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Sirius looks miserable here, he always looks fucking miserable staring out the window or pacing the halls or chewing his nails off until his fingers bleed. The only time he doesn’t look miserable is when he’s sleeping, which he’s started doing a lot more of lately. He goes to bed before Remus and doesn’t wake up until just before lunch and Remus wants to keep him awake and active and stimulated because sleeping all day isn’t healthy. The worst part is though that Remus can’t blame him and sleeping for thirteen or so hours straight seems better than consciously stagnating in a place Sirius actively despises.
It can’t go on like this. If it were some unidentifiable grief and sadness or the chemicals in his brain overtaking Sirius’s life, then that would be one thing. Except it’s not. It’s being shut away and forgotten again in this stupid fucking house while everyone else goes with life as normal. And Remus decides he’s done going on with everything like this is fine without doing anything.
“What are you doing tomorrow night?” Remus asks Sirius one Thursday. He’d been watching him pull out the split ends of his hair and stack them in a neat little pile and it was starting to gross him out. “And the next morning, at least for a bit?”
Sirius looks up from his work with a dull stare and raises one eyebrow in a way that looks like it takes a lot of effort. “Have you suffered a head injury or are you asking to gloat? I’ll be here.” He sighs and adds another hair to the stack. “Moon’s tomorrow night, exciting night for you.”
“Right, because my body breaking down and rearranging itself twice over is my idea of a good time.” Remus tries not to roll his eyes. “Listen,” he rests his elbows on the table and leans forward, their faces close, lowering his voice, “come with me. Tomorrow night, come spend the moon with me.”
The dull look on Sirius’s face remains for a moment, almost unhearing until the words process. The change of his expression is nearly laughable, head cocked and eyebrows furrowed. “What are you saying?” Sirius’s voice is small and it kills Remus to see the disbelief in his eyes at the prospect of something so simple as only leaving the house for the night.
“No one’s supposed to be in the house tomorrow night, right? Molly and Arthur are back home, Tonks is at her parents, Kingleys’s out until next week, and Dumbledore’s out doing,” he waves his hand, “whatever the fuck cryptc shit he was hinting at last meeting so we won’t be risking missing a surprise visit from him. Come with me, Floo back to my place. You can be Padfoot and I’ll, well. But we’ll get you out of here for the night, come back the next morning before anyone notices anything.”
Sirius stares at him, calculating and thinking and Remus sees a glimmer of hope behind it all. “Just for the night?” His jaw clenches.
“Sirius -'' Remus starts and he's irritated for a blinding moment, wondering why Sirius can't be happy with this, it's small but it's better than nothing and Remus is already risking both of their necks over a few hours out of Grimmauld. But Remus pushes the anger away just as Sirius shakes his head and puts on a smile that seems less forced than it has these days and interrupts him
"No, sorry, I…” He stops and takes a deep breath that seems to shudder his whole body and Remus doesn’t think he’s ever seen Sirius look so fragile. Not when he was eleven and hiding his all-consuming fear under a mask of bravado, or sixteen and bloody and laughing full of mania at James’s house, or twenty-one and scared and shaking and bitingly angry at the world, or even the bone-thin spectre of a man Remus met at thirty-four who was hunched and crumbling and clinging to sanity. Sirius sitting in front of him is like a fucking bird in a cage and Remus has his hand on the latch. “Why are you doing this?" And again his voice is small, wavering, begging.
There are a thousand answers in Remus’s brain that threaten to spill from his lips in a jumbled amalgamation of syllables and perhaps also his dinner. A penance, an apology, an offering, a representation of all the words he hasn’t said to Sirius and all the words he can’t bring himself to, a simple fucking action to show him how much he fucking loves him. Remus would let Sirius carve out his heart with his sharp and brittle nails if he wanted, what’s a night of freedom that could get them both killed compared to that? Remus just stares a little dumbly at the oily heap of plucked out hairs before he can meet Sirius’s eyes again, and they’re so wide and disbelieving and fucking gilmmering that Remus is shocked his voice doesn’t break. “How could I not?”
And Sirius smiles and takes his hand and neither of them mention how much they’re both sort of vibrating and then it’s settled. They’ll leave tomorrow night, at sundown.
They spend the next day like any other before the full moon over the past few months. Remus’s body wakes him at dawn with a dull pain everywhere . He flexes his fingers and keeps a hot mug of tea between his hands without drinking it, feeling its warmth and pacing, pacing, pacing until his knees start to shake and the arches of his feet start to tense and then he smokes out the window to keep away the nausea and shaking and panic. Sirius joins him at some point, late enough in the day that the sun has started it’s downward crest. He hands his third cigarette to Sirius and rests his forehead on his shoulder, nudging his nose against Sirius’s neck. He smells weird, like slept-in sheets and cinnamon toothpaste and spices from yesterday’s dinner but it’s sort of a comfort to Remus at this point. That and the citrusy hint of Remus’s soap and the acrid tint of smoke, that’s all the smell of home for him now, slightly filthy and all-consuming and oddly, oddly soothing, like the dull dig of claws into his neck.
“I’m really,” Sirius starts after a while, fingers tapping against the windowsill in a frantic double-time pace. “I don’t know, just. Thank you.” He shifts from one foot to the other and tilts his chin up to blow smoke over Remus’s head.
Remus nearly scoffs aloud, at the idea that he’s being thanked for giving Sirius a single solitary night out of confinement after tossing him aside in prison for over a decade. “It’s the least I can do after -”
“Don’t,” he says quickly. He feels him shaking his head a little, his hair brushing against Remus’s face as he moves. “I don’t want to. We’re done with that. We both, we...it’s over and whatever we did, we did and now we’re here. So let me thank you for this so I don’t have to feel like I somehow forced you into it and we’ll go back to your silly little grandmother-esque house that smells like cinnamon sticks and mothballs and you’ll pretend you don’t notice when I fucking cry when I, I dunno, touch grass again.”
“Okay,” Remus says, like it’s a fucking promise, and when he raises his head Sirius is looking at him with that sincere crinkle in the corner of his eyes and his front teeth are digging into teeth like he’s trying not to smile. “Okay,” he says again, and kisses him.
Padfoot is by no means the largest dog Remus has ever seen but he's still sizable. He's too big to be accurately considered a lapdog which means he's certainly too big to be toted around in one's arms, especially when Remus’s joints are this swollen and he can’t properly move his stupid fingers. And Remus may be helping Sirius break out of Grimmauld but he's not going to be completely careless about it, so Sirius traveling by Floo alone as a human was off the table immediately. He’s overthinking and exaggerating and he knows it but he can’t shake the image of Sirius stepping through the fireplace and being bombarded by Death Eaters or Ministry workers or even a fucking postman pissed off because Remus hasn’t gotten his mail in weeks. So they settle for this, Remus hoisting a wriggling Padfoot into his arms while still keeping a portion of his hand free to grab Floo powder.
"I wish you'd been something remotely smaller, like a terrier or something. This would be a hell of a lot easier if I could just stick you in my pocket," Remus grunts as Padfoot slides a little down his body. He growls a bit into Remus's chest but Remus can feel his wagging tail slapping his thighs and he smiles. "Ready?" He asks after a final heft up, and he can't hold back a stupidly joyful grin at the wet doggy nose against his neck, the tongue in his face. He flicks a handful of powder into the fireplace and steps into the flames and Christ, Padfoot starts to squirm so excitedly in his arms that he thinks he’ll fall back into Grimmauld’s sitting room.
But then they’re standing in the center room of Remus’s cramped little house, the room filled with a warm, glowing orange light as the sun sets. Padfoot leaps from his arms and lands, feet scrabbling, on the floor, yipping and bounding onto the sofa and off again. “Wait,” Remus mutters softly before Sirius can change back. “Let me check -” But Sirius stands before him before he can finish his thought, eyes a little manic but smiling so, so contently.
“No one’s here, I’d be able to smell them if they were.” He bounces a little on the balls of his feet like he can’t make himself stand still. “Really dusty here,” Sirius says with a grin, raising his head to look at the top of the mantle.
“Right, terribly sorry I didn’t pop over to prepare the place for you,” Remus responds dryly but god, it’s good to see him smile like that again. He wraps his arms around Sirius’s waist, digs his fingers into the skin and feels the stretch of his body on his inhale and it’s like he’s alive again, both of them fully finally living. Sirius presses a kiss to Remus’s forehead that feels as electric as a charged wire before grabbing his hand and pulling them both out the back door.
A good chunk of Remus’s brain is still expecting an attack or a raid or something, surely it won’t be this easy. There’s nothing, though, outside of his house. Just the chill of the November air and the leaves crunching underfoot and the last remaining beams of sunlight over the horizon. Sirius pulls his shoes off the moment they reach the grass and it's too cold, he'll surely get frostbite but he only waves a hand over his shoulder when Remus says something, smiling wide. And he’s so exhausted and Sirius is so, so lively that Remus pushes all of his worry back and lets Sirius lead them both inside the thicket of elm and dogwood beside the house.
“Come here,” Sirius turns to him once they’re far enough into the trees, settling cross-legged on the ground and pulling Remus down beside him. He pats the ground in front of him and Remus lays, joints cracking, on his back on the soft moss of the woods, his head resting in the space between Sirius’s thighs. “You look like shit,” Sirius mutters fondly, running his fingers through Remus’s hair and scraping his nails gently against his scalp.
“Thanks,” Remus mumbles, tongue heavy, and turns to rest his cheek against the warmth of Sirius’s thigh. He missed this, having someone with him, having Sirius with him, even if just to brush the sweaty hair from his face. This is as important as anything he and Sirius have together, these handful of hours under the moon when neither of them are human, where they can both exist in every form. It crushed Remus when they moved to Grimmauld and he had to do this alone again, nearly as much as it had Sirius. But they’re here, again, and Remus isn’t sure he’ll be able to give it up again.
“Hey,” Sirius calls softly, bringing Remus back to consciousness before he can realize that he’d even fallen asleep. He brings his thumbs to the space below Remus’s ears and strokes at his jawline, reminding him to unclench his teeth. “We’ve only got five or so minutes left, Remus, let’s get your clothes off. I like this shirt, it’s soft. I don’t want you to tear it.”
He pushes Remus softly onto all fours and helps him pull the shirt over his head, the chill in the air nearly cutting as Remus’s skin breaks out in goosebumps. “It’s cold,” Remus whines like a child, fingers fumbling as he moves to undo his jeans.
“I know,” Sirius says and Remus can tell he’s smiling at him without even looking. “You'll have yourself a full fur-coat in a bit.” And Remus groans and Sirius laughs and then the moon rises.
Wolfsbane means Remus is more lucid under a full moon than before, the mind he is used to present in the body that he's not but still resting under layers and layers of impulse. It’s not fair to say it’s his human mind clear in an animal’s body. It’s more muddled than that. It’s not as simple as the binary Wolf and Remus, it’s the two of them, cohabitating. Remus the Man is fully aware of what’s happening but he’s handing the reins over to Remus the Wolf. Not Moony, that divide doesn’t sit as well for him anymore, but Remus all the same in a different form, driven by wants and impulse and a blind drive.
So tonight he relishes in the experience, the energy he has on four legs to race with Padfoot around the forest, bound into him and wrestle him into a bush, long doggy tongues lolling out of their mouths the whole time. It’s fucking euphoric, how they run together, hunt together, even the scent of him on his wolf nose. He leads them to the stream at the very west edge of the woods. He leaps into the rushing water, yelping at the frigid temperature but watching in delight as Padfoot joins him, the two of them snapping at the fish that swim past. Padfoot shows his belly when they’re finished and rolling in the grass to dry off, and bares his teeth in submission as Remus licks the blood from his muzzle.
Padfoot races past as they make their way back to where they started, prancing past him and back again and nuzzling his snout against Remus’s side as he passes each time. He’s as energetic as he was at the start of the night but Remus feels the pull of sleep as he always does as the moon starts to set. Padfoot barrels into him as he laps him a third time and Remus snaps his teeth at his tail, just barely keeping his balance as he wobbles on four legs. Remus drops to his side when they make it back, eyes shutting as he feels his body getting ready to shift back, and Padfoot circles and circles and circles him before settling beside him, pressing their noses together and giving him a gentle lick.
Remus gasps as his bones crack and reform again, joints and skin stretching and narrowing and rippling as the pain shoots through him but then there’s the warm, firm press of a body next to him. He digs his fingers into the coarse fur beside him and only has a moment to wonder if Sirius will still be here when he wakes before he’s asleep again.
His mouth tastes awful, like he licked the aluminium of an old can of tuna. That’s the first coherent thought he can piece together. The second is that he’s wrapped up in a scratchy old blanket, swaddled sort of like an oversized infant. Remus flails a bit until he can free his arms and rolls himself clumsily onto his stomach, spitting into the grass.
“Fish never did agree with you, did it.” The voice startles Remus, pulls him fully awake and he looks up dumbly with saliva still hanging off his chin. Sirius is wrapped in his own blanket beside him, smiling warmly with a steaming mug in his hands. “You took us to a stream last night, even caught like a carp or something out of the air.”
“I remember.” Remus wipes his face with the back of his hand and burrows back into the blanket. He’s told Sirius before that he remembers the events of the moon thanks to wolfsbane but there’s something all the same about listening to Sirius describe the night to him like he used to, a crooked and cocky smile on his face. “Does your mouth not taste like you snogged a seagull? Even rabbit was never as bad as this.”
Sirius laughs, a full and true laugh that Remus hasn’t heard in ages, and pushes the hair back from Remus’s head. “I downed some mouthwash back at your place, completely fresh now.” He shows his teeth. Sirius holds the mug of coffee beneath Remus’s nose, cradling the back of his head with the other and Remus is grateful for the warmth as it flows down his throat, even if it does sort of taste like bong water.
“This coffee is terrible,” Remus grimaces, primarily looking to get another laugh out of Sirius and it works and he feels warmed twice over. “Truly shit, how’d you manage that?”
“It’s your fault, I just dug this out from the back of your dusty-ass cupboards.” He sets the mug down and lies down beside Remus. Remus opens up his blanket and Sirius crawls inside, the both of them wrapped up close, knees knocking and elbows poking into ribs, and Remus listens to their breath and the early morning birds.
“I didn’t know if you would be here when I woke up,” Remus admits after a bit. “Thought maybe you’d, you’d run off so you wouldn’t have to….” He doesn’t finish the sentence, doesn’t want even the mention of Grimmauld to taint this morning.
Sirius doesn’t say anything at first, just hums against Remus’s neck. “Yeah.” He says finally. “I thought about it. Walked all the way to the welcome sign at that little Muggle village and thought about making a run for it.” Remus doesn’t say anything, just exhales a little shakily and Sirius continues. “I can’t leave you, though, I’d, I’d rather be found right there on the spot than run off without you.”
The sentence ends there but it rings like an unresolved chord, like a “but” is lying just underneath the surface. So Remus waits for it, slides his fingers underneath Sirius’s shirt and feels his chest expand and sink as he breaths.
“I’m not going back,”
There it is, Remus thinks and he could almost laugh. Because of course, of course, of course, how else did he think this night out would end if not with Sirius putting his foot down and resisting like an immovable stone. He sighs and rubs his eyes hard and thinks his words out carefully. “Are you….is the plan to shack up at my place, playing house until someone breaks down our door? Is that what we’re doing?” And yes, Remus says we because it’s a stupid idea, incredibly, unspeakably stupid but Sirius was right. Remus, too, would rather be taken out at close range than live another miserable day without him.
“No. I’m,” he takes a breath, “We're going after Peter.”
And Remus laughs a little frantically because things change but never this, he supposes. “Right because that worked out so perfectly the first time, text-book result you got last time this happened. I -”
“It’s different this time,” Sirius interrupts him quickly, vehemently, an undoubtedness in his voice. “It’s different now, it’s not me chasing off in a blind panic, it’s, it’s you and me, together, Remus we know him better than anyone, we know that little rat bastard better than he knows himself.” He spits the words out in a frenzy, taking Remus’s head in his and tilting his face up until their eyes meet. “We’re going to catch him,” and there’s a sureness in his eyes that Remus couldn’t argue with even if he tried, even if he wasn’t coming off the exhaustion of the moon. “We can do this,” Sirius says again, fiercely.
It’s a stupid idea, slapdash and impulsive and a suicide mission at best. But all the same, Remus nods. “You’re going to get us killed.”
And Sirius just laughs, kissing him fiercely.