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Graves needed a new broom. Remus’s task was to procure a new one for him.

That seemed like a simple enough job on the surface. Obviously, one would head to the broom shop on the corner with Graves in tow, get him fitted for a brand-new broomstick, put down a few thirteen-dollar bills, and that would be the end of it. 

But in the Magical Affairs Bureau (though everyone just called it the MAB), things were not so simple. The MAB implemented the laws set by the Magical Congress of the United States of America, which turned out to be an incredibly convoluted process in practice. 

More specifically, all MAB employees’ broom purchases had to go through a thorough inspection and approval process, according to Section Delta, Paragraph Upsilon, Line Eta of the Magical Flight Act of 1851. 

And it was Remus’s job to get the purchase of Graves’s broom through that labyrinthine process, coming out of it with a brand-new broom that met all the MAB’s regulations. 

He’d worked in this grey concrete slab of a building that served as the MAB’s East Coast headquarters for nearly a year. But the reason for the whole process still wasn’t clear to Remus; it seemed like a line of legislation that had grown far beyond its intended purpose, ultimately choking out all common sense. Apparently, it would be untoward if bureau employees were seen using MAB funds on a brand-spanking-new Firebolt or Nimbus 2000, but the solution to this problem created its own set of issues. 

First, Remus had to fill out a roll of parchment that was as long as his entire body with an explanation of why Graves needed a new broom and why it needed to be procured as soon as possible. Simply saying that Graves had broken it in a freak mid-air collision with a flock of geese was not enough. It was not even as straightforward as saying that Graves couldn’t easily travel without a broom and, therefore, couldn’t do his job. Even though anyone with a passing familiarity with magic ought to have known that, Remus thought bitterly. 

Instead Remus had to write a justification for the purchase before the convoluted regulations of the MAB would allow it to go through. He needed to support it as strongly as he could or one of the MAB’s many audits might find fault with it and make poor Graves return his broom.

So Remus needed to support the recommendation with as many references to statutes as he could find in the massive regulation books that took up most of the space in his cubicle. Ultimately he cited no less than twenty different laws in his explanation. Although he made his handwriting as big as was allowed, three-fourths of an inch per line, it took him two hours to finish the parchment.

Remus rubbed Fluxweed Cream on his cramping hand, then brewed himself a cup of tea. Thankfully he did not need to stick with the MAB-provided tea, which could only charitably be described as flavored water. Sirius had gotten a stock of Darjeeling tea leaves for Remus, specially Owl-Ordered from West Bengal.

In a futile attempt at procrastination, once he’d finished his tea, Remus peered at the remnants of the tea leaves in the bottom of the cup, trying to see what he could make out. But all he could see was a miserable mess. Much like his job. He let out a sigh and then turned back to his work. 

While he had been enjoying his brief break, the stack of scrolls on his desk had doubled in size. Remus silently cursed the Charm that allowed the instantaneous teleportation of parchmentwork. He had plenty to do before he could go home, as usual, plenty of form-filling and checking boxes and doing basic things in the most roundabout way possible. But he needed to deal with Graves’s broom issue first. 

Although Remus had dealt with other mazes of regulations for cauldron and wand purchases, broom purchases were apparently a whole different breed. He’d heard from his coworkers that they were notoriously tricky and moved at the speed of a Flobberworm. Apparently, several dozen statutes applied to them, from the Broom Makers' Wood Ruling of 1901 to interstate shipping laws, making them even more tedious than routine wand or cauldron purchases.  

Hoping that his first attempt at it wasn’t too awful, Remus summoned one of the messenger robins with a whistle, the little grey-orange bird darting into his cubicle and perching right on top of the stack of scrolls. 

He rolled the vellum that he’d been working on into a tight scroll, tied it with a bit of string, and then affixed it to the robin’s leg.

“Right, get this to Nettles,” Remus told the robin. 

It gave him a stern chirp, as if already reprimanding him for the quality of his work, and then flew off.

Remus sighed as he watched it go, knowing that Nettles would certainly have a thing or two or ten to say in her review. Somehow, no matter how much work he put into his purchase justifications, it never seemed to be good enough. There was always some arcane law that he had missed, some unforgivable mistake in his wording that Nettles marked with her red ink, every correction violently bloody. 

He exhaled suddenly, realizing that he had been gritting his teeth. 

This was certainly better than being on the run, he told himself. It was far better than being in Britain where the last of Voldemort’s servants were still searching for Harry. 

The three of them had come to Lakewood, New Jersey in the United States last summer after finally finding Harry and taking him from the Dursleys. Remus and Sirius’s search for Harry since James and Lily’s deaths had been nearly nine years of dead ends, until a frustrated Arabella Figg had told them the truth of where Harry was.

Even Dumbledore had not been able to deny the neglect and abuse that the Dursleys had subjected Harry to, despite the blood protection that Petunia Dursley apparently gave Harry. With the help of Minerva McGonagall, Sirius and Remus had managed to come to a compromise with Dumbledore. The old headmaster had finally relented and allowed Sirius and Remus to stay with Harry—as long as they were not in Britain. 

New Jersey was the closest thing to safety that they’d been able to find. They’d shielded themselves with anonymity and the relative ignorance of the United States’ magical communities of what had been going on in Britain in the past several years. And, just as important, Harry seemed happy here. They were doing this all for Harry, so that the ten-year-old boy could finally have a chance at a peaceful life, at some semblance of normality after it had all been so violently ripped away from him.

With that in mind, Remus turned back to the pile of scrolls on his desk and plucked out one of them, a new rush of determination coming over him. He would get through all this work and then he’d go home and enjoy a pleasant supper with Sirius and Harry.

“What’s my favorite film?” Sirius’s low voice floated out of their red-painted front door. 

“Labyrinth,” Remus responded immediately, his eyes tracing the golden numbers on the door, thinking about all the defensive Charms they had woven into the wood and metal when they’d first moved here. After dinner, he would make sure that the wards were still strong. “And before you ask, you’ve watched it at least thirty times on our magicked VCR. I’m fairly sure I can recite most of it from memory.”

“Good boy. My turn.”

“Right. What potion did Prongs have to help me with in fifth year so I could pass the OWL?”

“Merlin, Moony!” Sirius swore, but then he had the answer in the next breath, not even hesitating. Remus couldn’t help the wry smile that came to his face. Even though Sirius pretended to complain about how specific his questions were, he knew that Sirius enjoyed the challenge of answering them, of making sure that neither of them forgot the past. 

“It was the Befuddlement Draught. You kept mucking up the proportions of Scurvy Grass and making a Babbling Beverage instead. And you spilled a bit of that on his comb and it wouldn’t stop yammering at the poor sod to get a haircut,” Sirius told him. 

“Yes. He ended up snapping it in half…”

“There we go, then,” was Sirius’s cheerful reply before he threw open the door. 

He was grinning at Remus, his eyes bright, joyful silver. Remus couldn’t help smiling in response, happiness coming over him in a flood as all his exhaustion from the workday fell away. He was home now.

“How was your day?” Remus asked, following Sirius to the kitchen. He could already smell tomato sauce simmering and garlic bread baking, making his mouth water.

Although few would have taken Sirius for the sort that was a natural in the kitchen, he had picked up some cooking basics from James’s parents and he’d kept his culinary knowledge up over the years. He often made recipes that James’s parents had taught him, like palak paneer and dal makhani. And Remus and Harry happily made use of his skills, quickly gobbling up everything that Sirius made. 

“We got a VW Beetle in the garage today. Took a bit of experimenting, some Transfiguring of the batteries, but I managed to get the Flight Charms working on it…” Sirius glanced over at the Self-Stirring pots on the stove before he turned back to Remus. “Half the garage’s out with Fwooper Fever, so it was a bit slow today.”

Frankly, “garage” was a rather simplistic description of Sirius’s job, which consisted of doing experimental enchantments on Muggle objects in the largest magical enchantment workshop this side of the Atlantic. The workshop was known for its chaotic approach to enchanting Muggle machines, which resulted in quite a few explosions and countless brilliant inventions. Sirius loved being a magical mechanic there; working at the garage had allowed him to perfect his flying motorbike enchantment spells. It filled him with energy and excitement rather than the dull drudgery that pervaded Remus’s days. 

Sirius’s hair was up in a messy knot, but he was wearing a clean black t-shirt and jeans. So he’d been home for a while, long enough to take a shower and get started on dinner. And all the while, Remus had been working, chipping off the tiniest bits from his ever-growing behemoth of parchmentwork.

“They keep you too long,” Sirius said, voicing the thoughts that had already been forming in Remus’s head.

“It’s a paying job,” Remus said shortly. They’d had this conversation several times over, but it wasn’t likely to be laid to rest any time soon. “And it gives us the cover we need. Just a pair of friends that have come from the U.K. with your son for work.”

“Suppose so…”

Remus quickly scrambled for another topic of discussion. “So! Where’s Harry?” 

“FInishing up his homework. You know his Defense teacher is rubbish, though. He’ll be after you to explain it all to him once he’s eaten…”

Remus chuckled. “I don’t mind. I like teaching Harry and it’s only for now…” He trailed off, his laughter dying out. They both knew that if Dumbledore didn’t deem it safe for Harry to return to Britain soon, then Harry wouldn’t ever be able to go to Hogwarts and step foot in the castle they’d all grown up in. And from the dire reports they’d heard out of the U.K., the Order’s ongoing search for the last Horcruxes, that didn’t seem likely to happen any time soon. 

Instead, Harry would complete his magical education at the local school. Some part of Remus wondered whether Harry might be better off at a school here in the United States. There’d been some failed attempt at creating a national school called Ilvermorny several years ago, but most of the schools here in the United States were small and fairly local, springing up wherever there was some sort of magical community. They did not have houses nor thousand-year-old hatreds. 

“One day at a time, Moony,” Sirius told him, squeezing his shoulder. “D’you want a back rub?”

Remus rolled his shoulders, feeling them protest abundantly. They were tight with tension. It always happened after long days of bending over parchmentwork and scribbling on scrolls especially near the full moon. “I’d like that, yes.”

As they entered the living room, the cat, Bathsheba, let out a purr of greeting and rubbed against Remus’s leg.

“Hi Batty,” Remus greeted the cat, bending down to pick her up. He stroked her soft grey fur as he followed Sirius to the couch. 

The cat had been a stray in their neighborhood. After verifying that she was not an Animagus in disguise, Sirius had begun leaving food out for her on their doorstep. When the icy winter came, Bathsheba had made a habit of scratching at their front door to be let in so she could doze near the fire. Before long, she had become a permanent fixture in their home.

Remus sat down in front of Sirius on the couch, Bathsheba still a comforting weight in his arms. He inhaled deeply as Sirius put his hands on his shoulders, the heat of Sirius’s strong hands warming him to the core. He could not help leaning into Sirius’s touch even as he knew that it was only a friendly back rub between mates. It was only another one of the things that they had started doing for each other since they had moved here; small ways of making each other’s lives a bit easier.

Sirius began by rubbing little circles into the base of Remus’s neck. Remus let out a breath, already feeling the stress that had accumulated in his muscles draining away.

“What nonsense do they have you working on now?” Sirius asked as he began kneading Remus’s upper back. 

“A broomstick purchase for my co-worker. The poor man flew right into a flock of Canada geese and got his broom torn into splinters,” Remus sighed. “And now I’ve got to tell him that he can’t have his new broom till it’s cleared the MAB approval process—and who knows how long that will take!” 

“Should get him one of the shop’s motorbikes to spite them,” Sirius muttered. 

“I’d like to see that,” Remus responded, trying to imagine the look on his coworkers’ faces if he rolled one of Sirius’s trademark enchanted motorbikes into the MAB and handed it to Graves in lieu of a broom. He was certain that the MAB’s many regulations, stuck in the last century as they were, would not have accounted for that possibility. The thought made him smile. 

“Well, forget all that rubbish now. You’re home,” Sirius continued. It was easy, so easy, to lean into Sirius’s touch as the low, soothing sound of his voice washed over Remus.

Remus closed his eyes, savoring the feeling of Sirius’s strong hands on his body and the soft comfort of Bathsheba in his arms. Sirius’s words were true. He was home now.

Minutes later, footsteps on the stairs pulled him out of the reverie that he’d gone into. Sirius pulled his hands away from Remus’s body and Remus mourned the loss of them even as he turned to see Harry entering the room. Bathsheba gave a meow of greeting and Harry came over to take her from Remus’s arms. 

“Hi, Moony,” Harry said, hugging the cat close to him.  

“Hello, Harry,” Remus smiled broadly. “I think dinner should be ready by now. Why don’t you tell us how school went today?”

Dinner went well, both Sirius and Remus peppering Harry with questions about his day. Sirius eagerly asked Harry to tell them all about the Quodpot game that his team had played today in his Flight class and he did so with great enthusiasm. Both Sirius and Remus delighted in every twist and turn of the game that Harry recounted; his team had narrowly won thanks to Harry’s quick thinking and reflexes. When they’d taken Harry from the Dursleys a year ago, a smile on Harry’s face had been a rare sight. Remus still treasured seeing Harry’s joy. 

However, when the subject moved on to Harry’s Defense class, Remus had to bite back some irritation.

“Mr. Malum told us that if we see a Hinkypunk’s light, we ought to go towards it, even if it’s off the path…” Harry frowned, looking at Remus. “But you told me that if I ever see one, I shouldn’t leave the path under any circumstances.” 

“My god,” Remus could not help saying. Harry looked up at him with wide eyes. “Er, sorry. What I mean to say is that your teacher’s very mistaken. Hinkypunks like to lure travellers into dangerous bogs and swamps with their lights. They’re mischievous little creatures that enjoy seeing travellers come to sad ends.” 

“Exactly. You’d be a better Defense professor than this Malum bloke,” Sirius put in, jabbing his fork at Remus to emphasize his point. 

“That doesn’t matter,” Remus said hastily. What was the use of wishing for things that could never happen? “Harry, if you have any other questions about your Defense homework, I’d be happy to help.” 

“Thanks, Moony,” Harry said, giving Remus a small smile. Remus’s chest warmed with the sight. 

After dinner, Remus and Harry sat together, Harry’s Defense homework laid out on the kitchen table. 

Remus squinted down at the notes that Harry had taken in class today, no better than what he’d seen from Harry’s past Defense classes. Even though Mr. Malum apparently had degrees from several highly-accredited institutions, in Remus’s opinion he made a dreadful muddle of what was called Defense Against the Dark Arts. He confused Curses and Hexes, said that Boggarts could be defeated by tears rather than laughter, and claimed that the Disarming Charm’s incantation was Exmelliarpus.  

Remus fought against the wave of irritation that came over him. He took a deep breath and said, “Let’s start at the beginning.” 

On Monday, Graves came to Remus’s cubicle.

Gregory Graves was a big, blustery man that had made the unfortunate first impression of asking Remus where exactly in England Wales was. 

He was a Field Reviewer for the MAB, which meant that he went all over the East Coast to make sure that local magical communities were complying with the MAB’s many regulations. It was dull work as he told it, but it seemed more interesting than what Remus had to do here. Nearly anything did. 

“How’s it going?” Graves greeted him. 

“Er, it’s going,” Remus responded. 

He shifted the stacks of paper and books of regulations to make space for Graves to sit. In the end, he was forced to use a Charm to make the books float in midair for there was nowhere else to put them in his cramped cubicle. The nervousness that Remus felt at having such heavy books floating over his head was nothing compared to the guilt that he felt that he could not get Graves the new broom that he needed as well as his ever-growing frustration with the rules of the MAB.

“Any news on my broom?”

“My supervisor is still reviewing my parchmentwork, but I promise you that once I get it back, we’ll proceed as soon as—”

“Hell’s bells. I can’t even buy a broom on my own and use it for work thanks to all these ridiculous laws.” Graves sighed. “By the time I get a new broom, I’ll be half in my grave. I’m stuck doing desk work until I can get a new one. My wife Gladys had to Side-Along Apparate me here!”

“Oh, how is your wife?” Remus said hastily, trying to steer the conversation in a less frustrating direction.

“She’s wonderful. My better half.” Graves grinned. His eyes went to the little photograph that Remus had pinned up on his wall. “And what about your family?” 

It was a photograph of Sirius, Harry, and Remus from Halloween, the first one that they had spent together since 1980. Sirius looked quite dashing—not that he didn’t always cut a handsome figure. He was dressed up as a Muggle rockstar with his hair spiked up, thick eyeliner around his eyes, and leather pants. Next to him, Harry was dressed as a ghost, a white sheet thrown over him and nothing of him visible but his thick round glasses. Remus was on Harry’s other side, dressed up as an old-fashioned wizard with a long grey beard. Their Muggle neighbors had found his costume quite amusing.

“Oh, Sirius is doing well,” Remus said. He considered correcting Graves's usage of the word family, but that would likely raise questions that he couldn't easily answer, so he went on, the thought of that word warming him to the core all the while. “He’s still working at the garage and he loves it. And Harry’s doing well at school. He loves Quodpot. It’s a bit of a change from Hogwarts for us, but Harry seems to like the school.”

“Great!” Graves told him, giving him a hearty slap on the back. “Forget about ol’ Hoggy Warts. You’re welcome here! Gladys would love to have you three over for dinner sometime!”

“We’d like that too,” Remus said, smiling even as he thought of how he’d need to find the Graves’ house and make sure that it was safe and warded against Dark wizards. 

“It’s a date. A double one, I guess,” Graves chuckled to himself as he got up. 

Before Remus could press him on the meaning of his words, he continued. “Should get going. I need to head to the bank to take out some three-dollar coins for the Floo.” 

“Yes, I’m sorry about that. I’m working on it!” Remus called after Graves’s retreating form. He sighed, stood up, and immediately knocked his head on the book that had been floating in midair over him.

That afternoon, Remus was summoned to Lucretia Nettles’s office. Although her office was thrice the size of his cubicle, it was just as crammed full of scrolls and books. There were also several messenger robins flitting in and out of the room. Remus had to narrowly dodge one that came zooming right at his nose. He gingerly picked his way through the stacks of parchment and found a seat in the wooden chair in front of Nettles’s desk. The chair was so uncomfortable that it half-felt like it was covered with stinging nettles itself; it made Remus’s back twinge. 

“What’s up, Remus?” Nettles said, peering at him over her black-rimmed spectacles. Other than her heavy New York accent, she reminded him of a younger Professor McGonagall with her no-nonsense manner. Sometimes Remus wondered if they were distant relatives, if that was how Dumbledore had come into contact with her in the first place and gotten Remus this job. 

“The sky,” Remus said, attempting to get a chuckle out of her before she began her dissection of his work. 

He got a weak laugh for his efforts before she started in, detailing the myriad of mistakes in his work, the multitudes of things that he needed to correct.

“Now, this is a good start, but there’s still a lot of work you need to do.” Nettles handed over the parchment to him. It seemed to be composed primarily of blood-red ink; there were only a handful of lines in Remus’s original hand that she had left completely untouched.

Remus could not help letting out a sigh even as he knew that Nettles would say that he ought to be grateful for this job. It had allowed him to come to New Jersey with Sirius and Harry. And it provided him with enough money to order Wolfsbane from a New York City potioneer’s shop each month. 

Nettles took off her glasses, setting them down on top of a stack of books, and looked him in the eye.

“Remus, be honest with me. Is this really what you want to do?”

“Yes, of course. I’m very lucky to have this job and I really can’t thank you enough for it,” Remus said, trying to summon some cheer, inject it right into his tone, and make her believe his words.

But her mouth tightened into a thin line. She did not look convinced.

“Look, I don’t enjoy this job either. All the centuries-old rules and regulations that no one can make heads or tails of…” Nettles shook her head. “But you’ve got to do it.”

“Even if it feels like it’s doing more harm than good?” Remus ventured, hoping to commiserate with her even though putting such a blunt question out felt like standing on a precipice, ready to fall to his doom. Perhaps she might let common sense win out and consider trying to exempt Graves from these rules in any way that she could. 

Nettles shrugged. “It’s not our job to question the laws. We just carry them out.”

“Right,” Remus said through gritted teeth, stepping back from the edge. He hoped that he looked like he was grinning cheerily in agreement, not grimacing. He was also beginning to rethink his previous comparisons between Nettles and McGonagall. 

“You know, I took you on as a favor to Albus, but I think you can go far at the MAB. You might even be in my position in half a century.”

“Half a century?” 

“If you forget about your feelings, your personal biases, everything. As long as you’re here, you’re just one of those… those robbies…” 

“Robots?” Remus suggested, hoping with all his heart that she would decide on another noun.

“Yes, yes!” Nettles nodded, adjusting her glasses. “Outside of work, I’m a Quodpot fanatic and a mother. Hell’s bells, I play in a Hobgoblins cover band on the weekends. But I have to leave all that at the door when I step into the MAB. Here, I’m just another cog in the machine that’s the MAB. Doesn’t matter whether you’re a human, a werewolf, or a hag. We’re all cogs in the machine in the end.” 

“Er, I suppose so,” Remus felt his heart sink even as he told himself that he ought to be thankful that he was here. He was tired of being spoken to like this. But what else could he do? When he’d begun working here, he’d been forced to disclose that he was a werewolf by the MAB’s mandatory Veritaserum dosage for the entry interview. Only Nettles and the MAB’s Mage Resources department knew about his lycanthropy, but they refused to let him forget how grateful he should be for this job. 

“I hope this little pep talk was helpful. Now, I expect the corrected version of that back by midnight tonight.”

The moon hung in the sky, a night away from fullness. It was just past midnight. The air was heavy on his body, but some of the late May heat had left with the sun. He’d missed seeing the sunset; the MAB building did not have any windows. 

At least he’d gotten his corrected justification sent to Nettles before midnight, Remus thought, attempting to console himself. It was not a very reassuring feeling. 

As Remus walked through the neighborhood, his path lit by dim streetlamps, he felt his bones ache with the moon’s pull. Each step sent a dull bolt of pain up his body. But he would be home soon. From the Public Floo Station, it was only about a fifteen minutes’ walk to the house that he shared with Sirius and Harry.

He came around the last corner to where their house was tucked away in a far part of the neighborhood, backing the forest. The lights were on in the first floor windows, casting rectangles of yellow light on the dark ground. Remus let out a sigh before he approached the door.

Three knocks, three twinges of his shoulder. And then he heard Sirius’s voice, an undercurrent of anger in it. Along with something that he’d grown much more familiar with over the past few years, something that could be called concern.

“Where were you?”

“Questions,” Remus reminded him.

Sirius let out an irritated huff. “Why do you put up with them? All their damn mabbing about?”

“It’s hardly that awful. Sirius, I’ve told you that half my family, my mam’s family, were miners and what they went through. I’m not going to stand here and whinge about this job. It’s not even as hard on my body as most other jobs would be.” 

“That doesn’t mean that you can’t want something better, something that you actually like doing!”

“You know I don’t have a choice.” Remus could not help the sharp anger that came into his voice. “If you haven’t figured out by now that some things are harder for me…”

“Moony,” Sirius bit out. “You know they don’t have to be. We’re in this together. If it’s about the money...”

“I can’t stay in the country without this job.”

“So we’ll tell Dumbledore to get a new one. It’s the least you deserve after everything that he made you do during the war, then keeping Harry away from us…” 

“No. I’m lucky to be alive and here. We all are.” Remus suddenly felt very tired; a bone-deep sort of exhaustion that he had carried with him for the past nine years. “Merlin, just let me in.”

“So sure it’s me?”

“No one else argues like this with me,” Remus said dryly.

There was a short bark of laughter and then the door swung open to reveal Sirius. He was shirtless, wearing only a low-slung pair of pyjama bottoms. Remus’s eyes could not help going to Sirius’s toned chest, the dark swirls of tattoos over skin, before he quickly tugged his eyes away, forcing himself to look Sirius in the eye. He was even more tired than he’d thought. 

“You look awful, Moony,” Sirius said, frowning. His anger seemed to have all drained away. 

“It’s alright, it’s only the moon.” 

“No, no. I shouldn’t have…” Sirius’s frown deepened. “D’you want something to eat?”

“Just tea. Herbal.” Remus rubbed his eyes. His head was beginning to throb with exhaustion. He needed to get to his bed.

As if Sirius had read his mind, he said, “Head to bed. I’ll bring you some tea and a pain potion. And I’ll rub your back.”

Despite his exhaustion, relief flowed through Remus’s body. He nodded and headed up the stairs.

He’d taken off his clothes and pulled on a pair of tattered pants when Sirius came in, bearing a steaming mug of tea and a pungent-smelling vial of pain potion. 

“Ginger tea. You always like it before the moon,” Sirius told him as Remus sat down on the bed. 

Remus decided to get the worst bit out of the way and took the vial of pain potion, forcing down the bitter green liquid. Then he took the tea in his hands, the heat of it soothing, as Sirius grabbed a tube of Fluxweed Cream from the bedside table and began rubbing it on Remus’s back. With the hot tea and the cold burn of the cream on his skin, Remus felt his muscles loosening even as Sirius’s touch made his heart beat fast. 

By now, Sirius knew where exactly to touch Remus, where to press and where to ease the pressure, relieving the worst of the built-up tension. But it would be a lie to pretend that his touch brought forth only platonic feelings. It would be a lie of the highest order to pretend that Remus’s face wasn’t hot with need or that his heart wasn’t pounding with want. 

He thought of the two of them here, on this bed, neither of them wearing shirts and Sirius’s hands all over him, following the rush of Remus’s blood downwards before tipping them both over the edge. 

“If the neighbors see us like this, they’ll talk!” Remus forced out a laugh. Easier to think about that, than to think about how there was nothing else in the world that felt better than Sirius’s hands on his skin.

“They can see us however they like,” Sirius only muttered, pressing into the base of Remus’s neck with his thumbs. Merlin. Of course he wouldn’t be thinking of Remus that way. They were only friends. In Sirius’s mind, he was only giving his mate a hand. 

Remus finished his tea, then ventured a glance down at his pants. Thankfully, they were loose, though if Sirius continued on like this, he might not escape detection for long.

“That’s good, I think I’m fine,” Remus said hastily. 

“You sure? I can still feel a knot here…”

“Yes!” Remus said. “I mean. Yes, I’m sure.”

“Alright, alright,” Sirius’s touch withdrew. Even as Remus mourned the loss of those hands on his body, he turned around and gave Sirius a smile. A friendly smile, completely and one hundred percent platonic.

What if he told Sirius to stay? What if Sirius nodded and agreed in his usual casual manner and then tucked himself into bed next to Remus, slinging an arm over his waist? What if Remus woke to Sirius pressing kisses into his skin and whispering soft words of love into his ear? 

“You should be heading to bed,” Remus said quickly before he could get lost in his imaginings. 

“Yeah.” Sirius yawned. He got off the bed, stretching his arms high over his head. Remus’s eyes followed the movement of his muscles even as he tried to force himself to turn away from Sirius. “Night, Moony.”

“Good night, Pads. Thank you.” 

“Any time,” Remus heard Sirius say softly before he blew out the candle on Remus’s bedside table and then left the room, shutting the door behind him.

That month, the full moon fell on a Tuesday night. Remus would need to take the day after off to recover, but he couldn’t take off any more time than that. He only had one day’s worth of leave to use, thanks to his “habit”, as MAB Mage Resources called it, of taking a monthly sick day. But he could only accrue one day of leave a month. A never-ending cycle, Remus thought, like a werewolf chasing its own tail. If he got so sick that he couldn’t go to work another day of the month then he’d be unceremoniously tossed out of the MAB on his bum. 

So he had to get through Tuesday and the aching lead-up to the full moon. 

Remus dragged himself into the MAB shortly after six, aided by his consumption of several cups of strong tea. But his head was already aching thanks to the coming full moon.

As Remus sat down at his desk, he closed his eyes for a moment, rubbing his forehead with the tips of his fingers. But, a minute later, the sound of footsteps made him look up. 

“Hey, Remus!” Graves said, coming into his cubicle.

“Greg,” Remus forced himself to straighten up, giving Graves a grin. No one here knew of his lycanthropy besides the needed disclosure to his boss and MAB Mage Resources, but it would be suspicious if he was poorly every time the full moon came around. Yesterday, he’d needed to go to the men’s room and hide in a stall to take his Wolfsbane in secret. 

“You look like crap,” Graves told him cheerily.

“Late night,” Remus said, gesturing to all the scroll piles surrounding him. At least that wasn’t a lie. “But I do have an update for you on your broom. Lucretia has approved it and she’s sent it off to the next official for review.” 

“Hell’s bells, that was fast! Should have a new one in about a month as long as there aren’t any other hold-ups…”

“Merlin!” Remus could not help exclaiming. “A month?”  

“Look, when you work here as long as I have, a Flobberworm starts looking like it’s moving at the speed of light.”

“Hell’s bells,” Remus said, closing his eyes.

“You get used to it,” Graves told him, giving him a hearty pat on the back. Even though the gesture made Remus’s muscles protest, he appreciated the sentiment. Still, a strong feeling rose up in him that he did not want to get used to it under any circumstances. 

Although the nights were shorter this time of year, Remus left work as early as he could. He spent the time till moonrise playing with Bathsheba and helping Harry with his homework as Sirius tinkered with a Muggle Walkman. 

Half an hour before moonrise and with Padfoot by his side, Remus locked himself in his room and transformed. Even though Remus had assured Sirius that he didn’t need to spend full moons with Remus now that he was regularly taking Wolfsbane, Sirius had refused. 

“I’m not leaving you,” he’d told Remus and that had been that. 

The night passed as it always did, the moon marking itself out on Remus’s body, bringing the wolf out. Under the thin silvery moonlight coming in through the window, the dog and the wolf slept. In the morning, the sun would rise and they would come downstairs for breakfast with Harry. 

The boy was used to the moons by now, easily taking them in his stride. The mornings after were the rare moments where Remus and Sirius let him handle breakfast on his own, with just Bathsheba presiding over his cooking. Harry made a full breakfast for all of them, far too practiced at cooking for a child of his years. 

They had nine years spent with the Dursleys, the damned Dursleys, to blame for that. It had taken months for Harry to stop wincing every time either a door slammed shut or one of them (though it was nearly always Sirius) shouted, even though their voices were never raised in rebuke. The sight of Harry looking scared hurt Remus’s heart more than nearly anything else could, save the loss of James and Lily. He cursed the so-called small sacrifices that Dumbledore had deemed necessary in service of the greater good. But they were far from all that now. 

Remus woke to Padfoot draped over his torso, huffing out soft doggy snores. They weren’t anywhere near the bed though it looked like several pillows and sheets had joined them on the floor.

“It’s time to wake up, Sirius,” Remus said softly, stroking a hand over the dog’s fur even as part of him wished that it was really the man instead.

Padfoot cracked open his silvery eyes and then leapt off Remus, turning back into the man in an instant.

Remus sat up, looking at Sirius. He was only wearing a pair of red pants. Before Remus’s eyes could follow the lines of Sirius’s torso, that tempting trail of dark hair leading downwards, Remus forced himself to look away, wrapping a blanket around himself. He tried to stand up and nearly stumbled but Sirius helped him the rest of the way, a gentle hand stroking over Remus’s back. 

“Feeling alright?”

“I think so.” There was nowhere else in the world that Remus wanted to be other than in the crook of Sirius’s arm. Still, he could not let himself forget who they were. So he forced himself to take a step away, stretching. “I’m just sore all over.” 

“It’s better now, isn’t it?” Sirius asked, his voice quiet. “Than it was when we were kids.”

“In some ways,” Remus swallowed. 

Yes, he had Wolfsbane now, but he would never have James or Peter by his side ever again. James was dead, lost beyond the veil of death. And Peter had been gone long before that, long before he’d swallowed a tincture of poisonous Bloodroot Extract while awaiting trial for the murder of the Potters. With the proof of Peter’s betrayal, Sirius and Remus had been able to reconcile after the war had shattered their friendship, though that had not lessened the pain of losing James and Peter. 

“Yeah.” And there it was, the easy understanding of the unthinkable that Remus couldn’t find in anyone else. 

Sirius put a hand on his shoulder and Remus looked up, meeting Sirius’s gaze. His grey eyes were soft; Sirius suddenly looked very young, like the boy he had been before the war. 

With the pale light of the sun coming in through the windows, the silence between them felt delicate and infinite; as long as they let that moment last, anything was possible in the air between them. 

And there, the desire gripped Remus more tightly than it ever had before. He wanted nothing more than to reach out and pull Sirius in, to bring their lips together, to tell Sirius the unfettered truth and have Sirius meet it with his own truth. 

But he could not let himself forget who they were. 

So Remus broke the silence. “Breakfast?”

Remus spent the rest of the day resting. Bathsheba in his lap, he lay on the couch with a used book Sirius and Harry had given him for his last birthday. It was called Magical Beasts of North America. 

He had just finished the chapter on the Jersey Devil and started on the chapter about Bigfoot when Sirius returned from work. His clothes were stained with motor oil, but he was grinning with the exertion of a long day’s hard work. Remus was feeling much better, so as Sirius went up to have a shower, Remus brewed tea for both of them. 

“I’ve got to go to an end of the year parent-teacher conference for Harry tonight,” Sirius told him as they sat together at the kitchen table. “They do that sort of thing here.” 

“It’s good for making sure that the school and family are both supporting the child and making sure that they do well in all the areas of their life...” Remus thought out loud. “Muggle schools back home do it too. My mam was a teacher and she needed to do them for her students.” Fleetingly, he started to wonder why Hogwarts had never bothered with anything like that, but then Sirius spoke. 

“Right. So d’you want to come?” Sirius said it so easily, as if it was something that ought to be expected. 

Remus frowned. He did want to go and he was feeling much better, but… “Don’t you think it will look odd if I come? I’m not related to Harry at all. I’m just a friend of his so-called father.” 

“You’ll know the right questions to ask, Mister Prefect,” Sirius said breezily, waving a dismissive hand. “Professors, teachers, authority figures, all of them, they love you.” 

Although Remus rather doubted Sirius’s generous assessment, he did want to come. He felt just as responsible for Harry’s education and guardianship as Sirius, even though he wasn’t a godfather in name. So Remus nodded and watched a grin grow on Sirius’s face.

“Brilliant,” Sirius beamed at him. “Now, do we have more of this tea? Throat’s feeling a bit scratchy…” 

Harry’s school was tucked away in what seemed to be an abandoned Muggle casino. They entered under a golden archway, entering a room full of broken-down slot machines and crumbling blackjack tables. But pulling the lever on the defunct slot machine next to the entrance made the cracked fountain in the center of the entryway swing open to reveal a spiral staircase that led downwards.

Remus followed Sirius down the staircase as the Atlantic City School of Magic came into existence around them. Atlantic City had been selected as a location for a magical school in the 1950s, the surrounding wizarding community’s odd attire and behavior easily blending in with the rest of the tourist town. 

Dumbledore was apparently close friends with the school’s principal and had deemed this a safe place, although Remus or Sirius still put a glamour on Harry before he went to school to conceal his scar. And to escape the Potter and Black associations, Harry and Sirius had taken Remus’s mother’s maiden name—Howell. 

The aqua-tiled walls were covered with crayon drawings from the lower grades, brightly-colored dragons and unicorns flitting around each other. Unlike Britain, the American magical schools covered the primary school years. Although homeschooling was common in rural areas, wizards who lived near populated areas tended to send their children to school at an early age.

“There got to be a few too many accidents on the playground, a few too many No-Maj kids Vanished away!” Graves had told Remus cheerily when Remus had asked him about this practice. 

The two of them went down the hall and around the corner, to where the middle grade classes were.

“Here,” Sirius told him, indicating the second door on the left. Remus followed him in.

Even though the entire place was underground, there was sunshine streaming in through the broad windows. Bookshelves lined the walls, brightly-colored potted plants filling the empty spaces between the books. The room was full of desks with black laminate tops, cauldrons and potions supplies scattered over them. 

“Oh, hello!” A cheerful young witch with waist-length purple braids greeted them. Although her robes were black velvet, they glittered as she moved. “I’m Doris Plumkiss. You must be the Howells, Harry’s parents!”

With those words, Remus’s heart stuttered and his mouth went dry. He opened his mouth to correct her, but Sirius was already speaking. 

“Yeah, we are,” Sirius said easily. And, well, that was probably the best call—Remus didn’t want to draw any more attention than necessary to the two of them. But the words made him feel unsteady on his feet. 

“As you know, I’m Harry’s homeroom teacher,” Ms. Plumkiss told them, adjusting her thick spectacles. “And I’m also his Potions teacher.”

“How is he doing with that?” Remus asked.

“He’s doing well! Last week he made a wonderful Cackling Concoction. I think that if he really applied himself, he could be one of the best in his grade.” 

“That’s our boy.” Sirius grinned at her. 

“Let me get you his report card for the end of the year...” Ms. Plumkiss said. She turned away from them and went over to her desk to rummage through the piles of parchment stacked on it. It looked marginally less messy than Remus’s desk at work. 

While she was doing that, Sirius glanced at Remus and muttered, “She’s certainly better than Snivellus!” 

“Yes,” Remus only responded. The idea of his former classmate teaching children still made Remus feel ill. He couldn’t understand what Dumbledore had been thinking. How would Snape have treated Harry?

“Here it is,” Ms. Plumkiss said, striding towards them with a roll of parchment in her hands. “His report card. I know it was an adjustment moving here, but I think he’s off to a really good start!” 

“Thank you.” Remus took the parchment, noting Harry’s good grades with pride. 

As Ms. Plumkiss told them all about how much she loved having Harry in class and how he was one of the best players on the school Quodpot team, Remus was overcome with gratitude. Remus looked at Sirius and saw the smile on his face, mirroring Remus’s own expression. He understood.

“There’s just, um, Defense. Harry’s grade for that isn’t so good, but I want you to know that isn’t his fault at all,” Ms. Plumkiss said, pointing to the parchment. “The Defense teacher, Mr. Malum, isn’t the most fair of graders. Although he’s very, very qualified, he has a rather, uh, unorthodox teaching style. He’s, well, he’s…” 

“He’s rubbish,” Sirius said neatly. 

Ms. Plumkiss’s eyes widened and she let out a surprised laugh. Before Remus could say anything to salvage the situation, she nodded fervently.

“We’ve all been trying to cover for him, but it’s been difficult having to do his teaching on top of our regular workloads. But from what I’ve seen, Harry’s quite good at Defense anyway. He’s actually been helping some of his classmates out!” 

“He has?” Remus asked, feeling proud.

“He said someone called Moony had been helping him out at home.” Ms. Plumkiss looked between them. “You two wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?” 

“That would be me,” Remus said, glancing at Sirius, who had an eager gleam in his eyes, one that meant he was almost certainly up to something. 

“It’s damned good luck that Harry has you. You’re a defense expert,” Sirius said, leaning forward. 

“Are you?” Ms. Plumkiss turned to Remus. 

“We had our share of rubbish Defense professors and Remus saved half our year’s OWLs,” Sirius said with an air of innocence that Remus was far too familiar with.

“Do you have much experience with teaching, Remus?” Ms. Plumkiss asked, looking hopeful. 

“Like Sirius said, I did help my classmates out in school,” Remus said thoughtfully. He couldn’t deny that he loved the idea of being a teacher. But he couldn’t get his hopes up—if not for his British citizenship, then his lycanthropy would certainly make it impossible. Parents wouldn’t want a werewolf teaching their children. If he let himself want something more than his miserable job at the MAB, then it would hurt even more when his hopes were dashed.  

“But I’ve never taught formally and I don’t have any teaching qualifications. I’m sure you must require that here…” Remus continued, telling himself to expect a firm no or an I’m sorry, we can’t take you on from Ms. Plumkiss. 

“Oh, we don’t need any of that!” Ms. Plumkiss said quickly. “This is a community school, and we prefer to take on people from the community who are enthusiastic teachers and knowledgeable, rather than whoever has the most degrees. If you’ll excuse me saying it, Mr. Malum has more credentials than sense.” 

“You’ve got the knowledgeable part covered, Moony. You know more about Defense than most people,” Sirius put in. 

“We all had to learn in Britain during the war. It was a necessity of the time,” Remus said, though he could not stop the hope swelling up in his chest.  

“Even before that, Moony. And it’s not just that you’re good at the defense bit. You also know how to explain it all without getting annoyed and you manage to keep it fun for everyone. And I know it’s fun for you too.”

“I…” Remus trailed off, unable to stop the smile coming to his face. There was no denying it. He really had loved helping his classmates at Hogwarts with Defense Against the Dark Arts. During the war, running practice drills for the other Order members had been a rare highlight. 

“Sometimes our partners know us better than we know ourselves,” Ms. Plumkiss said and oh, Remus’s mind had gone blank with those words, emptied of everything but the thought of Sirius being his partner. Before he could respond, she peered over his shoulder.

“I’m so sorry to cut this short, but it looks like the next pair of parents are coming in. But it was wonderful meeting the two of you!”

So they said their goodbyes and went on, Remus’s mind still spinning over what Ms. Plumkiss had called Sirius. His partner. Surely she only meant partner in the context of raising Harry and protecting him—but no one here knew who Harry really was. 

Was there any chance she had meant it in a platonic manner? Remus mused this as they met with Harry’s Flight teacher, Mx. Hodgson, and then Ms. Neressa, Harry’s Herbology professor, in her tidal pool on the beach behind the school. He thought about it as Sirius led him up across the beach, back through the school, and up the spiral staircase. 

Sirius, his partner. Going to bed with Sirius by his side, his peaceful face in the flickering candlelight the last thing Remus saw before he fell asleep. Sirius’s warm, firm touch on his skin. Guided by simple desire, not just to relieve Remus’s aching muscles. Starting the day with Sirius next to him. Being with Sirius in every sense of the word. 

“Will you think about it?” Sirius asked.

“Hmm?” Remus was jolted out of his thoughts. 

He’d already been doing quite a lot of thinking about it, hadn’t he? Thinking about Sirius being his partner in the romantic sense, the way that Ms. Plumkiss must have meant it. By his side, facing the world together. Before Remus could come up with a coherent response, Sirius continued.

“Teaching here,” Sirius told him. “If they offer you a post, that would work, wouldn’t it? You could still stay in the country with us, but you’d be able to do something that you actually liked. ” 

“Oh, right. You know I’d love that.” Remus gave Sirius a steady smile though his heart was still galloping madly like a Hippogriff with its wings on fire. “But I don’t want to get my hopes up. Even if this Defense teacher leaves any time soon, they’ll probably find a better candidate.”

“It’s alright to hope, Moony,” Sirius said softly, but the way he said it, it seemed that he was half-speaking to himself.

As they took the Floo back to the Lakewood station then walked back to their house, Remus thought about bringing up Ms. Plumkiss’s comment to Sirius to see what he thought of it. But every time he tried, the words got stuck in his throat. 

The next morning, Remus woke up as early as he could and sat at the kitchen table while the soft morning sunlight filtered in through the window, nursing a strong cup of Darjeeling. Sirius would be up soon to get ready for his job at the garage. Usually Sirius was the early riser and the one to wake Remus up, especially so soon after a full moon. But Remus had gotten up earlier this time and seen Harry off to school. 

He finished his tea then glanced at the clock on the wall. It was after eight. Late for Sirius.

Remus got up and went upstairs, knocking on Sirius’s door. There was no response. Remus put his ear to the door. After a moment, he heard the sound of suppressed coughing. 

“I’m coming in,” Remus called and then pushed the door open.

Sirius was laying in the bed, looking quite miserable. His hair was tangled and he was surrounded by wadded up tissues. As soon as he saw Remus, he tried to sit up. 

“No, lie back down,” Remus ordered, rushing over. He sat down on the side of the bed and leaned forward to put his hand on Sirius’s forehead. “You’re burning up.” 

Sirius tried to speak, but his voice only came out as a scratchy noise. When he opened his mouth, Remus saw that his tongue had turned a vivid lime green color. The telltale sign of Fwooper Fever. Although Remus and Harry had been required to get an inoculation potion for work and school respectively, the same hadn’t been required of Sirius. 

“It looks like you have Fwooper Fever. The worst of it passes quickly, but it makes you weak and sniffly for days… You said it was going around the garage?” 

Sirius nodded, sniffling. He grabbed his wand from the bedside table and flicked it, making silvery words appear in the air. Remus recalled Sirius telling him that he’d learnt the spell from a Deaf bloke at his garage. 

I’ll be fine. Just a bit out of sorts. You go on, the words said in Sirius’s slanting handwriting.  

“No,” Remus found himself saying. He could not simply go to work and spend the day there as if Sirius wasn’t ill. He had to be there for his friend. 

You’ve got work. 

Remus thought of past full moons when he had been a boy, recalling how he hadn’t known why his parents had always taken the day after off work just to sit with him by his bedside. Back then, he hadn’t understood why it was so important to them to be there for him even though the worst of the danger was over. But now he understood. He couldn’t simply carry on with his day knowing that someone he cared about, someone who he considered family regardless of everything else, was in need. 

He didn’t have any leave left. He would almost certainly lose his job for this. And he did not care, not if it meant that he could be here for Sirius. Sod the MAB. It didn’t want him to be anything more than a soulless cog in a machine, but he was a man who had people that he cared about far more than he did any parchmentwork or regulation book. Remus and Sirius had survived one war and found Harry; they could certainly weather whatever consequences might come from Remus losing his job.  

“I’m not leaving you. I don’t care what the MAB has to say about it. They can throw me out if they like,” Remus told him. Before he could stop himself, he reached out to Sirius’s hand and squeezed it tightly. “We’re in this together, aren’t we?”

Sirius smiled, opened his mouth as if to say something, but then was immediately interrupted by his own hacking coughing. 

“I’ll get you some tea,” Remus told him. “Would you like something hot to eat?” 

Yeah… 

Remus found some turmeric tea in the cupboard, got the kettle going, and then began laying down the spellwork for the food. He decided that he’d use one of his mam’s recipes, the stew that she’d always made for him after full moons. Although he wasn’t as practiced at cooking magic as Sirius, it didn’t take him long to get the stock cooking on the stove along with knives chopping the vegetables and meat up. 

He went back upstairs, the steaming mug of turmeric tea in his hand, and pushed open Sirius’s door. 

Bathsheba had made her way in at some point and now she was resting on Sirius’s chest. He looked awake, stroking a hand over Bathsheba’s fur, though he let out a weak cough every once in a while.

“Here’s the tea,” Remus told him. “And I have stew on the stove for you. My mam’s old recipe. She used to make it for me after full moons.” 

“Oh.” Sirius looked up at him and there was an odd look in his eyes, one that Remus had never seen before. 

Remus sat down next to him. “Are you alright? Should I see if we have any healing potions?”

Sirius shook his head, though that strange expression on his face had not gone away. He was looking at Remus as if he was the most wonderful thing in the world. It was just the fever, Remus told himself, and made to get up. But Sirius grabbed his arm, stopping him. As Remus watched, Sirius picked up his wand again with his other hand and waved it. 

Want to rest. 

“I think that will help, yes,” Remus said, glancing down at where Sirius was holding his arm. Even though it was only a touch between mates, that point of contact warmed Remus’s entire body and made it difficult to think of anything but the two of them in this bed, together.

Stay.

Remus glanced at the other side of the bed. It was certainly large enough for the two of them and Sirius didn’t seem to have any qualms about sharing a bed with him. They’d done it before, on missions for the Order, though back then they’d been consumed with thoughts of war and death with room for little else. Perhaps Remus should just think of this as another mission—a fight against Fwooper Fever and the convoluted regulations of his job. 

“Alright,” Remus said, getting up and going over to the empty side of the bed. He took off his trousers and then laid down next to Sirius, pulling a blanket over the two of them and Bathsheba.  

It didn’t take long for sleep to overtake Remus. 

He woke up several hours later and sat up, blearily rubbing his eyes. At some point, Bathsheba had left the room, so it was just him and Sirius. Remus rolled over to see Sirius’s peaceful sleeping face, his eyelashes casting dark shadows on his skin. There was a lock of hair that had fallen over his face and Remus reached forward to tuck it behind his ear. As he did, Sirius’s eyes opened.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” Remus said hastily, but Sirius only shook his head. “Do you feel better?”

“Doesn’t feel like a Hippogriff’s trying to claw its way out of my throat anymore,” Sirius told him. Although his voice was scratchy, the words were clear. His tongue looked slightly less garishly-colored—hopefully it would return to its true color soon. 

“Good,” Remus said, thinking that he should go downstairs and check on the stew, but then Sirius swept those thoughts right out of his head with a gentle touch to his face, stroking a thumb over his cheekbone.

“What?” Remus managed. Even if Sirius couldn’t see the blush on Remus’s face, the pounding of Remus’s heart must have given away his feelings immediately. But Sirius did not seem to show any surprise or revulsion, only tracing constellations into Remus’s skin that sent sparks down his spine. 

“You’re just… You’re so you, Moony.”

“Who else would I be?” Remus’s heart was in his throat, ready to be served on a silver platter to Sirius Black. And he would gladly give it over to him the moment Sirius asked for it with outstretched hands. But that would never happen. 

“Don’t want you to leave,” Sirius said softly. 

“I’m not leaving without a fight,” Remus reassured him. “You’ve reminded me that there are things more important than the MAB out there. You, for example.” 

“Good,” Sirius said and kissed him. 

There was nothing Remus could do but return the kiss, his lips parting easily for Sirius as he pulled Sirius closer, feeling Sirius’s fingers tracing his jaw. His head swimming, everything but the hot presence of Sirius blurry and unimportant, Remus kissed him back. 

And then, suddenly, like a bucket of cold water, common sense extinguished the heat overwhelming Remus.

Remus pulled back instantly. It felt like the world had been upended on its axis. Even though he had hoped for this for so long, now that he actually had Sirius in his arms, he did not know what to do. Some part of him worried that it was a practical joke or that he hadn’t properly woken up yet—that it was nothing more than a dream.

“Alright, Moony?” Sirius said, frowning.

“You…” Remus trailed off. He could not help glancing down at his body, at his shabby pants and threadbare jumper. “Me?” 

“Of course. Us two, together,” Sirius said as if it ought to be as simple as that, as if it was as much of a given as the sky over their heads.

Remus swallowed. He was used to wanting things, to burying his desires so deeply that they rarely saw the light of day. But his friends had always been good at bringing them out in the open and letting the sun shine on them. Especially Sirius. Still, that old anxiety bit deep into Remus, tearing apart the yes that he wanted to give Sirius.

“I should have a look at your temperature,” Remus said as casually as he could manage. But Sirius’s frown only deepened.

“If you think that I only fancy you when I have a temperature, then I’ve had one for years,” Sirius told him. Before he could absorb that revelation, Sirius pressed on. “Look, Remus. I might sound like a backed-up motorbike right now, but I know that no matter what, you’re my partner. In sickness and in health, all that shite.” 

“All that shite,” Remus murmured softly, making Sirius smile.

“Yeah. Through Fwooper Fever and all the MAB’s nonsense and Voldemort himself. If not for you, I couldn’t have gotten through the last nine years.” 

“Oh,” Remus said, feeling touched beyond belief. Sirius had never said that in so many words, but they’d gotten each other through the worst nights, when it seemed impossible that they might find Harry. Remus swallowed and looked Sirius in the eye. “I feel the same way, too. I wouldn’t be here without you.” 

“So, what about it, Moony?”

“I think…” Remus swallowed. He was doing it now, what he had only dreamed of moments ago. He was giving his heart over to Sirius. “I think I’ve had a temperature for quite a while too.” 

“Good.” Sirius leaned in closer and Remus pulled him the rest of the way. Before long, though, another coughing fit came over Sirius.

“Sorry, I...” Sirius muttered, looking uncharacteristically nervous. Did Remus really have that effect on him? 

“It’s alright,” Remus told him, kissing him on the forehead. He could do that now. “We have time. There’s no rush. Now, would you like a back rub? It’s about time I returned the favor.” 

A few hours later, Remus was woken up by the familiar squeal of the school bus in the distance before it soared away. 

“Harry’s home,” Remus told Sirius who was blinking sleepily. After he’d given Sirius a back rub, they’d both fallen asleep again. “You rest.” 

He came downstairs to find Harry sitting at the table, having the stew as he sorted through a stack of mail. Remus immediately spotted the bright red envelope that was marked with the MAB’s seal. For this, the MAB wasted no time. 

“I think it would be best to toss this one in the fire,” Remus told Harry, holding the Howler gingerly by the corner and making Harry laugh.

“Does that mean you’re not working for them anymore?” Harry asked, looking up at him.

“I’ve been sacked, yes.” Remus exhaled, feeling relief come over him in spite of everything. “I think it’s been a very long time coming.” 

“My principal told me to give you this,” Harry said, holding up a white envelope with an aqua-colored seal. When Remus looked at it, he saw that the indentations in the wax formed a leaping dolphin. It was from the Atlantic City School of Magic.

He opened the envelope and slid the letter out into his hands.

Dear Mr. Remus Howell,

We are delighted to extend an offer of employment to you, on the recommendation of Doris Plumkiss, to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts for the 1991-1992 school year. 

If you decide to accept this offer, you can…

Remus stopped reading there, overwhelmed by utter shock. He looked up at Harry, who was watching him carefully. 

“Will you accept it?” Harry asked him eagerly. “You’d be brilliant—I’ve already told my friends that you’ve helped me loads with Defense.” 

“I’d like to, but being a werewolf…” Remus trailed off.

“But it shouldn’t matter! Our Herbology teacher’s a merperson and no one’s got a problem with her!” Harry said fiercely. He reminded Remus of a young James, telling him that he’d duel anyone who had a problem with Remus being a werewolf. The thought made Remus’s heart ache. 

Remus nodded, glancing back down at the rest of the letter. He skimmed through the rest of the letter. It all seemed fairly standard, discussing what his pay and benefits would look like—they were comparable to his job at the MAB—until the last lines made his heart jump in surprise.

We offer flexible schedules to employees for personal and/or health reasons, including vampirism, lycanthropy, and Uncontrolled Apparition Syndrome. The Atlantic City School of Magic believes that it is a priority to have staff that reflect the diversity of the magical population. 

“I told you,” Harry said. While Remus had been reading, he’d come up behind Remus, reading the letter over his shoulder. 

Remus chuckled. He was starting to feel like he was dreaming again, but perhaps Sirius had been right. Perhaps it really was alright to hope.

“What’s going on?” Sirius’s scratchy voice sounded and Remus turned to see him entering the room, Bathsheba perched on his shoulder like a little grey cloud. There was a woolen red blanket wrapped around him. His hair was a tangled mess around his face and he was sniffling slightly, a tissue box tucked under one arm. He was the most beautiful sight that Remus had ever seen. 

“Moony’s going to be our Defense teacher next year,” Harry told him before Remus could get a word out.

“I haven’t sent them the response yet,” Remus laughed. “But, yes, I will be. If everything goes well.” 

“It will,” Sirius said, crossing the room. “We deserve that, at least.” He looked between Remus and Harry. “We all do.”  

Remus woke up early, feeling giddy with boyish excitement as the golden August sun spread warm light through his and Sirius’s bedroom. 

As Remus shaved, Sirius wrapped his arms around Remus and pressed kisses to the back of his neck and shoulders. 

“Ready for your first day, Professor Lupin?” Sirius asked, his grin visible in the mirror over the curve of Remus’s shoulder. 

“I feel like I’ve been waiting for this day for a very long time. Honestly, I never thought I’d have this.” 

Sirius was quiet for a moment. They looked at their reflections in the mirror—Remus with his grey-streaked hair and scarred bare chest and Sirius with his raven-black hair and rumpled t-shirt, his arms around Remus. 

It was a picture of love, Remus thought. Love that had endured the hardest times, coming out on the other side like flowers budding from the earth after the longest, coldest winter. And they would continue to endure and live, in spite of everything.

With that in mind, he turned around in Sirius’s arms and kissed him on the lips, a slow, lingering kiss. 

“You can have whatever you want, Moony,” Sirius said against his lips, wrapping his arms around Remus more tightly.

“From you, yes.” Remus pulled back to look Sirius in the face. 

Sirius let out one of his trademark barking laughs and Remus thought of the summer nights that they’d spent together, Sirius’s laughter in his ears, the heat of his bare skin under Remus’s fingers, and the mornings after, full of lazy kisses. And Remus knew that there would be many more of those. 

“But that’ll have to wait till tonight,” Remus continued. “Being late for my first day of classes won’t make the best impression.” 

“You’re still such a good boy, Lupin.” 

“One of us has to be.” 

Fifteen minutes later, they came down to find Harry at the table, eating a bowl of cereal with Bathsheba by his side. 

“Are you ready to go, Harry?” Remus asked.

“You’re the ones who were taking forever to get ready,” Harry said with an air of great resignation. Remus chuckled as Bathsheba let out what seemed to be a meow of agreement. 

“I’ve got lunch for both of you here,” Sirius said, taking out two lunchboxes from the fridge. 

He handed one to Harry and then he came over to Remus, pressing the metal lunchbox into Remus’s hands. And then he met Remus’s eyes. 

“We’re here for each other. Not just through all that shite, but all the good parts too,” Sirius told him. 

“I know,” Remus said, feeling warmed to the core by Sirius’s gaze. “In sickness and health.”