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Thank Merlin for Severus Snape. 

If you had told fifteen-year-old Remus that he'd be thanking Severus Snape for anything, he would have suggested a trip to Saint Mungo's. So would seventeen-, twenty-two, and thirty-year old Remus, for that matter. 

Thirty-five-year-old Remus, on the other hand, was immeasurably grateful. That Snape - however unwillingly - brewed him Wolfsbane. And, for whatever reason, had decided to bring it over himself rather than send a message to Remus via house-elf to come collect it. And most of all for whatever twist of fate that meant he had arrived before Remus had hared down to the Willow.

Remus had been in his office, keeping an eye on the map. Buckbeak’s trial was this evening, which meant that there was absolutely no chance Harry, Ron, and Hermione wouldn’t have gone to see Hagrid, Dementors be damned. Remus didn’t, as a general rule, keep an eye on Harry when he pulled out the map; it felt too much like an invasion of the little privacy the boy had. Instead, Remus focused on the passages, hoping to find Si - Black - before the man could make his way to the Tower again. 

Merlin. Nearly twelve years, and even thinking about Si - _Black_ hurt worse than a knife to the gut. Even after all this time, Remus had no idea where they’d gone so wrong. What had happened to the carefree, laughing boy Si - Black - had been, to turn him into someone capable of betraying a brother. Remus strove to believe that anyone could rise above their origins, but clearly that wasn’t true. He could still remember the arguments he’d had, that James had had, both of them certain that despite his name, his family, Sirius could be trusted. Merlin, how wrong they’d been. And Lily and James and Peter - poor, foolishly brave Peter - had paid the price for it. 

A knock on the door pulled him out of the dark miasma of useless regrets, and Remus frowned, going to open it - and there stood Severus, a steaming goblet in his hand and looking even more dour than usual. What - oh, right, Remus thought, the Wolfsbane. 

“Thank you, Severus,” he said. “For brewing the potion and for bringing it to me.” 

If anything, Severus looked even more like he’d bitten into a lemon at that. “See that you drink it all,” he said. “I did not take time out of an already busy schedule for your dunderheadedness to put everyone in the castle at risk.” 

“Every last drop, Severus,” Remus promised, taking the goblet. The Wolfsbane was as vile as always, but he made an effort not to let it show on his face, lest Severus think he was ungrateful. This was enough to satisfy the man, apparently, because he nodded sharply before leaving in a swirl of black wool. Remus valiantly resisted the urge to roll his eyes, shut the door behind him, and didn’t restrain himself from making faces as he downed the rest of the potion. As much as it was a miracle beyond anything he could have imagined as a boy, he rather wondered if Severus was making it taste this bad on purpose. 

If only Lily were alive… 

But she wasn’t. Because of Sirius Black, and Remus needed to stop woolgathering and get back to the damn map so they could catch the bastard before he could finish the job he’d started twelve years ago.

He did finish the Wolfsbane before he got back to his desk, though, and a good thing, too, because one look at the name that popped up on the map - terrifyingly, terrifyingly close to Harry - and he dropped it, crash and flying shards of glass alike going unnoticed as he stared at the worn parchment, wondering whether it was malfunctioning, or whether the Wolfsbane was making him hallucinate.

Because in spidery writing Remus knew as well as his own, and getting closer and closer to the Willow, were the names Sirius Black - and Peter Pettigrew. 

Remus conjured a glass of water, splashing some on his face - and no, the words hadn’t changed. The map still showed, dark ink stark against faded parchment, the name of a man Remus thought long dead. A man commonly believed to have been killed by Sirius Black. 

He was down the hall before he knew it, for once in his life grateful for the werewolf’s added speed, thoughts going so fast it was a wonder he didn’t trip on them.

Peter was - if the Map wasn’t malfunctioning, and Remus had no reason to think it was - alive. How? 

He hadn’t been there, that fateful Halloween - he’d been abroad, on a job for the Order, while his pack was ripped asunder, something Remus had never, quite, forgiven himself for. If he’d been with Peter at the market that day, could Remus have gotten his wand up in time to save Peter and those Muggles? A small, selfish part of him was glad to have been gone, because to this day, he wasn’t sure he could have stood against his lover. 

Not even when he’d been a first year experiencing Hogwarts for the first time had the castle felt so big, the corridors felt so long, and almost for the first time in his life, Remus was grateful for the wolf, since it meant he was faster than he would have been otherwise. Then again, an annoyingly logical part of his brain pointed out, if he hadn’t been a werewolf in the first place, things would have gone very differently. For one thing, Peter would never have been able to escape.

Because now that Remus actually thought about it, rather than shoving every single memory of that day deep in a locked box which he then buried in the furthest recesses in his mind, nothing about it made sense. Sirius was a skilled duelist, and certainly powerful enough to cast the Killing Curse. Why a Blasting Hex, on a busy street filled with Muggles? And come to that, how in the world had the hex not completely obliterated Peter? It should have, everything Remus knew about spell theory said it should have - the sheer concussive force of the spell, when cast by someone with as much power as Sirius Black, should have vaporised him completely. And if the spell had been less powerful, well… there would have been more than just a finger, as gruesome as the thought was. 

But leaving a finger behind made sense… if Peter hadn’t died that day. If instead he’d transformed. But if so, why not change back, once the danger was over? Why let everyone - including his poor mother - think he was dead? Come to that, why stay hidden when he would have been feted as a hero, when he’d been awarded an Order or Merlin? It made no sense, especially for the Peter Remus remembered, the one who loved attention as much as he loved his mother. 

Unless he was scared of retribution? But that made even less sense. With Voldemort gone, his followers had fallen over themselves to renounce him, and Sirius was in Azkaban… Remus shook his head. He didn’t have time for this, damn it. He could figure out the whys later. Right now he needed to get to the Willow. It was where Sirius would go, he knew; the old tree was easy to dodge once you knew how, and almost nobody else knew what lay underneath it.

As he got closer, he could see something glittering in the rays of the evening sun - James’ Cloak. James’ Cloak, that James and Sirius and Peter used to get back to the castle on full moon nights - nights like tonight. Remus took a precious few minutes to swear viciously at the universe. Of all the nights for this to happen, it had to be tonight. Remus looked up at the sky, his internal clock telling him there wasn’t very long before moonrise. While thanks to Severus and the potion he wouldn’t be dangerous, it still wasn’t optimal. And he didn’t have time to head back to the castle for help, but… 

Remus raised his wand, and for the first time in over a decade, let his Patronus take shape. He told the dog - and even after everything, it was still a large silvery dog - “Albus. You need to come to the Shrieking Shack immediately. It’s an emergency. Please, there’s no time to waste.” He didn’t offer more of an explanation, because he didn’t have one himself. 

Remus made his way down the tunnel, taking deep, calming breaths as he went. It would do nobody any good if he went rushing in - that had always been Sirius, of the four of them. He needed to stay calm, needed to find out what had really happened that night, and after it. 

He was halfway down the corridor when he heard Hermione’s voice, sharp and panicked like the girl had never been in his classes, yelling for help, and he sped up. Leaving aside everything else, Sirius had still spent over a decade in Azkaban, and who knew what Dementors had done to that once brilliant mind. 

His first sight of Sirius in person almost knocked him for a loop, only years of practice letting him keep his calm. Remus had seen the posters, of course, but it was a different thing altogether to see Sirius in person - skeletal from years of prison slop, his hair - that he’d been so proud of, that Remus had teased him about, had loved to run his fingers through in bed and otherwise - filthy and matted, tattered, threadbare robes practically falling off him, cheeks hollow and bags big enough for an Erumpent under his eyes. It was the look in those grey eyes, though - shock, then, desperate, desperate hope - that had Remus casting a different spell than he’d intended. If Sirius was in any state to explain - and Remus couldn’t see any sort of madness in his eyes - then he damned well wanted an explanation.

Ignoring the children - he’d come to them later - he stepped forward, his eyes on Sirius, searching his face for something, anything, that might make this make sense. “Where is he, Sirius?” 

Slowly, Sirius raised an emaciated arm, pointing at the Weasley boy… and the rat he was clutching. A very familiar-looking rat, now Remus thought about it, even in the dim light of the shack. It sounded absurd, beyond absurd, even, but Remus had heard about Scabbers, about a pet that lived far longer than an ordinary rat ought, even in a magical household. 

“But then . . . ,”  Remus kept his eyes on Sirius, mind whirling as he tried to make sense of this new information. Why on Earth would Peter hide as a pet of all things? Granted, there were far worse fates than to live with the Weasley family, even considering he had to share a house with the twins, but… “. . . why hasn’t he shown himself before now? Unless… ”

Something his father had said, when he was struggling with an Arithmancy problem. That if a step wasn’t working, he needed to look three steps behind. Which meant… oh. Oh. It all made sense now. Why Peter hadn’t revealed himself, why there had only been a finger on that London street. He swallowed, voice hoarser than he could remember it being, “— unless he was the one . . . unless you switched . . . without telling me?” 

Sirius - and there was grief in those grey eyes now, mingled with the hope - nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving Remus’, and oh, this must be what a heart attack felt like. Or perhaps a stroke. Like your world shattering into pieces and reforming again in an instant. 

Distantly, he heard Harry’s voice, but all his attention was focused on the man in front of him. Sirius, who hadn’t betrayed James and Lily. Sirius, who hadn’t killed Peter, and unless Remus missed his guess, not those Muggles, either. Sirius, who was indeed the man Remus had fallen in love with all those years ago. 

He wasn’t even conscious of moving - the next thing he knew, he was next to Sirius, was pulling him up and into an embrace, arms going around that too-thin frame, his body conveying the apology he didn’t have words for. 

There would be time for recriminations later, for wondering why he hadn’t pushed, how he could have believed Sirius - whose Animagus form was a dog, for Merlin’s sake - could have possibly have turned on them - but for now, he was too relieved to find out that the man he loved hadn’t killed their best friends after all.

*****

They split the explanation between them, of those halcyon days at Hogwarts, of what they’d done to help Remus with his condition. Remus would have given it all up, if it had meant that Peter could have been caught and Sirius not left to rot in Azkaban, but. What did old Mr. Pettigrew say? If wishes were horses, beggars would ride.

He couldn’t help the relief that flooded through him at Harry’s vehement denial of Sirius’ guilt; it would have shattered his lover if Harry had blamed him. Merlin knew, Sirius blamed himself enough. 

Sirius shook his head. “Harry . . . I as good as killed them,” he croaked. “I persuaded Lily and James to change to Peter at the last moment, persuaded them to use him as Secret-Keeper instead of me. . . . I’m to blame, I know it. . . . The night they died, I’d arranged to check on Peter, make sure he was still safe, but when I arrived at his hiding place, he’d gone. Yet there was no sign of a struggle. It didn’t feel right. I was scared. I set out for your parents’ house straight away. And when I saw their house, destroyed, and their bodies . . . I realized what Peter must’ve done . . . what I’d done. . . .” 

His voice broke. He turned away, and Remus had to resist the urge to pull him close. There were more important matters at hand. He turned to the children. 

“Enough of this,” he said, putting all the authority he’d gained over years of trying to corral the Marauders into his voice. “There’s one certain way to prove what really happened. Ron, give me that rat. ” 

“What are you going to do with him if I give him to you?” Ron asked Remus tensely. 

“Force him to show himself,” said Remus. “If he really is a rat, it won’t hurt him.” They’d practised the Animagus Reversal spell enough, after all; it had been at Remus' insistence, in case any of them sunk into their forms and got stuck. 

Ron hesitated. Then at long last, he held out Scabbers and Remus took him. Scabbers began to squeak without stopping, twisting and turning, his tiny black eyes bulging in his head. 

“Ready, Sirius?” Remus asked. 

Sirius nodded. “I don’t have a wand,” he said. “You’ll have to do the honours.” He was looking intently at Scabbers, as if he could change him over by will alone. “On three, Moony?”

“On three, Padfoot,” said Remus, holding Scabbers tightly in one hand and his wand in the other. “On the count of three. One — two — THREE!” 

A flash of blue-white light erupted from his wands; for a moment, Scabbers was frozen in midair, his small gray form twisting madly — Ron yelled — the rat fell and hit the floor. There was another blinding flash of light and then — 

No matter how many times Remus had seen his friends - or ex-friend, in this case - transform, the sheer magic of the change never ceased to astound him. Head shooting upward out of the tiny grey body, limbs too long and lanky sprouting from either side; what felt like both a moment and an eternity later, Peter was standing in front of him. Well. Cowering would be a better description, honestly, with how he was curled in on himself and wringing his hands, not looking any of them in the eye. As well he should, Remus thought in disgust.  On the bed, Crookshanks appeared to echo his feelings; the half-Kneazle Crookshanks was spitting and snarling; the hair on his back was standing up. Remus thoroughly sympathized. 

The years hadn’t been kind to Peter - but then again, considering he’d spent them as a rat, it was hardly surprising. He’d always been - Remus wouldn’t go so far as to call him ill-favoured - but he certainly hadn’t had Sirius’ dashing good looks or James’ easy appeal, but the time as Scabbers seemed to even have lent a ratlike cast to his features. His grubby skin, thinning hair, and the fact that he appeared to have lost a large amount of weight in a very short time certainly didn’t help matters. 

There was a part of Remus that had hoped to be wrong. Not because he wanted Sirius to be guilty, but because it was easier than believing that a man they’d both loved like a brother could have done something so cowardly, so dishonourable. But there he was, eyes darting back to the door as if wondering if he could get to it in time. 

“Well, hello, Peter,” said Remus pleasantly, as though rats frequently erupted into old school friends around him. “Long time, no see.” 

“S — Sirius . . . R — Remus . . .” His voice was almost a squeak - unsurprising, Remus thought, considering that had been the only sound he’d made for over a decade.  “My friends . . . my old friends . . .” 

How dare he. Sirius took a step forward, but Remus seized him around the wrist, gave him a warning look. He understood the impulse to rip the little rat limb from limb, but they - and Harry - needed answers first. He turned to Peter, keeping his voice light and casual with an effort. 

“We’ve been having a little chat, Peter, about what happened the night Lily and James died. You might have missed the finer points while you were squeaking around down there on the bed —” 

“Remus,” Peter gasps, sweat beading on his pasty face, “you don’t believe him, do you. . . ? He tried to kill me, Remus. . . .” 

The utter temerity of it had Remus itching to hex him. “So we’ve heard,” he said, his voice growing colder. “I’d like to clear up one or two little matters with you, Peter, if you’d be so —” 

“He’s come to try and kill me again!”  Peter squeaked, pointing at Sirius, and there it was, the missing finger - and the cut was clean, like it had been severed. “He killed Lily and James and now he’s going to kill me too. . . . You’ve got to help me, Remus. . . .” 

Sirius growled, only Remus’ grip on his wrist keeping him steady as he stared at Pettigrew with hate in those fathomless grey eyes. Not that Remus blamed him a bit. 

“No one’s going to try and kill you until we’ve sorted a few things out,” Remus said. After they’d sorted those things out, however… 

“Sorted things out?” Peter’s eyes were darting about once more, taking in the boarded windows,  the only door. If Remus hadn’t been assured of his guilt already, that would have done it. “I knew he’d come after me! I knew he’d be back for me! I’ve been waiting for this for twelve years!” 

That… both made sense and didn’t. “You knew Sirius was going to break out of Azkaban?” Remus asked, frowning. “When nobody has ever done it before?” 

“He’s got dark powers the rest of us can only dream of!” Pettigrew shouted shrilly. “How else did he get out of there? I suppose He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named taught him a few tricks!” 

Sirius started to laugh, a horrible, mirthless laugh that filled the whole room, and Remus had to bite back a flinch. He’d always hated that particular laugh of Sirius’. 

“Voldemort, teach me tricks?” he said, voice all mockery and scorn, and Remus had to agree. 

Peter, on the other hand, flinched, but then he always had whenever the name was spoken, despite all their efforts to cure him of it. Which made a horrible 

“What, scared to hear your old master’s name?” Sirius said, still in that same mocking voice. “I don’t blame you, Peter. His lot aren’t very happy with you, are they?” 

“Don’t know what you mean, Sirius —” Peter was breathing faster than ever, his whole face shiny with sweat, even in the dim light in the Shack.  

Sirius shook his head. “You haven’t been hiding from me  for twelve years,” he said. “You’ve been hiding from Voldemort’s old supporters. I heard things in Azkaban, Peter. . . . They all think you’re dead, or you’d have to answer to them. . . . I’ve heard them screaming all sorts of things in their sleep. Sounds like they think the double-crosser double-crossed them. Voldemort went to the Potters’ on your information . . . and Voldemort met his downfall there. And not all Voldemort’s supporters ended up in Azkaban, did they? There are still plenty out here, biding their time, pretending they’ve seen the error of their ways…” He smiled grimly. “If they ever got wind that you were still alive, Peter —” 

“Don’t know . . . what you’re talking about. . . ,” Peter said, his voice high like it got when he got caught in a lie. He wiped his face on his sleeve and looked up at Remus. “You don’t believe this — this madness, Remus —” 

“I must admit, Peter, I have difficulty in understanding why an innocent man would want to spend twelve years as a rat,” Remus said evenly. 

“Innocent, but scared!” Peter squeaked. “If Voldemort’s supporters were after me, it was because I put one of their best men in Azkaban — the spy, Sirius Black!” 

Sirius’ face twisted, and for a moment Remus thought he was going to break free and lunge at Peter. “How dare you,” he growled instead, voice tight with fury. “I, a spy for Voldemort? When did I ever sneak around people who were stronger and more powerful than myself? But you, Peter — I’ll never understand why I didn’t see you were the spy from the start. You always liked big friends who’d look after you, didn’t you? It used to be us . . . me and Remus . . . and James. . . .” His voice nearly broke on the last word, and Remus swallowed, too. 

Pettigrew wiped his face again; he was almost panting for breath. 

“Me, a spy . . . must be out of your mind . . . never . . . don’t know how you can say such a —” 

“Lily and James only made you Secret-Keeper because I suggested it,” Sirius cut in, so venomously that Peter flinched back - and really, thought Remus, they should have seen it. Peter had never been brave, not the way James and Sirius were. “I thought it was the perfect plan . . . a bluff. . . . Voldemort would be sure to come after me, would never dream they’d use a weak, talentless thing like you. . . . It must have been the finest moment of your miserable life, telling Voldemort you could hand him the Potters.” 

Peter continued to mutter distractedly, but his body betrayed him, as it always did; his face was ashen and his eyes continued to dart frantically hither and yon, looking for a way out. 

“Professor Lupin?” came a timid voice. “Can — can I say something?” 

Remus almost jumped; he’d forgotten the children were there. He turned to her, and - good girl, trying not to show how scared and confused she obviously was. Not that Remus blamed her. “Certainly, Hermione,” he said, making sure to keep the anger out of his voice. 

“Well — Scabbers — I mean, this — this man — he’s been sleeping in Harry’s dormitory for three years. If he’s working for You-Know-Who, how come he never tried to hurt Harry before now?” 

Which was a valid question, for all Remus was thankful to every god in every pantheon that Peter was and had always been a lazy son of a bitch, with apologies to his mother. One small bright spot in this whole mess; old Mrs Pettigrew had died thinking her son a hero. 

“There!” Peter exclaimed, maimed hand pointed at Harry. “Thank you! You see, Remus? I have never hurt a hair of Harry’s head! Why should I?”

“I’ll tell you why,” Sirius said. “Because you never did anything for anyone unless you could see what was in it for you. Voldemort’s been in hiding for fifteen years, they say he’s half dead. You weren’t about to commit murder right under Albus Dumbledore’s nose, for a wreck of a wizard who’d lost all of his power, were you? You’d want to be quite sure he was the biggest bully in the playground before you went back to him, wouldn’t you? Why else did you find a wizard family to take you in? Keeping an ear out for news, weren’t you, Peter? Just in case your old protector regained strength, and it was safe to rejoin him. . . .” 

Put like that, calm and implacable, there was no refuting it, and Peter didn’t seem capable of it. He opened and closed his mouth several times, but no sound came out. 

“Er — Mr. Black — Sirius?” said Hermione. 

Sirius jumped at being addressed like this and stared at Hermione as though he had never seen anything quite like her. Remus knew the feeling. 

“If you don’t mind me asking, how — how did you get out of Azkaban, if you didn’t use Dark Magic?” 

“Thank you!” Peter said, nodding frantically at her. “Exactly! Precisely what I —” 

But Remus silenced him with a look. Sirius was frowning slightly at Hermione, but not as though he were annoyed with her. He seemed to be pondering his answer. 

“I don’t know how I did it,” he said slowly. “I think the only reason I never lost my mind is that I knew I was innocent. That wasn’t a happy thought, so the dementors couldn’t suck it out of me . . . but it kept me sane and knowing who I am . . . helped me keep my powers . . . so when it all became . . . too much . . . I could transform in my cell . . . become a dog. Dementors can’t see, you know. . . .” He swallowed, and Remus cursed himself a thousand times for believing, for not looking closer at what had happened to James and Lily. “They feel their way toward people by feeding off their emotions. . . . They could tell that my feelings were less — less human, less complex when I was a dog . . . but they thought, of course, that I was losing my mind like everyone else in there, so it didn’t trouble them. But I was weak, very weak, and I had no hope of driving them away from me without a wand. . . .”

“But then I saw Peter in that picture . . . I realized he was at Hogwarts with Harry . . . perfectly positioned to act, if one hint reached his ears that the Dark Side was gathering strength again. . . .” 

Remus felt his insides go ice cold. Harry was right there, in the bed next to Ron, and who would have suspected? Who would have known to suspect? Merlin. He should have gone to Dumbledore immediately, disclosed the existence of the map, as well. His foolish pride could have cost them all a price beyond paying. 

Peter was still trying to deny it, mouth moving but no words coming out, his eyes glued to Sirius. “. . . ready to strike at the moment he could be sure of allies . . . and to deliver the last Potter to them. If he gave them Harry, who’d dare say he’d betrayed Lord Voldemort? He’d be welcomed back with honors. . . . So you see, I had to do something. I was the only one who knew Peter was still alive. . . .” 

Sirius took a deep, shuddering breath, and Remus squeezed his wrist in what comfort he could offer. 

“It was as if someone had lit a fire in my head, and the dementors couldn’t destroy it. . . . It wasn’t a happy feeling . . . it was an obsession . . . but it gave me strength, it cleared my mind. So, one night when they opened my door to bring food, I slipped past them as a dog. . . . It’s so much harder for them to sense animal emotions that they were confused. . . . I was thin, very thin . . . thin enough to slip through the bars. . . . I swam as a dog back to the mainland. . . . I journeyed north and slipped into the Hogwarts grounds as a dog. I’ve been living in the forest ever since, except when I came to watch the Quidditch, of course. You fly as well as your father did, Harry. . . .” 

Merlin. Of course. The Grim Harry thought he’d seen. Remus focused on that thought for a second, because it was easier to think of that than to think of all the ways Sirius’ escape and subsequent journey could have been fatal, all the ways it could have gone so terribly, terribly wrong. 

He swallowed and kept his eyes on Sirius, who was looking at Harry, the truth of what he said clear in those piercing grey eyes, mingled with desperation and guilt.   

“Believe me,” Sirius croaked, half plea, half command.  “Believe me, Harry. I never betrayed James and Lily. I would have died before I betrayed them.” 

Remus saw the emotions play across Harry’s face, anger and confusion to a faint, flickering certainty. Slowly, he nodded. 

“No!” 

Peter had fallen to his knees as though Harry’s nod had been his own death sentence. He shuffled forward on his knees, grovel-ing, his hands clasped in front of him as though praying. 

“Sirius — it’s me . . . it’s Peter . . . your friend . . . you wouldn’t . . .” 

Sirius kicked out and Pettigrew recoiled. “There’s enough filth on my robes without you touching them,” said Black. 

“Remus!” Peter squeaked, turning to Remus instead, writhing imploringly in front of him. “You don’t believe this . . .  wouldn’t Sirius have told you they’d changed the plan?” 

It took a lifetime of practise at controlling his emotions to not simply hex the traitorous little rat, to keep his voice even. “Not if he thought I was the spy.” Remus looked over at his lover. “I assume that’s why you didn’t tell me, Sirius?” 

“Forgive me, Remus,” Sirius said, and Merlin, how could Remus refuse, when he was the one who ought to have been begging for it instead? 

“Not at all, Padfoot, old friend,” said Remus, the old endearment slipping easily from his lips even after all these years. “And will you, in turn, forgive me for believing you were the spy?” He wouldn’t blame Sirius if he didn’t; Remus had abandoned him, after all. 

“Of course,” Sirius said, and the ghost of a grin flitted across his gaunt face. He, too, began rolling up his sleeves, then pulled a knife - a long, slim knife like Ron had told them about. “Shall we kill him together?” 

A fitting end for the traitor. “Yes, I think so.” 

“You wouldn’t . . . you won’t. . . ,” Peter gasped And he scrambled around to Ron. 

Remus took a step forward - Peter was not going to hurt anyone, least of all one of his students, on his watch. But it turned out simply that Peter’s willingness to debase himself knew no bounds as he begged first Ron, then Hermione, both of whom reacted with the revulsion he deserved. 

When he turned to Harry, though, when he dared speak James’ name to the son of the man he’d murdered, the baby he would have left die, that was too far. Remus’ growl, however, was drowned out by Sirius’ bellow. 

“HOW DARE YOU SPEAK TO HARRY?” he roared  “HOW DARE YOU FACE HIM? HOW DARE YOU TALK ABOUT JAMES IN FRONT OF HIM?” 

Not even that stopped Peter,  who was shuffling toward him, hands outstretched. “Harry, James wouldn’t have wanted me killed. . . . James would have understood, Harry . . . he would have shown me mercy. . . .” 

Before he could get his filthy paws on their cub, though, Remus strode forward, in step with Sirius, seized his shoulders and threw him backwards, away from Harry. He landed none too gently on the floor, staring up at them with pure terror in his eyes, and a small, vicious part of Remus took a certain amount of satisfaction from that. 

“You sold Lily and James to Voldemort,” Sirius was shaking just as much as Peter,  “Do you deny it?” 

Even as a boy, Peter had been an ugly crier - his nose would run, red splotches would appear on his cheeks, and he’d let out this half-gasp, half-hiccup noise between sobs. Then, Remus had been sympathetic. Now the only emotion he could summon was disgust.  

“Sirius, Sirius, what could I have done?” Peter pleaded. “The Dark Lord . . . you have no idea . . . he has weapons you can’t imagine. . . . I was scared, Sirius, I was never brave like you and Remus and James. I never meant it to happen. . . . He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named forced me —” 

Dragonshit, Remus thought. They had lost too many people, that last year, for Peter not to have been passing information. When had it started, he wondered numbly. When had Peter decided that his own skin was worth more than his principles, his friends? 

“DON’T LIE!” Sirius bellowed “YOU’D BEEN PASSING INFORMATION TO HIM FOR A YEAR BEFORE LILY AND JAMES DIED! YOU WERE HIS SPY!” 

“He — he was taking over everywhere!” gasped Pettigrew.  “Wh — what was there to be gained by refusing him?” 

Your friends’ lives, Peter, Remus thought. James, who saw the mousy little thing you were and took you under his wing. Lily, who always had a tin of those Muggle biscuits you like for when you came by. Sirius, who painstakingly coached you through Arithmancy all through school. He cut that train of thought short before it could go any further; now wasn’t the time. 

“What was there to be gained by fighting the most evil wizard who has ever existed?” Sirius retorted. “Only innocent lives, Peter!” 

“You don’t understand!” Peter whined. “He would have killed me, Sirius!” 

“THEN YOU SHOULD HAVE DIED!” Sirius roared. “DIED RATHER THAN BETRAY YOUR FRIENDS, AS WE WOULD HAVE DONE FOR YOU!” 

Remus raised his wand, Sirius next to him with a long thin knife he’d pulled from his robes. Time to end this. 

“You should have realized,” Remus said quietly, “if Voldemort didn’t kill you, we would. Good-bye, Peter.” 

Hermione covered her face with her hands and turned to the wall. 

“NO!” Harry yelled. He ran forward, placing himself in front of Peter. “You can’t kill him,” he said breathlessly. “You can’t.” 

Remus stared at him in utter shock, and next to him, he knew Sirius was as stunned. 

“Harry, this piece of vermin is the reason you have no parents,” Sirius snarled. “This cringing bit of filth would have seen you die too, without turning a hair. You heard him. His own stinking skin meant more to him than your whole family.” 

Remus nodded. If Peter hadn’t been such a traitorous little rat, James and Lily would still be alive. 

Harry was breathing heavily, but his expression was resolute. “I know. We’ll take him up to the castle. We’ll hand him over to the dementors. . . . He can go to Azkaban . . . but don’t kill him.” 

“Harry!” Peter gasped, and he flung his arms around Harry’s knees. “You — thank you — it’s more than I deserve — thank you —” 

Remus started forward, but Harry was quicker, shoving the rat’s hands off him. “Get off me,” he spat. “I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing it because — I don’t reckon my dad would’ve wanted them to become killers — just for you.” 

No one moved or made a sound except Peter, whose breath was coming in wheezes as he clutched his chest. Sirius and Remus looked at each other for a long, long moment before Sirius nodded infinitesimally, and they lowered their weapons. 

“You’re the only person who has the right to decide, Harry,” Sirius said quietly. “But think . . . think what he did. . .” 

Remus held his breath almost without realizing it, unsure of what he wanted Harry’s response to be. On the one hand… Peter did deserve it. On the other… James wouldn’t have wanted them to kill him, either. 

“He can go to Azkaban,” Harry repeated, and Remus let out the breath he’d been holding, even as a wave of pride filled him. “If anyone deserves that place, he does.” 

Which was… a fair point, really, and Remus nodded. “So he does.”

******

You would be so proud of your boy, James, Lily, Sirius thought, as Remus gagged and bound the traitor. He didn’t know that he’d have had the strength and compassion to spare a traitor’s life, in Harry’s place. Hell, who was Sirius kidding. In Harry’s place, Sirius would probably have killed the bastard himself. 

But then, it was no surprise that Harry was a better man than Sirius. James had been, after all.

James, oh James. And Lily, too. Now that the terrible fear that the rat might harm Harry was no longer thrumming through his veins and coloring everything he did, grief was starting to creep back in. Grief for James and Lily, for the terrible choices Sirius had made, not only in switching to Peter, but in choosing to go haring after him afterward. He should have gone with Hagrid - the bike could have taken them both - and gone to Dumbledore. But he’d been so angry…

He shook his head against the tears welling up, calling on the Occlumency exercises that had served him well in Azkaban. Turning into a watering pot could wait. For now, they had a traitor to take to Bones. 

He let Remus see to the Weasley boy - Ron, Sirius thought his name was - and made a note to apologize to him later for literally dragging him into this mess, and for the broken leg. Sirius hadn’t meant to hurt him, but he’d been so desperate, and, well, dogs were loyal creatures, to be sure, but some of the higher brain functions didn’t work as well when he had four legs.

They didn’t work particularly well when you had two legs, he heard James’ voice say, and had to suppress both a snort and a sob. The resulting noise made Harry look at him oddly, and Sirius shook his head. “I’m fine, Harry. Just… an odd memory.”

Harry nodded, and oh Merlin, he looked so much like James. If it hadn’t been for Lily’s eyes, so striking against that dark skin, Sirius might think he was looking back in time, or that a young James had come forward, somehow. 

“It’s not your fault, you know,” Harry said abruptly, and Sirius started. “What?”

Harry turned to him, green eyes as intent as Lily’s had been when she really believed in something. “It’s not your fault. You thought you were doing the right thing. I don’t blame you.”

It felt like a Bludger had crashed into Sirius, so strong was the relief that hit him. “I… thank you, Harry.” He didn’t know if he would ever believe it, but. To hear his godson say that healed wounds Sirius hadn’t even realized he was carrying, until now. And gave him the courage to make the offer he’d been wanting to make since he saw Harry in Surrey. 

“I… when we turn Pettigrew in. You know what it means?” Harry was a bright boy - how could he not be, with James and Lily for parents - but the poor thing had had a day. Sirius wouldn’t blame him if his brain just curled up in a corner and refused to process things for a bit. 

Harry nodded, though. “Your name will be cleared,” he said. “You’ll be free.”

Free. Merlin, what would that even look like, after a decade in that hellhole? Sirius honestly had no idea. He did know, however, that he wanted Harry in it. In whatever capacity his godson was willing to let him be. He cleared his throat. “Yes. But - I don’t know if anyone told you this, cub, but I’m your godfather.” 

“Cub?” Harry asked. “And yeah, I knew that.”

Merlin, what a wrench that must have been, believing the man your parents trusted with you had turned around and done that. Thank Merlin for Moony coming in when he had. 

Thank Merlin for Moony in general, but that was a conversation for another time, after he’d had some damn sleep, preferably in an actual bed. For the moment, though, he focused on the conversation at hand.

“Cub,” Sirius agreed. “It was our - your parents’ and Moony and my,” he refused to mention the traitor’s name, Peter had given up the right to be included when he chose a fucking mass-murdering lunatic over them, the cowardly piece of dragon dung, “nickname for you, since you were the first kid born to our little pack. Well, that and Lily vetoed Bambi.” 

That got a snort from Harry. “I don’t blame her. Cub’s alright, though.”

Good. He’d spent so long thinking of Harry as his cub that changing it would have been difficult, but for Harry Sirius would have done it. He took a deep breath. He had no idea what Harry might say - knew his godson would likely reject the possibility - but he had to make the offer. He’d failed Harry - and James and Lily - enough already. 

“Thing is, cub,” Sirius said, trying to keep his voice even, trying not to betray how much he wanted this. “Your parents appointed me your guardian. If anything happened to them…” he  trailed off. If there was one thing he’d never forgive himself for, it was all the time he’d lost with Harry. 

Bless Remus, he’d made sure the kids were distracted with something, because this conversation was hard enough already. Sirius cleared his throat, forcing the words out despite his own nervousness. “I’d understand if you wanted to stay with your aunt and uncle,” who knew, maybe Harry calling the Knight Bus had been a spot of teenage rebellion; Sirius knew James joked about running away from home sometimes, and he’d had the best parents anyone could ask for.  Still, Sirius had to make the offer. “But… if you wanted a different home. Once my name’s cleared…”

Harry stared at him, looking like his birthday and Yule had come all at once. “You mean it?” he asked. “Leave the Dursleys?”

Sirius nodded, a sinking feeling in his stomach. Damn it. He hadn’t wanted to be right, about Harry’s aunt and uncle. “I absolutely mean it,” he said firmly, although some heretofore unknown maturity did prompt him to say, “But think about it? I understand if you change your mind…” 

And that was about as far as he got before he had an armful of enthusiastic godson trying to squeeze the breath out of him. “Are you insane?” Harry demanded, his voice halfway to breaking. “Of course I want to leave the Dursleys! Have you got a house? When can I move in?” 

Later, Sirius would think about why Harry would want to leave his family to live with a man he’d never met, a man who he’d thought had betrayed his parents until not even an hour ago. For the moment, he was too damn happy that Harry did. 

“You want to?” he said, not trusting his ears quite yet, not after over a decade in Azkaban. “You mean it?” 

“Yeah, I mean it!” said Harry, still not letting go, and in that moment, Sirius could have faced down a hundred Dementors… 

Wait.

Dementors. 

“Moony,” he said urgently. “We can’t go back via the Willow.” 

Moony blinked. “Why not? It’s the quickest way back to the castle,” he said, and Sirius shook his head. “Dementors on the grounds,” he pointed out.

“Well, fuck,” Moony said, and Sirius couldn’t bite back a laugh at the little Granger girl’s shocked face at a professor swearing.

“Don’t let Moony fool you,” he told her. “He only looks sweet and innocent.” 

Moony shot him a look at that, mixed fondness and exasperation, and Sirius felt his heart do a funny little tapdance it hadn’t in years. 

“Be that as it may, Sirius has a point,” he said. “Luckily, the Shack has a door on the Hogsmeade side as well. Although Sirius, you might want to transform before we head out.”

Before Sirius could, though, the door to the Shack - the one that led to the tunnel and then the Willow - opened. Moony had his wand up in an instant, the kids an instant behind him, and Sirius moved so he was between Harry and whatever was coming through the door, which was… Albus Dumbledore?

The Headmaster took in the scene in front of him, looking nonplussed for the first time that Sirius could remember. Not that his memory was worth much these days, but still. 

“I trust that there is an explanation for this, Remus?” he said. 

Harry darted forward. “Sirius wasn’t the Secret-Keeper, Professor!” he said. “Pettigrew was! He framed Sirius - Sirius didn’t kill him, he’s an animagus - he killed those Muggles and transformed into a rat and he’s been hiding at the Weasleys’ ever since!”

To Dumbledore’s credit, his only reaction was to look at Remus, who nodded. “It’s true, Albus,” he said. 

Dumbledore nodded. “And I will look forward to a full explanation at a later date. For now, we must hurry,” he said. “There isn’t very long left until moonrise, and it’s a full moon.”

It was Sirius’ turn to swear, this time. “Professor, there’s not a moment to lose,” he said. “You need to take the children and Pettigrew and get out, now. I can stay with M-Remus.”

Dumbledore shook his head. “Commendable as the sentiment is, my boy, Remus will be fine - you have taken your potion, yes?” At Remus’ nod, he continued. “You, on the other hand, need to be seen by Healers as soon as may be, and the sooner Mr Pettigrew is under the custody of the Aurors, the better.” 

Well, Sirius wasn’t going to argue the latter, and he supposed he could begrudgingly accept the former, especially since Harry was nodding vigorously. 

Dumbledore pulled something out of his pocket - a bangle, which then expanded into something large enough to go around Sirius’ shoulders. He tapped it, murmuring something Sirius couldn’t hear, and the bangle glowed briefly. 

“A Portkey,” Dumbledore explained. “It will take us to my office.” 

Moony blinked. “I thought you couldn’t portkey past the wards,” he said, Sirius nodding. They’d tried, a few times, out of idle curiosity, but even James, with how gifted he was at spellcraft, had managed it.

That got a small smile out of Dumbledore. “One of the perks of being Headmaster,” he explained. “Children, a hand on the hoop, if you please. It will take us all straight to my office. Sirius, if you’ll bring along Mr. Pettigrew?”

Sirius could have been gentler when he hauled Pettigrew up - Remus had had the sense to Stun him at some point, thank Merlin - and made sure the rat was touching the hoop as well. Sirius sent a quick look at Remus, and his packmate smiled at him. “Go, Sirius, I’ll see you soon, I promise.”

With that, Sirius had to be content, because Dumbledore said something, he felt the familiar hook behind his navel, and then they were gone. 

******

They reappeared in Dumbledore’s office, Sirius letting Wormtail fall in an undignified heap so he could reach over and steady Harry. “First time, cub?” he asked.

Harry nodded, looking vaguely nauseous. “I don’t think I like Portkeys,” he said, and Sirius made a sympathetic noise. “They’re not very pleasant, no,” he said. 

Dumbledore, meanwhile, was looking over all of them. “Some tea, I think. Sirius, would you mind if I temporarily Disillusioned you and Mr. Pettigrew? I would rather not startle the house-elves.”

“Go right ahead, Professor,” Sirius told him. “Something to eat wouldn’t go amiss, either.” While Crookshanks had brought him pilfered food, and there had been people in Hogsmeade who’d been happy to feed a hungry stray, but the last year had been a lean one. Better than Azkaban, for sure, and worth it, to have been able to keep an eye on Harry, but. 

“Of course,” Dumbledore said, and a few minutes later, Sirius was sipping on a mug of broth - yes, he was famished, but he knew from experience better than to eat too much, or too quickly - and occasionally interjecting clarifications while Harry and his friends explained what had gone on in the Shack.

“But Professor,” Granger said, once it was all said and done, “there’s one thing I don’t understand. Mr. Black, why didn’t any of this come out at your trial?”

Sirius shook his head. “I didn’t get a trial, Hermione.”

“What?” Oh, that shriek of outrage could have come from Lily. Harry looked just as furious, green eyes sparking as he turned to Sirius. 

“But that’s illegal!” Hermione said. “At least, in the Muggle world.”

“It is in the magical world, too, Miss Granger.” Dumbledore, for his part, looked shocked and a little confused. “I owe you the deepest of apologies, Sirius. I was given to understand that you had waived the right to a trial, and in my anger at your supposed betrayal, I did not think to check further.” He shook his head, looking his age, for once. “I am beyond sorry, my boy.”

That… that at least explained it. “Who said that?” Sirius asked. He’d deal with his feelings about Dumbledore’s apology later - other things were more important now. “I certainly don’t recall doing that.”

“Barty Crouch.” Sirius’ face must have revealed some of his feelings, because Dumbledore nodded in agreement. “I should have known better than to take his word for it,” he said. “But - if it is any consolation. He is no longer the head of the DMLE. Amelia Bones is.”

That had Sirius feeling a lot better, honestly. Some people in his Auror class had disliked Bones’ staunch refusal to play any kind of politics, but Sirius had respected her for it. And if she was head of DMLE, he was much less worried about how things would turn out. 

“So what happens now?” Harry asked. 

“Now we Floo Madam Bones,” Dumbledore said. “And then we stand back and wait for the explosion.”

*****

When Remus awoke the next morning, it was in a state of considerable confusion at finding himself in the Shrieking Shack rather than his office, and in - now sadly ripped - robes rather than the charity shop pyjamas he usually changed into before moonrise. 

And then the memories hit. The Map. Seeing Sirius on it. Seeing _Peter._ 

Learning that the love of his life hadn’t, actually, betrayed their best friends. That in fact he’d been the one betrayed. Not just by Peter, but by Remus, too. Gods. He should have investigated. Should have known that Padfoot - his Padfoot - would never do something like that. It was true that losing his pack had damned near killed him - only the knowledge that Harry, his dear sweet cub, was still alive had kept him from turning his wand on himself - but eventually the fog had lifted. He had been able to pick up the shattered pieces of his life, somewhat. But even that had only been possible because he’d done his best to forget about all of it. About Sirius, about the times they’d spent together, about… everything. He hadn’t been strong enough to deal with the grief, and so he’d just avoided it. And in doing so, he’d accidentally stood by and let Sirius suffer for twelve long years.

Further recrimination was prevented by the rumbling of his stomach - transformations, even with the potion, always left him ravenous. Remus looked around, and to his surprise, on a high shelf where the wolf couldn’t reach, was a basket. 

Remus opened it, and had to smile around the lump in his throat - in front of him were roast beef sandwiches, shepherds’ pie, sausages, and even chocolate cake, enough for a hungry werewolf. Once he’d demolished the lot (and Merlin was Remus thankful that nobody was around to see him lose every last bit of table manners his poor mother had drilled into him), he looked to see what else was in the basket. 

A spare set of robes the elves had found somewhere, old but serviceable enough until he could get back to his quarters, a rolled-up newspaper, and a folded-over parchment with his name in Dumbledore’s hand. 

Remus swallowed several times, then - his hands shaking despite how hard he tried to will them not to - opened the parchment to find a short note. 

Remus - Sirius is well, and at St. Mungo’s. I have arranged for you to be able to see him - show the attached note and you will be allowed access. I will make your excuses to the staff and students. Please come by my office once you’ve returned. AD.

Well, Remus thought. That was it, then. Honestly, he didn’t blame Albus for wanting his resignation; Remus had wilfully kept information that could have been critical to student safety from him, all for his own selfish reasons. It was sheer chance that things had worked out as well as they had, with Sirius not being the crazed mass murderer they’d all thought he was. If their places had been reversed, Remus would have insisted Albus resign; in fact, he’d have thought poorly of anyone who didn’t do so. He only hoped Albus would let him see the school year through rather than insisting he leave immediately. 

He shook his head - that was for later. He snagged the paper and spread it out on the floor of the Shack to read, a murmured, ‘Lumos’ adding to the few small rays of light that made it through the dirt-streaked windows.

SIRIUS BLACK INNOCENT! screamed one headline. PETER PETTIGREW THE REAL TRAITOR! proclaimed another. 

Remus quickly read through them, noticing with relief that the articles were remarkably even-handed, and free of the Prophet’s usual tendency to purple prose and tabloid shenanigans. A glance at the byline revealed why - they were written by Pippa Quinn, who Remus knew to be far more professional than the usual bottom-feeders they employed at the Prophet. 

Reading the article, Remus had to admire the job Albus - or somebody else, but his money was on the Headmaster - had done spinning the events of last night. There was no mention of the Map; instead, Remus had been ‘patrolling the grounds’ (true after a fashion, he supposed) when a giant black dog attacked two students, and immediately run to their aid. No mention had been made of his lycanthropy, either, thank Merlin. While anyone who cared to look could find the information out from the registry, it wasn’t exactly common knowledge and Remus hoped to keep it that way. 

The rest of the article was focused on Sirius, and Remus was impressed. Quinn’s prose was direct, spare, even, but she still managed to convey the horror and the pathos of it; a young man in the middle of a war, trying desperately to protect the people he loved, only to have placed his faith in the wrong person. And then, once the war was over, the repeated failure of the justice system to protect him. (Another article, further down the page and in smaller type, announced that Bartemius Crouch Senior would shortly be the subject of an inquiry regarding his actions during the war. Good, Remus thought viciously. So much pain and suffering could have been avoided, if he’d just done his damn job and given Sirius a trial instead of judging him by his name, the miserable bastard.)

Remus had to admit, spotlighting Fudge’s decision to give Sirius his copy of the Daily Prophet was an absolute masterstroke on Quinn’s part. It had been sheer coincidence, of course, that that day’s paper had been the one to contain a picture of the Weasleys - and therefore Scabbers. But by putting it in the paper, Quinn made it so Fudge could take credit for being the unwitting catalyst for Sirius’ escape, which meant that - Remus hoped - he wouldn’t be too much of a bother when it came to getting Sirius a trial. That was mentioned in the article, too, that Sirius would have a new trial ‘as soon as the arrangements could be made’ - that from Amelia Bones, at least, which was reassuring. 

The article on Pettigrew, though, that was a masterpiece. Remus didn’t know how she’d done it, with only a few hours, but she’d woven a masterful tale of a man who’d sold out the friends who loved him, first Lily, James, and Harry, and then Sirius, and then betrayed another family. Merlin, Remus thought, rubbing a hand over his face. He’d have to check in on Ron later today, and talk to Albus about the possibility of getting in a mindhealer for the boys, especially Percy. They’d need it, after this.

Remus quickly skimmed the other articles on the page - nothing he didn’t know already, and, thankfully, not much that worried him. He took a deep breath, and, for the first time in many, many years, allowed himself to hope. 

*****

After a stop in his office to shower and change into his own robes, Remus headed to Diagon Alley. He wasn’t putting off his meeting with Sirius, Remus told himself firmly. As someone who’d spent a considerable amount of time under medical supervision (well, in the hospital wing at Hogwarts, at least), he knew better than most just how boring it could be, and how much a distraction was appreciated. So going to Waterstone’s to cook for crossword books, and coloring books and crayons if Sirius wasn’t up to taxing his brain that much wasn’t procrastinating, it was being a good friend. As was stopping by Tesco to pick up some Muggle candy, since Sirius, in a fit of teenage rebellion that lasted past the age of nineteen, insisted Cadbury was just as good as Honeydukes’. 

Of course, then he had to stop at Honeydukes’, too, for Chocolate Frogs, and By the time Remus found himself at the stationers, though, dithering over whether Sirius would prefer parchment or Muggle paper to write letters with, he knew he was pushing it. Come on, Lupin, he told himself severely, parchment, quill, paper, and a couple of nice biros purchased and in his bag, no more dithering. 

When he Apparated in, St. Mungo’s was absolutely crawling with reporters and members of the general public. Remus was glad for the note Albus had written him, after seeing at least five different people in line try to ask to see Sirius Black and be firmly refused. 

“Good morning,” Remus said quietly. “I’m here to see a particular patient - and I have a note from Professor Dumbledore.”

The woman at the reception-desk - a severe-looking woman who looked a little like one of Remus’ older Ravenclaws - took the note, examined it closely, then nodded. “Of course, Mr. Remus. This way; Apprentice Sharma will escort you.”

Apprentice Sharma was a short, curvy Desi woman with curly green hair and a bright smile. “Follow me, Mr. Lupin,” she said, leading him through a maze of side corridors and unmarked doors. “Sorry for all the fuss, but it’s been an absolute madhouse here, all the people trying to get to poor Mr. Black. How do you know him, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“We were friends in school,” Remus tells her. If she hasn’t seen the Prophet, he’s not going to be the one to bring it up. “How is he?”

“Doing well, all things considered,” Apprentice Sharma replied. “Twelve years in Azkaban is hard physically, but the mental toll is no joke, either. Healer Shacklebolt will be able to tell you more details, assuming Mr Black approves, but he will be needing extensive sessions with the mindhealers as well as more traditional physical healing.”

Remus nodded. He’d expected as much. “But… it’s not as bad as it could have been?”

Apprentice Sharma looked sympathetically at him. “Nowhere near as bad,” she reassured him as they came to a door. She tapped a complicated-looking pattern onto a panel next to the door, which lit up and chimed. “Here you go, Mr. Lupin. Please use the bell pull to summon one of us when you’re ready to leave; the corridors can be very easy to get lost in.”

“I will, thank you,” Remus told her before taking a deep breath. “Padfoot? It’s me, Moony,” he said as he pushed the door open.

Oh, Merlin, Padfoot was already looking so much better. The long, matted mess of his hair had been cut; it now hung to just below his shoulders and looked markedly better for a thorough scrubbing. He’d also been allowed to change out of the rags he’d been wearing into a hospital gown with, incongruously, a pattern of ducks on it. And while he was still a hell of a lot thinner than Remus would like, he was up and - amazingly - smiling at him.

“Lo, Moony,” he said, and that was almost enough to break Remus.

“Pads, I’m so sorry,” he said, flopping into the chair and taking the other man’s hand, and fuck, it was so thin. “I should have known better, I should have done something.”

Sirius shook his head vehemently. “Moony, no,” he said. “The only one to blame is that rat. And for the record. It was never - we didn’t think, for one goddamned second, that you’d ever- but there were rumours, that Greyback had found a way to control those he’d bitten. We knew it was likely a crock of shite, and James didn’t believe it for a ruddy second, but… he knew it would destroy you, if that bastard managed to use you like that. We thought Peter, damn him, would be safe.” He shook his head. “More fool us.”

Remus swallowed. That did help, to know that. “It would have,” he said. “So thank you. But that still doesn’t change that I should have done something. They may not have listened to me, but. I could have tried, at least.”

Sirius squeezed his hands. “And I could have used my damn head for two seconds, at Godric’s Hollow. Gone to Dumbledore, instead of haring off after Peter. I don’t - I had ten years of what-ifs, Moony. I don’t want any more. You did the best you could, with the information you had. Which was that I had confessed.” 

“Yes, but…” Remus started, before taking a deep breath. Sirius wasn’t wrong. They couldn’t change the past, no matter what regrets they had. “When did you get so smart, anyway?”

“I listened to Lily,” Sirius said, deadpan, and they were both laughing, then crying, holding on to each other like they’d never let go. Remus couldn’t imagine wanting to, even though he knew he’d have to, eventually. For one thing, he needed to go speak to Dumbledore. But for the moment, he let himself revel in the closeness, the scent of Sirius around him, different without the expensive cologne he loved, still home after all this time. 

“Merlin, Padfoot, I’ve missed you,” he said eventually, once he’d managed to get ahold of himself. 

“Not half as much as I’ve missed you,” Sirius told him. “And look at you, Moony, a professor! James must be cackling, wherever he is. Remember that briefcase we got you, that said R.J. Lupin on it?”

“Remember it, I’ve been living out of it,” Remus says. “But… I won’t be a professor much longer, Pads.”

Sirius stared at him. “Why on Earth not? You were made to teach!” 

Remus shook his head. “I should have taken the map to Dumbledore the day I confiscated it from the twins, Pads,” he says. “Hell, I should have told him about your Animagus form. But I didn’t, because I didn’t want him to be disappointed in me, and in doing so I put the students in danger. Not from you, but. It was a lapse in judgment that could have gotten people hurt or killed. In Dumbledore’s place? I would have demanded my resignation, too.”

Sirius looked at him for a while, then sighed. “Damn it, I hate it when you’re logical at me,” he said. “But. This does mean I feel markedly less guilty about something I want to ask you.”

“Name it,” Remus said, before blinking and clarifying, “Well, tell me about it so I can decide whether I need to talk you out of it.”

That got a snort out of Sirius. “You wound me, Moony,” he said before sobering. “Thing is, before you got here, they had a mindhealer come see me,” he said. “She’s impressed by how well I’m doing, but she also expects me to have trouble re-integrating. And… she’s not wrong,” he admits. “I’ve lost twelve years. And that’s not even taking into account the fucking Dementors. I’d like you to come stay with me, once the school year is done, help me with that.”

Remus blinked. “Are you sure, Pads?” he asked.

Sirius made a dismissive motion with his hand. “Of course I’m sure, you ninny. And this isn’t charity, either. I really do need help. With stuff like finding a house, since I’m not subjecting Harry to the mouldering ancestral pile. Healer Washington said she’d talk to me later about regular mind healer appointments and stuff, but. I really want you there, Moony.” 

Put like that, how could he refuse? “Then I’ll be there, Pads,” Remus promises. “Even if I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Sirius said with a hint of his old swagger, looking at Remus the way he had when they were in school. “Together.”

And for the first time in a very long time, Remus allowed himself to hope. "Together."