Chapter Text
Part One
In Which The Ingredients Are Assembled
The office was by no means packed that day, but for some reason, that file had landed on Remus' desk.
He eyed it warily as he draped his coat over the back of his chair and sat down. Why did he feel all the eyes of the office on him? It was bad enough that he was considered, even after six months, the new guy in the small firm. All he had to do was come in to do his job for them to start staring. He did not understand.
"It's 'cause you're the nicest-looking bloke to have walked in here in a long time," Peter had told him once, in a manner that would have felt confidential if he had not been visibly holding back a smirk.
Peter's explanation was probably enough to explain the women's constant glances, but Remus doubted the same could be applied to the men. He was now considering the sometimes baleful, sometimes suspicious gazes to be purely territorial. The tiny accounting firm was only one of many in the London area, and sometimes struggled for recognition among the throng of bigger, better equipped firms downtown. Any addition to the team was sure to dilute the recognition any alpha male was fighting to gain. Of course he would be the target of a certain hostility. He should have expected it from start. It was perfectly normal behaviour.
Unsurprisingly, the constant thought had done nothing to diminish his increasingly bad case of the nerves.
Sighing to himself, Remus returned his gaze to the file lying askew in the middle of his desk. Beneath the typed sticker affixed to the front of the folder, someone had written something in illegible script. Coloured Post-It strips adorned the open side of the file folder. Someone had obviously worked this case already, probably having taken notes, if the obnoxious paper bookmarks were any indication. So why was this being thrown at him now?
Remus read the sticker on the front of the file, frowned, and flipped the thing open. Expense tables, tax receipts, profit and deficit reports...all normal documents for a small business. Aside from the fact that even at a glance, it was clear the business was failing in a soon-to-be miserable way, there was nothing out of the ordinary with it.
"Pete?"
Peter raised his eyes from his own file and met Remus' questioning gaze from halfway across the open office.
"Yeah?"
"This case. I don't think I'm supposed to have this with me."
"What? Lemme see."
Remus stood, walked the short way to Peter’s cluttered desk, and handed him the folder. Peter reclined absently in his chair as he skimmed through it.
Peter Pettigrew had been his best friend all through Remus’ long years spent obtaining his degree in business accounting. They were the same age, and although having gone to all the same schools growing up, their mothers had only known each other distantly. Neither boy had bothered getting to know the other until they had found themselves, a decade later, alone in a new school and working for the same degree. They had been fast friends ever since.
Peter had naturally come about having a job here, at Ackerly & Pettigrew Accounting, since his father had helped found the place. His hire had been a transparent act of favouritism, of course, since Peter only took simple cases from nearby small businesses and went about his days with a distracted sort of cheer and no considerable amount of talent. Everyone liked Mister Pettigrew, and by extension Peter, so he was generally left to his own devices without any trouble.
All this did not matter much to Remus, though, since Peter’s skills as a best mate were far more significant than his almost nonexistent accounting abilities. Peter had even put him up for several months in his own tiny flat when Remus had been forced to quit school for a year from lack of funds. Even when he had moved into his own flat and continued to work himself to the bone in order to make enough for at least a portion of his tuition, Peter would come to visit, most times with a case of beer and a story about the last beautiful young woman to rebuff his clumsy advances, and both would invariably cheer Remus up every time.
More than a year after that, here he was, working for Ackerly and Pettigrew at his rookie accountant’s wage and bravely attempting to pay back the entirety of his student loan as soon as humanely possible. It was difficult since the higher profile cases were typically handed to the senior accountants, leaving him and the other juniors with slim pickings. But, Remus had a loyal best mate, a roof over his head, and just enough to eat every week, so he figured he should not complain.
“Hmm. Oh, I see.”
Remus blinked and came back to the surface. “Hm? What? What do you see?”
“I remember this place now. Hmm.”
Peter sat straight on his chair again and passed the folder back to Remus, who accepted it with a frown of confusion. Peter regarded him with a half-smile.
“You’re definitely supposed to have this one, Remus. In fact, you should be flattered,” he said, more mysteriously than was his habit, an act which only granted him another, deeper frown.
“What? Pete, you’re not making any sense.”
“Y’see, my dad asked this particular case to be turned over to one of the juniors, since none of his seniors wanted to take it. The other day, he asked me which of us little fish was most qualified for such a task, and naturally I said you were.”
Remus glanced down at the label on the front of the file again. He found he still could not read the handwritten scrawl beneath it. “Oh. Thanks, mate.”
“No problem.” Peter looked pleased. “Anyway, it’s that bakery down on Diagon, if you’re wondering. Near Charing Cross Road. Nice place. They make good lemon tarts.”
“Yeah, well, they’re obviously not good enough, if their profits are so low,” Remus replied as he flipped the file open again. “They’re going to be out of business pretty soon if they don’t get it together.”
“And that’s where you come in, isn’t it?”
“Yes, of course. I guess I’ll go start on these, then.”
“Mm.”
Remus had gotten halfway back to his desk when he turned back toward Peter, who was fiddling with his computer keyboard.
“Hey, what’s so bad about this place that the senior accountants don’t want it?”
“What?” Peter dropped the keyboard as though having lost interest in it. “Oh. Well, apparently a few have been and it seems like, er, our kind aren’t much appreciated there.”
“’Our’ kind, Pete?” Remus repeated with a smile.
“You know what I mean. One of the employees doesn’t take well to the help we’re trying to provide, it seems. The higher-ups got offended, but the clients still need help, so now it’s all yours.”
“Oh. Thanks, mate,” Remus said again, in a much dryer voice than before, and returned to his desk.
Peter grinned and said, “Cheers.”
=====
Remus spent the entire morning working on the bakery’s accounts. He re-crunched the numbers the senior accountants formerly heading the case had left, double-checking their figures just in case. It was mechanical, routine work that he liked for its simplicity, and for the ease in which he could allow his thoughts to wander as he worked.
The bakery on Diagon Alley was a very small commerce, almost inconsequential among the slew of businesses lining the London streets. Family-owned too, if the line of the file signalling ownership to one James and Lily Potter was any indication. It was easy to see how such a tiny endeavour was fast floundering: in the ever-expanding city, it was always difficult to get a small business started, let alone flourishing. It was really no wonder they were having so much trouble.
Remus sighed as he jotted down the last set of numbers, rubbing his eyes before leaning back in his chair with a gesture of relief. There. Now that all the math was done, it was starkly obvious that this business, although only in its first year of conception, was in serious need of financial help. Remus knew full well that this bakery was very lucky to have been standing for as long as it had, and that it probably could not take much more.
Well. Now that he had the figures, the next logical step would be to meet with the clients themselves to discuss them. Remus stretched and checked the time as he went, deciding that he would break for lunch after this call before grabbing his office phone up from a corner of the desk.
He consulted the front page of the report and dialled the bakery’s number. On the third ring, someone picked up on the other end, a young woman with a warm voice saying, “Hallo, this is the Potter residence.”
Remus cleared his throat. “Um, yes. My name is Remus Lupin. I’m an accountant with Ackerly and Pettigrew. May I speak with Mister or Missus Potter, please?”
A pause, then the warm voice continued. “Oh, this is Lily Potter speaking. I suppose you’ll want to discuss our accounts then, Mister Lupin?”
“Yes, of course. Today, if at all possible.”
“All right. Are you able to come around right now, then? I know it’s almost lunch time, but we’re usually not all that busy, so it should be all right. James and I would be happy to speak to you.”
“That would be perfect, Missus Potter. I’ll be over right away.”
“Oh, good. We’ll be seeing you, then.”
They hung up. Remus stretched again, then stood and gathered his things.
“M’going to lunch at that bakery. See you later.”
“Bring me back a lemon tart,” said Peter distractedly. He was fiddling with his keyboard again.
Remus rolled his eyes with a smile and stepped out.
=====
The London streets were predictably packed along the main roads, but Remus found himself refreshingly free of traffic as he approached Diagon Alley. Contrary to its rather ominous name, it turned out to be an oddly quaint little corner of town, old-fashioned and almost whimsical, like another place entirely separate from contemporary London.
Remus allowed himself to coast contentedly down the street, letting his bicycle follow the slight downhill curve of the road as he surveyed the buildings on each side. The numbers rushed past, rising...there! He squeezed the brakes and came to a smooth stop in front of the small shop nestled between two old brick buildings. Harry’s, the simple lettering on the front window proclaimed. It seemed like a nice enough place, not quite as rundown as Remus would expect from a failing business.
Carefully, he secured his bike against a nearby lamppost. He peered at his reflection in the darkened window of one of the brick buildings, tried in vain to flatten a cowlick that had been ruffled up by the wind, and settled for straightening his suit as best as he could before pushing open the door of the bakery.
Upon entry, the first thing that struck Remus was the smell. Used to the warm, greasy smell of downtown cafeterias and lunch areas, he found himself quite enchanted by the cool, sugary scent filling the air. It smelled like sweets in spring, a startling contrast from the outside’s autumn air. It took all of his willpower to not stop right there at the entrance and sniff the air like a mongrel. Suddenly, he desperately wanted a sweet, but he suppressed this spontaneous desire too and approached the counter, behind which a single man worked intently, as though he had not heard the chime signalling Remus’ entry.
Remus was about to clear his throat and speak up to announce himself, but then he looked at the man, really looked at him, and any thought of speech dissolved from his brain.
Remus did not know if was the surety of his movements, the perfect poise of his stance, or the strangely endearing oh Lord, what am I thinking smudge of flour on the man’s cheek, but Remus could not stop himself from just standing there and watching him, like a socially inept teenager with a desperate crush.
Note to self: add “male baker” to list of kinks.
No sooner had the sacrilegious thought crossed his mind did the baker look up, only to grin openly as he met Remus’ eyes. He had grey eyes. Lovely eyes.
“Hey there, mate,” said the man pleasantly. “Be with you in a bit, just gotta...”
Remus only nodded mutely as he watched the baker heave the tray of pastries he had been preparing into some backroom oven. When he returned, he was dusting off his flour-smeared hands, still sporting that same boyish grin.
“All right,” he continued in a loud voice. “What can I get you?”
Shagged. “Er, actually, I’m here to see Mister and Missus Potter.”
The baker was undeterred. “Oh, they’re a tad busy at the moment, but I assure you I am as capable of serving you as they are.”
Of that, Remus was quite sure. However, he wisely chose to say nothing on the subject. “I apologize, but I’m not here to buy anything. I’m Remus Lupin, from Ackerly and Pettigrew Accounting. I spoke with Missus Potter on the ph–...”
Once again, any thought of speech died instantly from Remus’ mind, except now the man before him was no longer smiling and joking, but glaring at him from behind the glass-topped counter. The careless grin had dropped from his face and the grey eyes had darkened and filled with storm. Caught completely off guard, Remus was jarred by the sudden change and was consequently rendered stupidly speechless.
“Ackerly and Pettigrew?” the man asked, although the dangerous tone suggested he knew exactly with whom he had affair. “An accountant? I thought I told you all to leave us alone.”
Remus, in a fit of two-parts admirable work ethic and one-part bullheadedness, stood his ground and forced the words out. “Yes, I...I heard about that. However, I spoke to Missus Potter a half an hour ago and she assured me it would be all right for me to come over and discuss the accounts.”
The baker growled and slammed one flour-whitened fist on the countertop, causing Remus to involuntarily flinch away.
“Our accounts do not need discussing!” he snapped. “What goes on with this bakery is our business and our business only. We do not need any poncy accountants waltzing in here to tell us how to handle ourselves, so I suggest you leave now and never show your face again. And tell your boss to not send anyone else. We’re through!”
“I’m sorry, sir, but I have an appoint–...”
“Sod your appointment! ” the man yelled. “I’m telling you to bloody leave! Get out! ”
“Sirius! Sirius, what in God’s name is going on down there?”
Remus was flooded with relief at the sound of the warm, slightly familiar voice. Hurried footsteps sounded from somewhere behind the counter, then a young red-haired woman emerged from an off-to-the-side staircase that seemed to lead upstairs. As soon as she alighted on the ground floor, she fixed the baker – Sirius – with an annoyed look.
“Sirius, what is wrong with you? Yelling at the customers now?”
“This isn’t a customer, Lily,” Sirius said through gritted teeth. “It’s another accountant. Says he has an appointment, can you imagine?”
Lily sighed, the sound a mixture of exasperation and pure frustration. Remus could not help thinking it was a sound no young woman like herself should be making. “Oh, Good Lord...Sirius, he does have an appointment. I told him to come here today. He called earlier while you were upstairs helping Harry make a mess of himself.”
Sirius opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, then appeared to decide against retorting and turned away from them both, toward another tray full of half-prepared pastries. Lily sighed again, then turned to Remus and came around the counter to greet him.
“You must be Mister Lupin,” she said in a friendlier tone. She held out her hand, and Remus shook it. “I’m sorry about Sirius. He has an awful time being civil these days.”
Sirius muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “not needed for those wankers”, but Lily ignored him and proceeded to lead Remus upstairs.
"I'm terribly sorry about Sirius," Lily said again as she preceded Remus on the stairs. "It's just that he's awfully invested in this bakery and, well, he doesn't really like to accept help, much less from strangers who want to tell us how to manage things. It's more of a personality defect than anything, if you ask me. I apologize."
"It's quite all right," said Remus politely. No one needed to know how his stomach had quickly sunk with disappointment when the man had started shouting at him.
They reached the top of the stairs and alighted onto a clean, brightly lit landing. Smiling encouragingly back at Remus, Lily led him down the single, narrow corridor and waved him into what seemed like a small study.
"If you'll wait right there, Mister Lupin, I'll go and fetch James so we can start."
"That would be perfect."
She left, trailing a perfume that reminded Remus of the sugary scent from downstairs.
He set his briefcase down on the floor against the well-worn little desk and glanced out the window. The view was mostly unimpressive, of dirty rooftops and the roosting pigeons that inhabited them, but it was an improvement from Remus' own view of scummy apartment building walls. He wished he made enough to lease a flat in this neighbourhood.
His thoughts drifted back to the man he had met downstairs. With a sniff of indignation, he reflected that perhaps Peter could have given him a fairer warning than "doesn't take well to the help we're trying to provide". Just for that, he was not going to get a lemon tart from him.
It was a shame, really. Remus had not seen anyone since university, and was beginning to grow a little lonely, although this even Peter did not know. Peter was aware of Remus' preferences - such things being the business of best mates, after all - and although Pete did not really mind who Remus wanted to date or otherwise, he was not much help when it came to actually meeting people with date-potential.
And here he was, having finally met a nice-looking bloke with a smile lovely enough to render his insides to hormonal mush – mutual acknowledgement be damned – and he turned out to be the sworn enemy of accountants everywhere.
Life was bollocks.
"Hello there. You must be Mister Lupin."
Remus turned away from the window and carefully smoothed the frown from his features. A young man of about his age was standing in the doorway of the study, dark-haired, bespectacled, looking a little worn and tousled, but sporting a cheerful smile. Good, at least this one did not look as though he was about to pounce on Remus and tear out his intestines with his teeth.
"I'm James Potter," said the man with an additional grin. They shook hands. "So, I hear our friendly neighbourhood baker gave you some trouble."
Remus had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. "Yes, sir."
"Sorry about that. He's nice enough once you convince him you're not trying to run his life. Anyway, shall we get started? Lily will be up in a moment, she's just bringing our son Harry down so Sirius can watch him for a spell."
James ran a hand through his messy dark hair and sat down at the desk, motioning Remus into an extra chair by the window. A moment later, Lily appeared and moved to stand beside James at the desk, all smiles.
They began. Remus pulled out the file and spread page after page before the couple, pointing out various things that, from the looks on their faces, were already painfully obvious. By the end of it, both James' and Lily's expressions were a little more drawn.
"So are you saying this place has no chance?" Lily asked. Although her voice was even, the look in her eyes was enough to convey the desperation of the question.
Before Remus could answer, James cut in. "Lily, don't be ridiculous. We said we were going to make this work, and we are. We just need...more time. More energy. That's all."
He held her gaze for a long moment. She moved closer to him and he naturally reached up to wrap his arms around her waist. It was a gesture that was familiar to Remus, and with that familiar feeling came all the other memories of couple, parents, and home, slyly rushing at him all at once before he could stamp them out and lock them away, as before.
Unaware of his internal struggle, James and Lily both turned to look at Remus, who cleared his throat.
"Well," he began, erasing his the self-conscious expression he could feel on his face, "I wouldn't say it has no chance. It does have one." He waved a hand warningly as their gazes lit up. "But it's a slim chance. Slim enough to warrant very careful planning from today on."
"We've been careful," said James nervously.
His fingers toyed with the strings of Lily's apron. Remus gave him a sympathetic look. “I'm sure you have, Mister Potter. In fact, meeting you both now, I'm certain of it. However, it doesn't seem to have been enough."
He stopped, and they lapsed into a thoughtful, heavy silence. Remus averted his gaze from the couple and began to gather up the papers, setting the copies aside for James and Lily to file away.
"I'll be supervising your accounts as much as possible," Remus offered suddenly. From the corner of his eye, he saw them both look up at him. "It might be a bit tricky at times, when I have other cases, but I assure you I'll do anything I can to help. I...just short of making business decisions, of course."
"Of course," said Lily, but she sounded happier. "Is that all, then?"
Remus nodded and stashed the file folder back in his briefcase. He shook hands with James, then again with Lily, who gave him a gentle smile and clasped his hand gratefully.
"I'll be going, then," Remus said, feeling oddly agreeable with these people. "I'm expected back at the office."
"Of course, Mister Lupin. Oh, have you had lunch? If not, we simply must offer you something."
"Oh, that...that's quite all right, Missus Potter." Quite frankly, the thought of ordering anything from an already irate Sirius did not appeal to him.
"Don't you worry about Sirius, now," Lily continued, as though reading his thoughts. "He's not the one in charge of making the luncheons anyway, and if he does try to yell at you again, I'll beat him with his rolling pin."
"That's my Lily!" cried James brightly, and clasped her by the waist again as they ushered Remus toward the stairs.
Smiling despite himself, Remus descended the steps first and allowed himself to be enchanted once more by the sweet smell of baked and baking pastries. It was enough to make his mouth water and to make him think that maybe he could forgive Peter for his sparse warning after all.
Sirius was no longer labouring behind the counter, but was pacing back and forth in the small store, in apron and hairnet, while carrying a gurgling little bundle in his arms. Remus deduced that the bundle must be Harry. He looked no older than eighteen months, and seemed to be thoroughly enjoying the ride. At a glance, Sirius seemed to be enjoying the moment just as much as the baby. He had the brilliant grin back on his face as he began to prance around faster, swinging Harry around a little as the child made enthusiastic noises. Remus could not help but grin himself as Sirius tossed the little one up toward the ceiling, then caught him deftly and held him close again as Harry screamed with laughter.
Behind Remus, Lily giggled and moved toward the counter farthest from the door. James said, “Be careful with him, Sirius.”
Sirius turned toward them, a look of mock-affront on his handsome face. “You think I wouldn’t be careful with my own godson? Some best mate you are…”
He trailed off as he spotted Remus, and his expression darkened considerably. He seemed to hold Harry closer as he strode hurriedly back toward one of the small tables sitting opposite the counters. Although his expression precluded brusqueness, he set Harry down with all the care and tenderness he had exhibited just moments before.
Harry looked up at Sirius from the toy-strewn table, seeming to sense but not to understand the sudden change in his godfather’s behaviour. James and Lily exchanged a look.
As opposed to earlier, Sirius was now keeping his silence, his entire demeanour speaking volumes of his displeasure instead. James gave something like a sigh, then Lily spoke up, her voice only slightly tense as she asked, “So, Mister Lupin, what would you like? There’s plenty to choose from over here.”
The tense atmosphere eased somewhat at her voice, and Remus gave Sirius’ rigid back only another brief glance before heading over to the other end of the shop. He selected a sandwich for himself, paid, and walked quickly out after short goodbyes.
Outside, he shoved the wrapped sandwich into his briefcase and detached his bicycle from the lamppost. Then, his bike chain and briefcase secured in the rear basket, he pedaled hard up the inclining road, trying bravely to ignore the strange, hard lump in the pit of his stomach.
=====
Even before arriving back at the office that day, Remus was determined to never set foot in Harry’s bakery ever again. He had just spent the last five years going through hell and back again just to get his degree, so there was no way he was going to take such horrendous treatment from a man he had just met, just because of his profession.
It was selfish and juvenile, but Remus did not care. He was busy, lonely, and poor. He figured he deserved the concession.
Unfortunately, the only case he had for the next week turned out to be the bakery on Diagon Alley. He grit his teeth and worked, turning his mind away from the handsome baker – seriously, don’t think of him – and toward the examination of the bakery’s assets and business strategies. And, after spending a few days in this state, burying himself in the numbers and ensconcing himself in the rows and rows of comfortable, precise figures, he was able to let the memory of Sirius’ treatment of him dim and lose its bite.
A week passed. Remus called the bakery once to double check a certain figure from the previous month. He did not go out, much less to his clients’ establishment.
Half a week after that, a crumpled paper ball landed with as much force as a paper ball possibly could, right in the middle of Remus’ office desk. He jumped and dropped a sheaf of papers. The sheets scattered with a loud rustle.
“You work too much,” said Peter from across the office.
Remus glared wearily at him and gathered up his papers.
“You work too much,” Peter repeated. “Too much, and too hard.”
Remus sighed. “I work just enough.”
“You only have one case.”
“It’s enough. I’m investing myself fully.”
Peter snorted and reclined idly in his chair. In his glass wall-encased office across the open space, Mister Pettigrew looked up at Peter, sighed, shook his head affectionately, and went back to work.
Remus smartly tapped the bottom edge of his papers against the desk to straighten them and slid them carefully back into their folder. Peter watched him lazily. Then he said, “We should go out.”
Remus looked up at him in alarm. “No.”
“What d’you mean, ‘no’? You can’t say ‘no’!”
“I just did. I don’t want to go out, Pete, I...”
“The reason you’re working so damn much is because you don’t go out. That, and you’re trying to keep yourself busy so you don’t have to.”
“Have to what?” Remus averted his eyes and dug into his briefcase, but of course all of the documents were already on his desk.
“Go out,” said Peter patiently, with an all-knowing air. He spun his swivelling chair around merrily, then stopped himself after a few turns. “Something keeping you from going out to your client’s?”
“Er. No. Should there be?”
“You tell me, mate. I can only read you so well, you know.”
Remus retrieved his hastily homemade lunch from his briefcase instead and tossed it up onto the desk. “Smartarse. There’s nothing wrong.”
“Mm-hm.”
“I’m serious.”
“Isn’t that his name?”
“...what?”
“That bloke at the bakery. The one who hates accountants.”
“His name is Sirius, not seri–...oh. Oh, very funny.”
“Yes, I’m sort of a wag.”
Peter smirked and spun his chair around again. “You afraid of him? I always knew you were delicate in the face of criticism, but I never knew you to be a coward.”
Remus picked up the crumpled paper ball and chucked it back across the room, hitting Peter squarely on the forehead. The ball fell ineffectually to the floor.
“I am not afraid of the stupid berk,” Remus said with more ferocity than he had intended. “It’s not my problem he hates getting outside help. In fact, it’s probably all his fault the bakery is floundering in the first place.”
Peter merely regarded him, his fingers steepled together in a parody of wisdom.
“Actually, I’m sure of it,” Remus continued darkly. “I’m absolutely certain that he’s the kind of bloke who would foolishly purchase ingredients too fine and expensive for a such a ridiculous little establishment, all to feel more cultured and refined.”
Peter cocked his head to the side and continued to silently watch Remus.
“I bet he’s capable of spending an entire month’s pay on cheap wine and hair gel. I bet...I bet he even spends on stupid, frivolous things no one needs like...like a plasma screen television or...or a motorbike or something equally stupid!”
Remus slammed one open palm down on his desk, surprising the other junior accountants around him. Peter only raised an eyebrow.
“That is indeed stupid,” he agreed placidly.
“Isn’t it? It is so stupid.”
Remus glared down at the file folder on his desk as he fell silent. The junior accountants stared openly at him, some of them slack-jawed with amazement.
Finally, Remus jerked his head up and gathered his things, roughly shoving various files and his lunch back into his briefcase and yanking his coat up from the back of his chair.
“I’m going to Harry’s,” he snapped at Peter. “Sod him, I need to get over there and do my damn job.”
He left in a flurry, slamming the employee entrance door so hard that the resulting gust forced a nearby junior’s papers onto the floor.
Peter reclined luxuriously in his swiveling chair and began attempting to balance a freshly sharpened pencil on his nose.
=====
Remus had been pedaling hard for a full three minutes before he realized what he was doing. He braked hard at the next intersection and, as he watched the cars file past him, deliberated several ways of painfully murdering his best mate and hiding the evidence.
Diabolical murder plots aside, there was no helping what had been done. He would look an even bigger fool if returned to the office now, so there was nothing to do but keep on going and hope his impromptu visit to the bakery would not result in too much flying insults.
The way cleared and the light changed. Remus set his jaw and continued on his way, pedaling at a far more subdued pace.
From the outside, the bakery looked as it had a week and a half ago. Remus thought he could even perceive some of the clean, sugary scent that floated within the establishment. That was the same too, except for a faint, sour tinge around the edges. Remus suspected, darkly, that it might be the smell of his own regret.
Visible through the glass front of the bakery, Sirius was standing behind the counter, hard at work at finishing whatever pastries he had before him. Remus, once again, could not help tracking his careful, certain movements, and had to fight to keep a disappointed lump from mounting in his throat.
Again, he considered turning back. He knew it was stupid and cowardly, but he had absolutely no desire to be mistreated by this man like he had last week. He had put up a pretense of anger with Peter, but Remus found that he could not summon any of it back to him now. Something in the shape of Sirius’ forearms, the curve of his back, and the barely noticeable slump in his broad shoulders, made it so that even Remus, in all his righteous indignation, could not bring himself to remain angry. And without his anger to protect him, uncharacteristic as it was, he was utterly defenseless.
Remus sighed and glanced sideways at his bicycle, which he had hurriedly chained to the same lamppost as the previous week. He could not go in there. If he did, he would not be able to do anything but stand there like an utter fool, letting the insults wash over him, all because he was too perceptive for his own good.
Remus scratched the back of his head and looked down at his shoes...
BANG.
...and damn near jumped out of them.
Remus clutched at his chest as his gaze darted wildly before him. His eyes fell upon the floor of the bakery, visible through the glass door, where a single wax crayon lay as innocent as could be.
He looked up. Perched atop one of the small plastic tables normally reserved for clients, little Harry laughed and tossed another wax crayon at the glass door. Another bang sounded as the door was struck a second time. Remus could only stare blankly in.
From behind the counter, Sirius looked up to chastise the boy. Then, he looked out the door, and frowned.
Remus bit his lip in resignation, gripped his suitcase tighter, and stepped in, cursing Peter Pettigrew all the while. The chime sounded merrily above his head.
“Hello,” he said quietly.
Sirius only stared at him, saying nothing. Remus stared back. Harry gurgled.
Finally, Sirius made a sound of displeasure and went back to his work, his shoulders a little more slumped than before. Remus, on the other hand, felt rather fortunate. He had spent so much time working himself up over the diatribe he was sure he would receive that he had allowed himself to be frightened into staying away. Perhaps he had been ridiculous.
He crouched to retrieve the two crayons from the floor and strode across the bakery to place them back on Harry’s table. Harry looked up at Remus with wide green eyes, one finger crooked against his lip.
“Hello,” said Remus pleasantly. “I’m Remus. Here are your crayons.”
“Cray,” said Harry.
“Don’t talk to him, Harry,” Sirius snapped from the counter. His movements accelerated.
Harry glanced toward his godfather as though puzzling over his behaviour, then turned back to Remus.
“Cray,” he said again, happily.
“Yes, that’s right. Crayon.”
“Cray.”
“...good enough.”
“If you’re going to teach him words,” Sirius continued moodily, “you could at least teach him something useful.”
“Oh?” Remus did not know how he found the courage to turn toward Sirius. “And what words do you think might be most useful to him right now?”
Sirius stopped working and glared across the room at him, poised over his baking like a wild dog eyeing his prey. “Oh, I don’t know. How about ‘mummy’, or ‘daddy’, or ‘all accountants are gits, so never trust them’?”
“I think that last one’s a bit much for a boy his age, don’t you?”
“Do you actually have any business here, Lupin, or are you just here to brainwash my godson?”
Remus was feeling quite bold, even just after being scared out of his wits by a toddler, so he was able to summon a slight smile in the face of Sirius’ mounting impatience. “Why, yes, actually. Are Mister and Missus Potter in? I have some things I would like to discuss.”
It took what Remus felt to be a Herculean amount of strength to keep the smile on his face as Sirius glowered straight at him. Harry burbled into the tense silence.
As Remus watched, Sirius’ gaze shifted and was drawn to the child sitting on the table. His eyebrows came together and he seemed to deliberate something with great concentration, then he abruptly looked away and turned toward the backroom.
“James is in the back,” he said curtly. “I’ll get him.”
“Thank you,” Remus called after him, but Sirius had already disappeared.
Beside him, Harry had begun scribbling on a sheet of white paper with a green crayon. Remus looked down at him, the smile still stuck on his face.
“Well, I count that as a victory. Wouldn’t you?”
“Cray.”
=====
It took some time before James and Sirius reemerged from the backroom. Remus had had time to help Harry with his latest crayon masterpiece before the two arrived, looking sweaty and shaken and smelling like burnt pastry.
“Sorry for the wait, Mister Lupin,” said James. He fell heavily onto one of the plastic chairs next to Harry’s table and wiped his palms on his apron front. “Things have been a little insane lately. Oh, what’s that you’ve done there, Harry?”
“Cray,” said Harry proudly. He was busy colouring over the green marks with yellow and red, as though deeming the first layer quite offensive.
James beamed and ruffled the boy’s dark, messy hair, not seeming to care that he left a smudge of flour there. “That’s my boy! He’s been saying ‘cray’ for ages now. We’re just waiting for him to finish the word, y’know?”
“He seems very smart, Mister Potter,” said Remus. “I’m certain he’ll get it before long.”
“Yes, of course. Anyway, Lily is out at the moment, but I’m sure she won’t mind if we talk.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t make an appointment. Maybe I should come back–“
“Don’t bother, it’s not a problem. It’s not like we have much to do right now, considering the oven has just about broken down.”
“It’s not broken,” Sirius protested. He was standing behind the counter in his usual spot, but was no longer working. “We can fix it, mate. We’ve done it before.”
“I dunno, Sirius...”
“I do. We’ll fix it. We’ll fix everything. I promise, James.”
James sighed, and fell silent as he watched Harry drawing. For a long moment, the only sound was the dull scrape of crayon on paper.
Finally, James said, in a very quiet voice, “I don’t know if we can.”
He picked up one of Harry’s crayons and twirled it absently between his fingers.
“It’s just...it was our dream, you know?” He went on, not meeting anyone’s eyes. “Lily’s, Sirius’, and mine, ever since college. We already knew that this was what we wanted to do, but...”
He sighed and set the crayon down.
“Maybe we got ahead of ourselves,” James concluded. He shook his head, looking desolate now, and not at all like the cheerful, optimistic man Remus had met just the week before. “I didn’t want to say this in front of Lily last time, but...I really doubt we have any sort of chance anymore. It’s just gotten too hard.”
“James–!” Sirius cried.
“Stop it, Sirius,” James replied sternly. “You know it as well as I do.”
“Well, I’m not giving up,” Sirius retorted. He came around the counter to stand right beside James’ chair, as close to Remus as he had ever gotten. His grey eyes had turned steely with determination.
“You said it yourself, James,” he said gravely. “This was our dream. It still is. And we’re not just doing this for our sakes anymore.”
Sirius jerked his chin toward Harry, who was still sitting on the table and scribbling obliviously away. Remus, however, could not take his eyes off Sirius.
“You’ve got Harry to think of,” Sirius went on unrelentingly. “We’ve got Harry. What do you think will happen to him if this place goes out of business?”
James swallowed. “We can’t let it.”
Sirius grinned, patting James hard on the shoulder. “That’s right, we can’t! No godson of mine is going to live on the streets.”
“And no son of mine,” James added. He reached out to bury his fingers in Harry’s dark locks, causing the boy to look up. He smiled at his father, revealing wet pink gums and the twin crests of slowly budding front teeth. James smiled back fondly.
After a moment, the atmosphere relaxed again, and everyone seemed to remember that Remus was still in the room.
“Well,” said James with forced cheer, “I suppose we should get back to business, eh? Mister Lupin–“
“I’ll help.”
“Mm?”
“I said...I said I’ll help,” Remus said again. His voice had not raised above its usual level, but there was a new weight to it, a gravity that helped his words ring true.
“I’ll help” was no longer a professional statement, whether Remus himself knew it or not. He had only to see the way the Potters devoted themselves to their business and most of all, to their son. He had only to witness the subtle desperation in Sirius’ attitude – the increased vehemence of his movements, the abruptness of his speech, the world-angry glint of his eye – to feel completely devoted to this cause.
James stared at him, confused by Remus’ sudden change in tone. Remus was looking straight at James now, but could acutely feel Sirius’ gaze on him.
“You’re good people,” Remus said by way of explanation. “You all are, and because of that, I want to do all I can to help you out. To help you...fulfill your dream.”
His expression shifted momentarily, but he kept his voice steady by clenching his fingers around the worn handle of his briefcase.
“I’ll do everything I can. We’ll get this place back on its feet, and going even better than before. I swear it.”
He expected to see doubt in the eyes before him, doubt and disbelief that a mere junior accountant, a stranger, would make such an outrageous claim, but instead of that, Remus only saw hope in James Potter’s eyes. It was a hope that the ever-cautious Remus would have thought dangerous if it did not make his own heart swell.
“Excellent,” James said with gusto. “Excellent. Thank you.”
He shook Remus’ hand fervently and gestured him into a chair, while alongside them, Harry gurgled happily and resumed his colouring. Behind them, Sirius stood very still, and had the air of a man weighing his options.
As Remus was spreading the reworked figure sheets before him, James looked up and met Sirius’ gaze.
“Sirius? You all right, mate?”
“Yeah,” said Sirius gruffly. He tore the hairnet from his head and stuffed it into his apron pocket. “M’gonna go see if I can fix the bloody oven.”
He stalked away, and soon they could hear him tinkering away in the back.
James turned back to Remus, grinning widely. “Don’t worry about him anymore there, Mister Lupin. He’s quite pleased now.”
Remus blinked and repeated, “Pleased.”
Somehow, what he had discerned from Sirius’ body language told him he was anything but pleased.
James seemed to understand his puzzlement and laughed. “Not exactly chuffed, per se, but grateful enough. He’s just disinclined to show it because he’s spent the last week hating you.”
“Oh, um...”
“Like I said, don’t worry about it. Now, show me how we can turn things around.”
Remus obliged and began to run through the figures, his mood lifting as a bubble of his own blind hope rose in his chest.