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Sirius learnt to cook with James’ mother over his shoulder, so completely different from any mothers he had known in his life up until that point. She would linger in the kitchen with him, close enough for direction, distant enough to let him take control when he needed to. He had learnt to cook with her presence next to him, her voice asking about his day, his music, his thoughts. James had never been interested in learning and Sirius was more than enough interested for the both of them. He had learnt to cook with slivers of vague instruction and a complete lack of measurements, as her mother had taught her and her mother’s mother before that.
A tradition. But not like one Sirius had ever seen.
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“Just add a little bit more,” Euphemia said, hovering by Sirius’ side, warmth rolling off her, or perhaps that was just the stove.
“How much?”
“You’ll know when it tastes right,” she replied easily, like there was nothing else to it.
“How do I know when it tastes right?” Sirius asked, panic rising up in his chest, he couldn’t bear it if he messed this up.
“You’ll know. You’ve eaten it before,” Euphemia assured him, words tinged with softness. “And if you don’t you can ask me.”
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And so, Sirius cooking with Euphemia had become just as much a part of his holidays as ridiculous chats with James had been. He been eager to spend hours and hours in the kitchen with her and the two of them together had created many a feast for the family, for the neighbours, for friends of Euphemia and Fleamont’s. He had delighted in the way that people had come and had eaten and had laughed around a dining table that had been so different to any dining table Sirius had ever seen before.
There was none of the cool, collected society chat of his childhood. There was no pervading air of formality. There was no expectation that he be quiet because he didn’t know everything that was being spoken about. There was no rule that he and James couldn’t chat away to themselves while the adults spoke about whatever they were speaking about. That being said, he wasn’t forbidden to talk to the adults either. And not in just a polite way, but in a genuine way. He had actual discussions with people triple his age and he had enjoyed them.
Often on those nights, Sirius had to excuse himself halfway through, locking himself in an upstairs bathroom, taking deep breaths. Never in his life had he been surrounded by so many people who looked so genuinely happy to be in the same place. Never in his life had he been surrounded by so many people who were so happy to have him there. He cried, on those nights, unable to help himself. But he wasn’t always sad when he was crying, just overwhelmed, overwhelmed by the light, by the life, by the fact that this was a reality.
And so he would come downstairs again and Euphemia would be telling people about how hard Sirius worked on the food and how he was coming along into a lovely chef and how she wished that James would learn, but at least one of her sons was interested. Sirius would have no choice but to grin at that, happy every time she so much hinted at genuinely liking him, let alone when she was declaring it to a whole collection of strangers.
He would sit in the living room on the floor by the fireplace after everyone left, head tilted to look at Euphemia as she and James spoke animatedly about the people who James had known since birth, the people who one day would see Sirius just as much as one of their own as James was. He would feel a sense of contentment so large that he thought it was going to fully burst out of his body at the fact that he belonged with these people. He had been welcomed in by these people. He had come over to their house one Christmas and they had held open their arms the next summer.
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“I think you could feed the entire city with this, Sirius,” James said, leaning in the doorway, long and lanky and lively.
“I like it,” Sirius replied, shooting a nervous grin back at James.
“You’re good at it too,” James allowed, wandering in, snagging a piece of naan off a plate.
“James!” Sirius protested, he would’ve tackled him if he weren’t watching three pots on the stove simultaneously.
“Thanks for feeding us all!”
“I need to,” Sirius said, voice low. “You’re letting me stay. I can’t… I can’t not do something. And maybe I can stay longer if I can at least cook for you all.”
James frowned. “You can stay as long as you like, whether or not you feed us, mate.”
“I just—”
“No. You can stay as long as you want. I’ll grab mum and have her tell you if you need. You can stay.”
“Thanks,” Sirius conceded, not sure if the feeling in his chest was ecstasy or anxiety.
“You’ve always been a Potter. Now it’s official.”
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Sirius had effectively been living with the Potters since he was sixteen. Since he had packed up his bags one summer afternoon, and sporting a new black eye, worked out how to catch the train to their house.
After having spent Christmas at the Potters’ a summer at home had already seemed a terrible thing, but it had been far worse than he had expected when he had gotten home. The yelling seemed to never stop, the insults seemed to come from every angle. Even Regulus had seemed cold and uncaring and even when Sirius had begged for him to come with, he had refused. It had been too much and Sirius would have gone anywhere to not be there. He was just grateful that the Potters existed and so he could have a first stop. Even if they sent him away after a week, he knew that they’d help him sort something out.
But they had been kinder than he knew how to deal with. Fleamont and Euphemia had practically celebrated Sirius coming, James had been delighted to have Sirius around, their neighbours had welcomed him warmly. Sirius didn’t even know neighbours did that. But these ones had and it had been so much that he had very nearly cried right in front of them all there and then.
And so Sirius had spent a summer cooking and coping and considering how he was going to go about life now. He had spent the summer trying to work out what he could do. He would be finished school in a couple of years — could he stay with the Potters until that point?
It had taken them a long time to have him believe that they would be more than happy to have him there. It had taken him a long time to understand that he didn’t have to be perfect to be there. It had taken everyone a long time to adjust. From James, still getting used to the fact that he was living with his best friend, to Sirius realising that he was with the people he loved most in the world, to Fleamont and Euphemia coming to terms with just how much damage had been done to Sirius, there was a long process of adjustment. But even with the occasional fight and the more frequent misunderstanding, there was never any doubt in Sirius’ mind that this was where he wanted to be.
He went back to school for the first time in his life, unhappy. He had never liked holidays, they had always been painful and long and distressing in more ways than he could count, the knowledge that he’d have to spend at least some time with his family forever on loop in his mind. But now, he wanted summer to last forever. Existing in the spare room that had become his room, listening to Fleamont tell ridiculous stories, arguing and chatting and running with James, and of course, cooking with Euphemia.
And yet, it was also the happiest school year that he had ever had. The knowledge that when it came time for holidays, he would be going home to an actual home never seemed to leave him, even on his worst days. The fact that he would be expected somewhere that he wanted to be was overwhelming in all of the best ways. Overwhelming in a way that he had had no idea even existed. He wondered often if James felt like this all the time, if this was why James was so cheerful, so energetic, so ridiculously loving.
Sure enough, Sirius did go to the Potters’ for Christmas, for the next summer, for the Christmas after that and then after their final exams he boarded the same train as James and ended up at the same final destination. He was welcomed home with open arms and warm congratulations and more love than he knew what to do with. James and Sirius didn’t share a room that summer, but they may as well have from the many nights they stayed up late talking and laughing and living in the glory of being eighteen and free and excited and terrified for the future all in one.
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“I want to open a restaurant,” Sirius said on the phone to James, tone absolute in its honesty.
“You’ve literally just graduated with a maths degree,” James replied, but Sirius could hear the understanding in his tone.
“I know,” Sirius said. “Believe me, I know. But I really want to. Am I stupid?”
“Jeez, Sirius. How worried about this are you?”
“It just sounds so stupid,” Sirius said reluctantly. He knew what James meant, he had never been good for stopping and thinking about things, he had never been good at asking for secondary opinions even when he should. But he had given three years of his life away to something — something that admittedly, he did like a great deal — but something that he didn’t want to go any further with at the moment.
“They’re never going to think you sound stupid if it’s what you want,” James promised.
“Are you sure?”
“You know how much Mum is going to love the fact that you want to use what she taught you? She’ll love it more than the fact that we both got Firsts,” James replied easily, a buoyancy to his tone that Sirius could only ever associate with James.
“I love you.”
“Yeah, yeah, I love you too, but c’mon, mate. You’re just as much their son as I am, they love you. They’re happy with me doing what I want, they’ll be delighted you’re doing what you want.”
“Alright.”
“Plus, you’ll be able to do the taxes right.”
Sirius laughed, he loved these people, he loved his family. He loved every single one of them. He loved the fact that he loved them.
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Euphemia had indeed delighted in the fact that Sirius wanted to use all the skills that she had taught him and she told him as much after making sure that he genuinely did want what he was saying and it wasn’t just post-uni distress. She had happily agreed that he was qualified enough to open an Indian restaurant from all her teaching, even if he himself wasn’t the right type of Asian for that. She had even more happily told every single one of her friends and acquaintances and acquaintances’ acquaintances about what he was doing, probably multiple times.
Fleamont too, had been ecstatic when Sirius had told him and had been insistent on scouring London for the perfect place for Sirius to rent. And in the end, Sirius had been glad for it because Fleamont had found the perfect place for Sirius, he loved it with his entire heart and if he loved it more because Fleamont had loved it, so what? The point was that he loved it and it worked for him and soon enough he had an ever-growing list of regulars and more than enough once-offs for him to be thoroughly satisfied in his career of choice.
It was the perfect set up for Sirius; after a few years at it, he couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought of it earlier in his life. Chilled afternoons cooking for the lunch customers, followed by absolutely hectic nights as he worked his way around the scores of customers, alternating between cooking — it was his speciality, after all — and serving because he liked to know who was coming, it was the job of his dreams. The fact that he essentially had mornings off as well? It made it all the sweeter. It was beautiful, his restaurant, his life, the way that he had chosen to set things up.
Sure, things weren’t perfect. Things would never be perfect, he had learnt from a therapist and he knew that she was right, even if he hated to admit it. Every so often he would hear about a Black family member in the newspaper or on the news or worse, down the street, and he would shudder and battle to keep them out of his mind for the day. Sometimes a customer would come in and scream abuse at them all and Sirius would have to steel himself to send the customer out, putting them on the restaurant’s blacklist, and he would spend the rest of the day on edge and tense and worried. He would occasionally get in a huff and snap at an employee and he would wonder if he too was just like his family or the shitty customers or any of the other people he hated so much.
Things weren’t perfect, but they were good. They were really, really good and Sirius was more than happy to take that. He had a beautiful job and a beautiful family and beautiful friends and they had all been chosen by him for him because he had decided that he wanted them in his life. It was more than kid-Sirius had ever dreamt of. And so he was happy.
He was happy as he woke up in the morning, finally at thirty free of the consistent depression that had tagged along in his mornings for most of his life, for the most part at least. He was happy as he pottered about his flat, delighting in the fact that it was his and he could do whatever he wanted with it. He was happy as he opened the restaurant, greeting the people he worked with by way of hugs and exclamations and “how are you?”. He was happy in the bustle of 7pm, people coming in for dinners, hungry children, lovestruck couples, cacophonous families, and lone diners. He was happy as he locked up late at night, bidding his coworkers goodbye in much the same way as he had greeted them.
As Euphemia had told him, more than once, the only thing missing was a boyfriend. He knew that she didn’t really mind, it was only a joke, and anyway, she was never going to get grandkids out of him — but James and Lily had already taken care of that, so it was no problem. Still, he knew she worried and he knew that though he might not always admit it, there was part of him that would have appreciated a partner.
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“Are you lonely?” Euphemia asked over the swish of water as she washed uncooked rice in her personal favourite pot.
Sirius paused his chopping to lean over and hug her. “I’m fine.”
“You’re my son, you can’t hide anything from me,” she retorted, smiling regardless.
“Not lonely, as such,” Sirius allowed, returning to the potatoes. “I have a lot of people who I love.”
“And a lot of people who love you.”
“That too,” Sirius agreed.
“But that doesn’t solve your problem, does it?” She asked, draining the rice, letting the water fall through her hands, an act Sirius had once thought the epitome of magical.
“Maybe not.”
“My friend has a nice son, I’ll see if she can send him over to the restaurant,” Euphemia announced after a moment’s silence.
Sirius barked out a laugh, he loved this woman so much. “I don’t need you setting me up!”
“Too late,” she returned, grinning.
“What’s his name?”
“I’m not telling you that, it’ll be a surprise. See if it’s natural,” Euphemia said slyly. Sirius always forgot just how much of James’ mischief came from Euphemia, he was overjoyed every time he remembered.
“You’re ridiculous,” he returned, sighing happily.
“Maybe so.”
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It had turned out to be a quiet Wednesday night when the man sent by Euphemia came to the restaurant. An extraordinarily rainy Wednesday night. Sirius wasn’t surprised that no one had come in. It wasn’t the best night for it and plus, who didn’t like cooking in their own kitchens on rainy nights? Or perhaps that was just a him thing — James had once told him that almost all his romanticising of cooking was a him thing, or at least, it certainly wasn’t shared by James. Much to Sirius’ dismay, Lily didn’t have a fondness for cooking either, so it remained just Euphemia and Sirius. Perhaps Sirius didn’t mind that much, really.
The man came into the restaurant, dripping wet, looking around the empty restaurant and as soon as he had spotted Sirius at the counter, apologising like it was his profession. Sirius had laughed and promised that it was alright, apologising himself because he’d sent the kitchen staff home — he had figured that no one would be coming in. That had only provoked more apologies from the man so Sirius had laughed again, clear and bright and curious about this strange, apologetic man.
The man had only become stranger as the hour went on, insisting that Sirius have dinner with him as well if he hadn’t eaten — even offering to pay for Sirius’ food. Sirius had of course, brushed him off and been sorely tempted to pay for this man’s food, just for the kindness he had shown. He hadn’t though, and instead he sat down across from the lanky, curly-haired man — Remus — and began what he didn’t yet know was to become the first of millions of conversations.
He had had a sneaking suspicion even then though, that there would be more to come of this Remus. The way that he spoke, so full of consideration and care, like he never said anything he didn’t fully mean. The way that he thanked Sirius for the food, the way that he laughed at Sirius’ stories, the way that his gaze met Sirius’ full of a warmth Sirius hadn’t been expecting. The clear and nervous agreement when Sirius had suggested that they meet up again sometime soon, somewhere not where Sirius worked, somewhere that they could get to know each other more. The subtle hints that let Sirius know immediately that though it wasn’t stated, Remus was just as gay as he and there was no ambiguity in the statement of: “yes, I’d like that very much”.
Three dates later, Sirius was shocked to find out that Remus was in fact, Euphemia’s friend’s son, but he had come into the restaurant before he had been asked by either of them to go in. Sirius had delighted in the story and had rung Euphemia moments after they had parted ways to declare that she was the biggest sneak in the world and he loved her. He had called James when he had gotten home to relay the story and found equal delight on the other end of the phone.
He hadn’t known then, of course, just how long he and Remus would be together, but oh how he hoped. For the past decade of his life — when he wasn’t thinking about how weird it was that he had decades of his life to count — he had spent a significant chunk of his life being on edge, being afraid and watching people he loved being afraid, both for him and themselves. He had been happy in general, but he had been afraid for the people around him. He had spent years watching people like him die and worry about their lovers dying. It was still the same and he didn’t know when it was going to end. He didn’t know if it would end. But he knew that the Potters had never shied away from him and he knew that AIDS wasn’t something sent down by a god and he knew that Remus was someone he wanted to see more of.
And so he had made sure it had happened and Remus had made sure it had happened and then months later, they were living in the same flat and things were going better than Sirius ever could have hoped.
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“Are you working tonight?” Remus asked sleepily, shifting closer to Sirius in the early summer dawn.
“Not tonight,” Sirius replied easily, “remember, we’re seeing mum and dad and the new set of Potters.”
“Are you really referring to James and Lily and their kids as “the new set of Potters”?” Remus asked, grinning into Sirius’ shoulder.
“I absolutely am,” Sirius replied. “What do you want to call them?”
“Their names, perhaps?”
“Boring,” Sirius sent back, wrapping his arms tightly around his lover. “Where’s your sense of style?”
“Idiot.”
“Mhm.”
“Can you believe we’re thirty-five? And your brother has two kids?”
“Don’t remind me.”
“Going back to sleep?” Remus asked warmly, still pressed close against Sirius.
“Absolutely.”
“Good, me too.”
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Sirius and Remus turned thirty-five and forty and so on and so forth together, celebrating in a variety of different ways, but mostly in the fact that they were still together and they were still existing in the same space as each other and they were still as in love as they had been all those years ago when they had first met.
Sirius’ restaurant thrived. Sirius thrived, cooking for the restaurant and coming home and cooking for Remus, still loving it just as much as he had done with Euphemia the very first time she had taught him how to stir a curry — or rather, the very first time she had laughed because he said he didn’t know how to stir a curry. Regulars brought more regulars and once-offs brought more of those too. A maths degree might have been his way through school, but even without knowing how he would have ended up had he continued down that path, he didn’t care. He didn’t care that he didn’t know because he couldn’t possibly think of a better way to be spending his life.
During the summer all the Potters — plus Remus — would congregate at the original Potter house. Sirius and Euphemia would cook as per usual, sometimes with the addition of Harry. Sirius had spoken about giving the restaurant to Harry when he retired and he knew that the excitement across Harry’s face meant that he no longer had any other options. Truly, he didn’t mind it at all.
Those were some of his favourite times, evenings at the Euphemia and Fleamont’s house, his parents’ house, his teenage home. Surrounded by the family he had chosen, he was content.
It didn’t erase the years of abuse he had been through and it didn’t erase the fear that he felt for the community he was so lovingly a part of of and it didn’t erase his own struggles. But it made it all the more bearable. It made the world make sense, even if just for moments at a time, even if just for minutes passed with the people he loved.
He had a lot of favourite times these days, if he was being honest. Favourite moments in mornings in bed with Remus, afternoons at activist meetings, evenings at the restaurant. Holidays at his family home, weekends at the new set of Potters’ place, weekdays in the kitchen with Remus. He had never had more to be grateful for and god, was he grateful. He was so grateful he felt like he was going to explode.
His emotions had always been too big for him, too uncontrollable, too wild to manage and this was no different. Sometimes it was anger and frustration and hurt, and certainly, most of his youth had been spent that way. He was still angry now, he didn’t think he would ever stop being angry, but now there were other things. Things that had crept in when he had started learning how to cook with Euphemia, when he had moved in properly, when he had kissed a boy for the first time, when he had opened his restaurant, when he had met Remus, when they had had their “marriage” in defiance, when he realised that he had had a family who loved him for longer than he had one who didn’t. And it kept creeping in and sure, there was a lot to fix, but there was also a lot to love and he didn’t think he could stop it even if he wanted to.
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“What do you think?” Sirius asked Euphemia, offering a spoonful to her.
“When was the last time something wasn’t perfect?”
“Seventy-four days ago,” Sirius replied, grinning. “Really, what do you think?”
“It’s excellent,” Euphemia said, matching Sirius’ grin. “But you’re going to burn it if you keep grinning like that.”
Sirius gasped, hand over heart. “You wound me!”
“Watch the food,” she replied, and Sirius heard the “I love you” and grinned all the more.
“Who’s coming over tonight?”
“Just the lot of us tonight.”
“My favourite people.”
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Sirius learnt to cook with his mum over his shoulder, so completely different from any person he had known in his life up until that point. She would hang about, chatting with him and instructing him as needed. He had learnt to cook with her presence beside him, her gentleness and strength seeping through to him just when he needed it, her patience and her love filling the kitchen as much as his own. No one else had the same interest that he did, so the kitchen was their space where she would ask questions and he would answer in soft tones or he would ask questions and she would reply with determination. He had learnt to cook the same way that he had learnt how to talk, to share, to love: with the people he had chosen around him. Now it was Remus who hung by his shoulder, arm looped around his waist as he cooked. And the kitchen was their space, but really, the kitchen was just the space where Sirius’ loved and learned and lived.
A tradition. One Sirius knew was far older than himself and would last far longer.