rewarded with another one of those delicious whimpers that made his hair stand on end.
He growled softly, biting at Sirius’ lower lip, then his jaw and finally his neck.
Sirius threw his head back and moaned his name.
Remus had forgotten what a thrill it was to drive Sirius Black mad. It was still the same things that wound him up, made him pant and curse and beg.
“Remus.”
He hummed, soothing the bite with his tongue.
“As much as I’d - ah - like to retract my earlier statement of not - shit - being in the mood, I feel like getting charged with public - oh, Merlin - indecency would not help my - fuck - my reputation.”
Remus had to admit he was right, however begrudgingly. He drew back, staring at Sirius’ neck in the light of his wand, where a mark would form later for all the inhabitants of No. 12 Grimmauld Place to see. He was not sure how he felt about that yet beyond some primal sense of satisfaction, nor how Sirius would feel, but that was a problem for later.
For now Sirius was watching him with half-lidded eyes, his lips red and bitten.
He looked downright debauched, reminding Remus of what he’d set out to do, and he cleared his throat.
“That was all part of my demonstration.”
"Oh, right. Of course." Sirius grinned. "And what an excellent demonstration it was, Mr Lupin. Full marks. Ten points to Gryffindor.”
Remus gave a snort. "Only ten though?"
Sirius winked. "I'm sure there's something you can do to bump it up to fifty later."
This felt like something the old - or rather young - Sirius would have said.
Years ago, Remus had read somewhere that if you were famished for long enough, you at some point forgot the feeling of having a full belly; if you were sleep-deprived for a long time, you would forget what it felt like to be well rested. Eventually you would become so used to the deprivation that you only realised what you had been missing when you got it back.
This was how he had missed Sirius.
Impulsively, Remus moved to cradle his face in his hands, tracing his thumbs along the sharp protruding cheekbones. He kissed the hollow of his cheek above his beard, his temple, the space between his brows.
"I thought I was dreaming," he murmured, pulling back to look Sirius in the eye. "Back then in sixth year."
Remus did not regard himself as much of a romantic; Sirius had always been the one for grand gestures and dramatic confessions while Remus was a man of quiet action. But Sirius had probably not heard something like this in a long time - in fact, to his regret and disgrace, Remus could not clearly remember when he had last told Sirius that he loved him all those years ago.
He deserved to be reminded.
"You were the most gorgeous boy at Hogwarts - the most gorgeous person in all of Great Britain, if you asked me - and my best friend at that. And you were making out with me, when you could've had anyone. I couldn't believe my luck. To have you return my affection… What was there to like about me? Scrawny, scarred, pale as death…"
"Everything," Sirius interrupted him, his voice hoarse and urgent. "I liked everything about you. Still do. That's never changed, Remus."
Remus could not think of a single thing to say; his head was swimming.
Sirius continued, "Although I'm not such a sight for sore eyes anymore."
"Oh, come off it," Remus said brusquely. "Self-depreciation is my area of expertise."
Sirius rolled his eyes, but could not suppress a chuckle, which in Remus' opinion was a delightful sound.
Sirius had always had the kind of facial structure that aroused envy in all those around him, but a decade of hardship had made it dramatically more pronounced. And in truth, Remus was rather anxious to see him regain a healthy weight. Nevertheless, he tried to sound confident.
"Besides, you've cleaned up fine. A few more of Molly's dinners and your face will have filled in. You'll be indistinguishable from that dashing boy I fell in love with all those years ago - well, maybe apart from that beard, but I don't mind that so much."
Sirius' smile faded.
"I don't know how much longer I can take it, Moony," he whispered.
"What? Molly's cooking is not that bad. It's really not bad at all, especially considering what you've lived off for the past year -"
"The house, Remus."
Sirius stared at the dark ground below.
At some point during their frantic kissing, Remus had pocketed his wand, disregarding Moody's caution. Its glow was still visible between them through the fabric of his jeans, but Sirius did not seem to see it.
"It's killing me."
Remus swallowed, reaching to take Sirius' hands into his own. "I know, love. I've been thinking about ways… There must be one. To get you out of there, I mean."
"Doesn't matter. Dumbledore wants me there, and I'm the owner."
Remus could not stand hearing him sound so defeated. Anger bubbled up in him again. "Well, he can go bugger himself. I won't let him sacrifice your health for his plans. There must be another way. What's magic for, anyway, if we can't disguise you and pretend you're another Weasley cousin?"
Sirius laughed sadly. "You know, technically I am. Arthur's my second cousin once removed or something like that."
He swayed forward, burying his face in Remus' neck, and Remus imagined he could feel some wetness there.
"You always were too good for me, Moony."
Remus turned his head to press a kiss to Sirius' hair and murmured, "Let's go to bed, Pads."
Later, when they had successfully made their way back to the detested house and up the stairs to the room Remus occupied - which according to Sirius had once been his father's study, but now contained a bed instead of a desk and a suitcase full of books and threadbare jumpers - Sirius started to talk.
It was well past midnight and Remus had almost begun to drift off.
"There's so much I can't remember."
Remus blinked; he could not see Sirius' face from this angle, what with his head resting on Remus' chest, but he would sooner have died than moved him.
"Yeah?" He murmured encouragingly, running his fingers gently along the line of Sirius' arm.
It did not matter how tired he was. If now was the moment that Sirius felt able to speak, he would listen.
A few breaths of silence followed.
"It's hard to say because I can't remember what I can't remember, you know? But there are some things - some things that they weren't able to take. It's just so few that I know there must be a lot missing. Like I can only see a couple of pieces in the puzzle and I have to try and reconstruct the whole image from that."
Remus hummed softly.
"What are they?" He asked after a moment. "The things you do remember."
Sirius' arms tightened around him.
"I never forgot what you smell like, for instance. Because the Dementors couldn't get to Padfoot's memories. I suppose because they're not formed like human thoughts, they're more like… sensations."
"That makes sense," Remus offered.
"I also remember that I loved you."
Remus swallowed hard, squeezing his eyes shut.
He wanted to pull Sirius closer until he could no longer feel the divide between them, but Sirius was already just about as physically close to him as humanly possible.
He wanted to tell Sirius that he loved him, too, but then Sirius had already continued.
"Not because of Padfoot, in this case. I'm rather certain the only reason I could always so clearly remember that I loved you was because it wasn't a happy memory."
He must have felt Remus holding his breath because he sat up, bracing himself with one hand above Remus' heart.
"Not because of you!" Sirius clarified. "But because we were miserable when… when we were separated."
Remus wished he could tell Sirius that he was wrong; that the dementors must have twisted his memories.
But they had both suspected each other of being the spy in the end. Mistrust did not leave much room for happiness.
He gave a small nod of confirmation. Sirius exhaled shakily, averting his gaze.
"I won't deny that we weren't happy anymore, towards the end of it. But we used to be," Remus told him. "I swear it. At least I was. You…" He cleared his throat. "You made me happier than I'd known I could be. You still do."
Sirius bent down and kissed him softly.
"I believe you," he said simply, straightening up.
"What really matters is that we forgave each other." Remus met Sirius' eyes. "And that we don't let it happen again - that we won't let something come between us again, whether it's the war or anything else."
Sirius nodded, his palm still spread out over Remus' fast beating heart.
"So," Remus added, "when you're doing badly - don't keep it from me."
Sirius let out a breath like a sigh and nodded again after a moment. "I'll try. Promise."
"That's all I ask," Remus whispered.
He drew Sirius down again, and he went willingly, tucking his head under Remus' chin.
"Maybe they'll come back," Sirius whispered as Remus pulled the covers up around them. "The memories, I mean. If you keep reminding me."
"Maybe they will." Remus kissed the top of his head. He wasn't sure if it was possible for memories to return once Dementors had removed them. Then again there probably weren't very many case studies.
"But don't drive yourself mad about it. We'll make a thousand new ones anyway."
Sirius hummed sleepily. "I'd like that… Moony."
Remus lay awake for a while, holding him close. He could not be sure if Sirius heard him when he whispered, "I love you, too, by the way. Never stopped."
He'd tried for years, back when all had pointed towards Sirius being the traitor. But he had never quite managed it.
Sirius' breath was even, his face the image of peace, younger in sleep than in waking.
Remus closed his eyes.
"Not for a second."