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Chapter Text

When Remus opened his front door to see Minerva standing there, he slammed it right in her face. It was the third time she'd come to see him since that night, and he couldn't bear to speak with her again.

The past month without Lily, James, and Peter had been the worst month of his life. He felt hollow, as if everything that had made him more human than wolf had been scooped out of his body and left to rot. His wolf was wild. Without his pack, it writhed and howled beneath his skin, begging to be set free. Remus felt like a kid again; it was like he was freshly bitten and completely out of control, with magic sparking at his fingertips

He limped into his kitchen and slumped against his counter as Minerva opened his door again and strode into his flat. She was completely unperturbed by his dismissal and he cursed at himself for not warding the door. She glanced around at the empty bottles of firewhiskey and dreamless sleep scattered across his kitchen in concern as she frowned at him. 

“Remus, you can’t keep living like this.”

He pressed his fingers to his temples as he stayed stubbornly silent, wishing her away. He thought that his rudeness would be more effective if not for the tears building in the corner of his eyes.

“We’ve talked about this,” she said, walking closer to him as he tried not to shake apart into pieces. “You’re isolating yourself, and I won’t let you. He needs you, Remus.” Remus pressed harder at his temples, shaking his head.

“I already said no, Minerva,” He suddenly couldn't look at her, and turned away towards the window. The moon was getting larger every night, a constant reminder of what he couldn't have. “A werewolf isn’t a fit guardian for a child.”

She rested her hand against his shoulder gently and he flinched, his wolf rearing against her unfamiliar touch. Not pack. Not pack. It’s all he could think about. “You’re the only one left.”

Her words forced him to look back at her. “As Sirius’ husband, his guardianship could be transferred over to you quite easily.”

The sound of his name rattled Remus. “I am not his husband.”

The reminder of being married to him made him feel even worse than before. He should have gotten a divorce after that night, but couldn't bring himself to go through the legal process. He could barely get up in the morning, let alone manage to file for divorce. To do that, he would have to think about him, which was unacceptable. “Give it up, Minerva. Harry is with his relatives. He’ll be happier without me.”

Of that he was certain. No sane person could love Remus. He proved that. 

At his words, Minerva seemed to slump. All of the sudden, Remus could see how the war had worn on her. There was a certain weariness to the professor that was new. Remus lost his family—his pack, his wolf chants, pack, pack—but he wasn't the only one. Lady Magic herself didn’t escape the war unscathed; of course McGonagall didn’t either. 

She sighed. “I know you really do believe that,” she said, leaning against the counter next to him. “You have to trust me. Harry is with the worst sort of muggles, Remus. I’ve never seen a home with so little magic; it’s like they suck it out of the very air they breathe.”

A bitter laugh forced its way out of Remus’ mouth. “Better no magic than werewolf magic,” Even as he said it, he knew that he was lying. Every wizard understood that no wizarding child should grow up without magic to fuel them. Still, he turned away, reaching for his cane. “My final answer is no. Go home, Minerva.”

All he wanted was to down a dreamless sleep and slip into oblivion. He leaned on his cane as he limped to his table, reaching for a pack of cigarettes. His hands shook as he pressed one to his lips.

Minerva frowned at the smoke and rubbed her eyes. He pretended not to notice that they were teary. “I know you’re in pain, Lupin. I understand. But this is bigger than you. Please. Lily wouldn’t want anyone but you to take him.”

Distantly, Remus knew that those words should have made him angry. Instead, he felt tired. He inhaled, and held the smoke in his lungs until they burned. When he exhaled he said, “Lily’s dead. Don’t pretend to know what she wants. Go home.”

She stood and stared at him. Remus imagined that she was waiting for him to change his mind, to crack and break down, to do something, but he just closed his eyes and inhaled again. He smoked until he finished one cigarette and then reached for another. When he opened his eyes, Minerva was gone. 

-

Sleep had never come easily to Remus. Even in Gryffindor tower, the moon would whisper to him at night. It made him restless. After… everything, it’s like sleep never came at all. He spent the week after that night drinking himself half-blind, vomiting off the side of his bed.

Daily Prophet headlines played behind his eyes on repeat. Every time he blinked he saw the huge headline celebrating Voldemort’s defeat. Only at the bottom of the article was there a mention of Lily and James Potter, murdered by Voldemort. Almost worse was the article on the following page, describing that traitor being arrested for killing his best friends.

Only when Remus drowned himself in fire and cinnamon could he forget him after that night, seemingly hysterical with grief, kissing him and telling him he had to “take care of something,” before leaving to kill Remus’ last living best friend. 

After Minerva's visit, a full moon passed in agony. He spent weeks self-medicating with both alcohol and dreamless sleep. They seemed to be losing their effect, but buying much more than he already had would mean that Remus would have to dip into his vaults, so he found other ways to fill his time. First, that meant paying his respects to the dead. 

That’s how he found himself in Brookwood Cemetery, staring down at Peter’s name. It was a cold December evening, and Remus had to layer himself in warming charms to make up for the holes in his ratty jacket. Peter had a beautiful granite gravestone with a small pile of flowers at its base, most seemingly from strangers paying their respects to a war hero. 

Remus added some flowers to the pile, feeling strangely empty. At his feet rested the only remains they could find of his brother in all but blood, and he couldn't find it in himself to feel sad. Even his wolf was quiet, seemingly confused. 

Except, Remus’ wolf was never quiet. Remus frowned, mentally prodding at it. Spending two months trapped in his head had done little good for him, but it had, reluctantly, made him closer to his wolf. For a moment, Remus felt almost proud when the wolf responded to his silent question with a zap of magic sent to his nose. With that encouragement, he inhaled deeply, and his heart leaped.

In the air, there was a faint smell of… pack. Except, that was impossible. The Potters and Peter were dead, and he was rotting in prison where he belongs. Still, he stiffed the air again, trying to narrow down the scent.

Remus frowned. It was Peter. And it was a fresh scent, only a few days old. For the first time in two months, something like hope slithered up his throat. His wolf was insistent; a member of his pack was right where Remus was standing, recently.

He was dizzy with the knowledge. No one could find Peter’s body because he was still alive. He was alive and Remus wasn't alone any longer. Remus could ask him about why he tried to kill him. He could finally have answers, and a pack member, and he would be able to sleep again. The relief was so great that he had to sit down, settling on the cold ground in front of Peter’s grave. 

Wait.

Why exactly did Peter have a grave? What reason would he have to fake his death? Remus’ fingers started to tingle, sparking. For the first time since that night, he allowed himself to think about him. Why would he choose to go after Peter instead of hiding after betraying Lily and James? How would he, the person who cried the first time he transfigured a mouse into a snuffbox because he thought he killed the mouse, kill twelve people and one of his best friends?

How could h-Sirius be a traitor if he spent nearly every waking moment before that night with Remus?

Remus blinked slowly, forcing himself to be calm. Then, he apparated.

Chapter Text

The wind whipped at Remus’ face as he strode up the path leading towards the Hogwarts grounds. He felt like he was floating. His feet were so light that he barely leaned on his cane as he hurried up to the castle. The feeling of hope that had welled up earlier that evening had settled deeply in Remus’ chest. His husband—his mate, whispered the wolf under his skin—was innocent. He was dizzy with relief. 

At the front gates, he paused, resting his palm against the lock as he requested entry. Hogwarts’ wards enveloped him, poking, prodding, and searching for his intentions within the castle. He let them, smiling for what may be the first time since that night. He had missed Hogwarts’ magic. Resting right on a magical fault line, the castle practically oozed it. 

As it surrounded him, Hogwarts eased his aching leg and settled his magical core. His wolf stretched and relaxed under his skin at the castle’s gentle urging. It was used to calming chaotic emotions and magic; housing hundreds of wizarding children for centuries could make any magical entity adept at peace-keeping. 

Satisfied with its investigation, the gates unlocked and swung open. The stones under his feet gently nudged Remus forward, into the castle’s grounds. 

As he walked up the path, he was assaulted by memories. Him, Sirius, James, and Peter following the path from Hogsmeade, their bags bulging with Zonko’s joke products. Remus and Sirius sitting, pinkies linked, as they ride up to the castle in a horseless carriage. James, showing off for Lily under the tree to Remus' left. The Marauders, sneaking out of the castle onto the grounds on his right to harvest squill bulbs. Every inch of Hogwarts was saturated with memories that Remus had spent the past months trying to forget. 

The weight of the memories was enough to bring him back to reality. James and Lily were dead. The love of his life was being tortured in prison for a crime he most likely didn’t commit, and Peter was somewhere, hiding. 

Remus had nothing. His pack was destroyed and his status as a werewolf made any claim that he made about Sirius’ innocence useless in the Ministry. His only hope was that Dumbledore could find new evidence to reopen Sirius’ case and give him a second trial. That thought drove him into the castle. 

-

A short chat with Peeves, who liked him enough to tell him where the headmaster is, lead Remus to the hospital wing. He found Albus speaking quietly with Pomfrey in her office. When he knocked, Dumbledore waved him inside with a grave look on his face. 

“Remus, I’m glad that Minerva called you,” he started, gesturing for him to sit. “You—“

“Sirius is innocent,” Remus surged forward, grasping Albus’ wrists. The sight of the headmaster made the desperation surge back to the forefront of Remus’ mind. Remus clutched tighter, urging him to believe. “Albus, you have to help me free him. Peter’s alive and Sirius is innocent.”

Albus blinked, clearly taken aback. “Remus,” he started, his voice kind, “are you alright? What's happened?”

“I smelled Peter, professor. At his grave. He was there, which means Sirius didn’t kill him,” Remus stared at Dumbledore, waiting for him to understand. 

Instead, he smiled sadly at him. “My child, I know these past months have been hard for you,” he gently peeled Remus’ fingers from his wrists. “If you ever need to talk, you know my office is open.” Remus froze, confused. “Peter is dead, Remus. We are all devastated by what Mr. Black did, but you need to understand that.”

“…What?” Remus felt lost. Dumbledore, who gave Remus his family, his education, his entire life, didn't believe him. Even Hogwarts’ magic couldn't quell the wave of sadness that hit him then. A tear slid down his cheek. “Sir, my wolf sensed him. He was there. You need to believe me.”

“Grief makes our senses do the strangest of things,” Dumbledore peered at him over his spectacles with something akin to pity. “The Wizengamot needs more evidence than a passing scent.”

The headmaster didn't say that the Wizengamot needed more than a werewolf’s testimony, but Remus heard it anyway. He wiped his eyes and turned away, looking towards Pomfrey’s desk. She was sitting there, quietly working on a diagnostics sheet. Floating in front of her was a pair of breathing lungs made of blue light. 

Albus saw where his attention was transferred to and straightened. “There’s something I think you should see,” he said gravely. 

He led Remus out of the office to a bed in the hospital wing enclosed with curtains. Remus looked inside and immediately felt like someone punched him in the stomach. 

Sitting on the bed, nearly buried in blankets, was Harry. His wolf tore to the forefront of his brain immediately. Pack, it howled, finally. He ached to pick him up, to hold him close and tell him that he was safe. That he and Sirius would take care of him.

It was an empty wish. 

“Moony?” Harry wriggled his way out from under the blankets to look at him. 

Remus remembered a time that hearing his name like that would have made him happy. He, Sirius, James and Lily had had a competition to see whose name Harry would say first. Lily won, of course, when Harry called her ‘ma-ma’ a couple weeks after he turned one. Prongs came in second a couple of days later with da-da. Remus tried to get Harry to call him Moony, but he could never quite handle the n-sound. Sirius laughed himself to tears the first time he heard Harry call him “moo” instead. 

Now, hearing the full name just made him sick. 

Harry’s tiny face finally popped out of the blankets to turn towards him, and Remus’ world tilted sideways. He was skinny, too skinny, and silvery light was covering his mouth and nose, forming a mask. As Remus watched, a cough rocked his little frame. 

Remus was moving before he realised it, kneeling in front of the small child. “Prongslet,” he said, smoothing back Harry’s curly hair, “are you alright?” Remus looked back at Dumbledore sharply, silently urging him to answer the question. 

“Minerva visited young Harry today, and noticed he had a bit of a cough,” Albus looked away, as if ashamed. “When she ran a diagnostic spell on him, she found that he had acute pneumonia.” After heaving a great sigh, he continued. “Harry was sleeping in a cupboard next to a bottle of bleach and had a bad reaction to the chlorine in the air.”

“A cupboard?” Remus looked down at Harry incredulously. “Why on earth would he be sleeping in there?” Harry blinked up at Remus, giggling at the face he was making. 

“I’m afraid that Petunia deemed it a sufficient bedroom,” Dumbledore looked sorrowfully at Remus, and he felt his blood boil. 

“She deemed it a–Albus, are you telling me you placed Lily’s son in an abusive household?” Remus couldn't keep his eyes off of Harry’s little oxygen mask.

His wolf snarled and tore at the inside of his chest. He wanted a drink. He wanted to kidnap Harry and hide him from the entire world. He wanted to track down those horrid muggles just like Sirius tracked down Peter. He settled for taking a deep breath and trying to think rationally.

“So, where is he going to go? Does Molly have room for one more?” Remus knew she doesn’t. He was proven right when Dumbledore sighed and shook his head in response. “What about Frank and Alice? They have a baby about Harry’s age, don’t they?”

The question only made Albus look more mournful. “Remus, have you read any news since October?” 

Remus thought back to the pile of Daily Prophets laying in ashes in his fireplace. “...I haven’t gotten around to it yet, no.” He couldn’t bear any mention of that night without breaking down, not while he still thought Sirius was as good as gone along with his best friends. Even now, looking too close at Harry’s eyes made him dizzy. 

Dumbledore sat down next to Harry’s bed, looking every bit the battle-worn general that he was. “They’re gone. You’re all Harry has, Remus.”

Remus felt cold. He couldn't handle the idea of two more friends dead, so he tucked that knowledge away and shook his head. “Albus-” His voice wavered, “you can’t make me do this. I don’t know how to take care of a baby. I’ll ruin him.”

How would Lily and James forgive him when he hurt their son? The very thought was a nightmare.

Albus’ lips quirked up into an almost-smile. “I have it under good authority that you’ve already spent many years taking care of a Potter, Mr. Lupin.”

A sharp laugh forced its way out of Remus’ mouth and he choked on it, coughing. “You’re listed in Lily and James’ will as a possible guardian. The best one, in my humble opinion, seeing as all the others are either deceased, imprisoned, or otherwise incapacitated.”

Remus sighed, his will crumbling under the force of Dumbledore’s. He had always been easily peer-pressured. “Albus, I am a twenty-one year old alcoholic, married to a supposed mass-murderer, who lives in a one-bedroom flat. I have no stable job, am classified as a XXXXX-level dark creature, and have never taken care of a child in my life, Sirius and James notwithstanding. This is a terrible idea.”

To Remus’ ire, Dumbledore just twinkled at him. “I have every confidence in you, my boy.”

Remus looked back up at Albus. "You know, I'm going to prove that Sirius is innocent."

The headmaster tilted his head, considering. "The second you do, I will do everything in my power to bring him back to you and Harry."

Harry babbled at him, trying to grab his greasy hair.

He was going to do this. 

Fuck.

Chapter Text

As it turned out, Remus was right about being woefully unprepared to become a parent. 

Shocker. 

He returned to his London flat with Harry on one hip and enough nappies to supply a small baby army on the other. As soon as Remus pushed open his front door, he knew that he was utterly and royally fucked. 

His flat, hardly larger than a two-car garage, was a mess. Bottles, papers, clothes, and other trash were scattered across the floor. A cutting curse he had thrown in a fit of rage a few weeks back left a gaping hole in one of his walls. A fine layer of dust covered nearly every surface. 

Harry sneezed as Remus took in the chaos. The man shushed him softly, pulling him tighter to his chest. 

Before he could do anything else, he had to put Harry to bed. Then, he would worry about the fact that he had just become a single father to the seventeen-month-old saviour of the wizarding world. 

- 

Harry was tucked in with little fuss. After Poppy had done what she could do to reduce the inflammation in his lungs, she had fed and changed him before sending him and Remus home with a strict potions regiment to manage his pneumonia. According to her, they had caught the damage early enough that Harry should make a full recovery. 

Remus collapsed onto a sagging couch facing Harry’s hastily constructed crib. The fact that Harry, James’ only son, was now going to be raised by Remus, of all people, hasn’t quite sunk in. He kept waiting for Prongs to barge into the room and swoop Harry into his arms, whisking him away back to Godric's Hollow. 

He could see him then; the way he would look around the messy room and wrinkle his nose–forever the prissy pureblood–before launching into an excited rant about his and Lily’s newest remodeling project, or a cute new thing Harry did the day before. There was no stopping him once he got going. He and Sirius would ride the long-winded story out together, nodding at the appropriate times, until Lily would show up and dazzle James into silence. Remus wasn't sure that Prongs ever quite believed his luck in marrying her. 

The room felt too quiet. He tried to think of what the Potters would do, how they would take care of their son. He glance around the room again and sighed. 

Alcohol was the first thing to go. He watched mournfully as the firewhiskey flowed down the drain, followed by the gigglewater, then the butterbeer. The champagne went last; he and Sirius had saved it from their wedding for some sort of happy occasion. Remus wasn't sure that this counts.

The bottles of muggle beer that Sirius loved so much stay, shoved to the bottom compartment of the fridge. Remus had never had a taste for them, and Sirius might want them when he got back. 

The thought jarred him. He had assured Dumbledore that he was going to prove Sirius’ innocence, but he didn't even know where to start. Sure, Remus knew that Peter is alive, but that’s because it was impossible for a wolf to mistake the scent of one of their packmates. Remus was so entrenched in the smell and magic of the other Marauders at Hogwarts that it imprinted on his soul. For him, even the faintest whiff of one of them was irrefutable proof of their continued existence. 

For anyone else, he needed more evidence. Far more. 

The easiest way to prove Sirius’ innocence would be to catch Peter and force him to confess. But that could take months or even years. Sure, once Remus catches a solid scent, his wolf can follow it, but he had to give Peter some credit. He was always the most crafty of the Marauders. 

He obviously was too much of a self-absorbed prick to give up on the chance to enjoy watching people weep over him, but he wouldn’t frequent his grave. Also, with Harry, Remus didn't have time to camp out somewhere or globe trot in hopes of catching Peter’s scent. A full-scale manhunt was out of the question. 

Remus tilted his head, considering, as he continued to stare at Sirius’ disgusting IPAs. He could go to the muggle neighbourhood where the fight between Sirius and Peter occurred. The chances that he would get any evidence out of it after the Ministry’s Obliviators were slim, but not zero. Magical residue, especially from events as large as an explosion, tends to stick around. Still, two months is a long time. He was doubtful that there’s anything left. 

He shut the fridge and leaned his forehead against its cool exterior. It would be so much easier if he could just extract a memory from James or Lily that confirmed who their Secret Keeper was. But with them dead and Peter on the run, there was no one left who–

Well. 

There was one person. 

If Remus can just manage to get Sirius out of Azkaban, they could figure out how to prove Sirius' innocence together. With his memories, he was sure to know something that could get him acquitted. 

How hard could breaking someone out of Azkaban be?

- 

The next morning, Remus didn't wake up to Harry crying, despite what he expected. Instead, a loud crash at the window made him jerk violently awake. He looked up in time to see what seemed like a dozen owls force their way inside. 

Some carried letters, while others had packages, paper-clippings, or trinkets. After the first wave of owls flew out, more came in carrying similar burdens. 

Remus watched, slack-jawed, as bird-shit and feathers steadily coated his already-ruined flat. How could he have forgotten? Harry Potter, the most famous wizarding child in the country, was living under his roof. Of course people were sending him letters and gifts. A chill went down his spine. If an owl could find Harry, so could a person. And he forgot wards. 

What kind of uncle is he?

Remus scooped Harry up from where he was standing in his crib, twisted, and apparated back to the front gates of Hogwarts. There, at least, the wards are strong enough to shield Harry from public view. 

Once they entered Hogwarts grounds, Remus cast a warming charm on Harry’s pyjamas and set him down in the grass. Yule break was ongoing, so there were no students to disturb them as he transfigured stones into figurines for Harry to play with. He settled down next to him, silently kicking himself. 

Stupid. The war may be over, but many Death Eaters were still at large. Remus, who, beyond his werewolf status, had protective runes tattooed all over his body, was fairly confident in his ability to defend himself without intricate wards. Harry, on the other hand, was completely defenceless. 

Remus’ flat, besides being tragically small and dirty, wasn't equipped to withstand the magical weight that comes with wards someone like Harry needs. 

Oh well. Good riddance to that place. 

Sirius had always liked it, probably because knowing of its mere existence would have made Walburga faint. However, that was before they had a child. Remus was sure that Sirius would understand, once he figured out a way to smuggle him out of Azkaban. 

The real question was: what place could withstand the kind of protection that Harry needs? A century ago, there would have been many options. Now, two magical wars later, spaces containing enough latent magic to support complex magical structures were nearly extinct. 

Hogwarts was an example of a place that could hold the strain. With over a millennium of magical history, a hidden wardroom, and hundreds of wizarding children, its wards were nearly impenetrable. Along with that, its strength lay in its position. Resting on a magical fault line, the magic that flowed deep under the surface of the earth bubbled up under Hogwarts, energising and purifying its wards.

The issue with Hogwarts was that, despite its strength, it was dangerous. It had poltergeists, moving stairs, a rotating staff, and had to contain regular magical outbreaks from unstable and under-practised children. It was no place for a toddler to grow up. 

Remus needed to find a place on a different fault line, ripe with natural magic, in a time when any magic not forced out of a wand was so rare. He needed somewhere that was not easy to reach by non-magical means and was in a location that was not well known, even in magical circles. 

Remus needed a nemeton. A sacred grove where ancient druids used to perform rituals and practice magic. Usually, they were only whispered about. Nemeta are deeply religious places, spoken about reverently by traditional wizarding families. Blessed by Danu, the mother of magic, they were rumoured to be the birthplaces of deities and said to contain strong natural healing magic. 

To most, they were nothing more than a folktale. A story to tell children during the Solstice. To Remus, they were more than that.

He grew up in a nemeton. 

Chapter Text

Remus was four when he was bitten. It was his first memory—the pure agony of teeth tearing through skin and bone. 

He learned later, when he was old enough to understand, that his attack had been an act of political violence. His father, Lyall, was a Ministry worker in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. During his time there, he aided in the suppression and control of many different magical creatures, including werewolves. A target was put on his back when he described werewolves as “soulless and evil creatures, deserving nothing but death.”

The attack happened in the middle of the night. Remus was in bed when Fenrir Greyback forced his way through the window. Remus thought that he intended to kill him, but he’d never be certain. His father had managed to force him out of the house, but only after he had nearly ripped off Remus’ leg. 

Desperate to heal his son, Lyall apparated Remus deep into the Scottish highlands. After spending time researching Lethifolds in the forests there, he knew of a large growth of dittany tucked away in a valley in the area. A mixture of dittany and powdered silver is all that could heal werewolf bites, something that Lyall knew well after his exposure to werewolves at the Ministry. 

Lyall had shown Remus his memory of the night many times since then. The memory started with his father apparating into the valley with a bloody and limp Remus clutched tightly in his arms. Lyall stumbled forward, wild-eyed, as he tried to find the dittany he knew was growing nearby. 

It was surreal seeing himself that close to death. Four-year-old Remus was pale and unconscious, his blood steadily seeping into his father’s clothes. Lyall located the plants just inside of a grove in the valley and set Remus gently onto the ground, his wand out to harvest them.

As soon as Remus’ leg touched the dirt, the world exploded. 

-

Blood was powerful. That was one thing every wizarding child learned. Don’t go bleeding on things, because it makes magical items go berserk. Really, it was quite the hazard for small, accident-prone children.

Constantly pumping through every Wixen’s magical core, blood became so saturated with energy that it was a physical manifestation of magic itself. That’s why, for centuries, druids used blood sacrifices in their nemeta. They were a way to give magic back to Danu; a form of giving thanks, or requesting help. 

Usually, a single drop was all that was needed for a ritual. The pints flowing from Remus’ leg were more than enough. 

Remus wished he could see the memory of what happened the rest of that night. The magical backlash from the accidental sacrifice was so strong that it knocked Lyall out immediately. All he knew is that when he woke up, his leg was scabbing over, and he had a wolf under his skin. 

His father tried to take him back home when it was clear that he started to recover from the bite. There was just one teeny tiny issue. The second Remus exited the valley with his father, his skin began to sear from the inside out.

Children, even magical children, almost never survived the bite. That was because when someone became a werewolf, they got more than the ability to transform into a wolf during the full moon. They also gained a second soul.

With that soul, came magic. So much magic. It was the equivalent of a muggle doctor giving a healthy child too much blood during a transfusion. It upset the balance of the circulatory system by overloading it with something that it already had a perfect amount of. 

Magic was beautiful. It was a gift sent to the world from Danu herself. But, nothing beautiful comes without a price. To channel too much of it–to take, without giving anything in return–could be disastrous. In an attempt to return to equilibrium in a body as weak as a young child's, the magic usually forced its way out, violently. 

That should have happened to Remus. Instead, Danu saved him. Kind of. So long as he remained in the nemeton, Remus and his new soul-roommate could coexist. His body was supported by the excess magic in the grove and by Danu’s blessing, until his magical core grew large enough to support him itself. 

It was a long process. Remus stayed in the valley for seven years. In that time, Remus’ family made their life there, building a small cabin just outside the grove of oak trees. Remus’ muggle mother, Hope, made potions from foraged materials in the valley. Lyall retired from the Ministry to help his wife with her potions business. 

Remus spent his first few years in the valley feeling the wolf's soul intertwine with his own. Getting to know his wolf was a strange thing, like opening a set of eyes Remus didn’t know he had. Suddenly, the world was an explosion of scent and sound; he spent nearly a year layered in silencing charms before he could manage to go outside without crying and clutching his ears.

Even more difficult to adapt to were the instincts. The wolf, fully grown within his tiny head, was driven by the constant urge to play, hunt, mark, howl, and fight. Learning to suppress the urge to piss on random objects took an embarrassingly long time. Still, however often Remus and his wolf disagreed, they did agree on one thing: They adored the valley. 

It was more full of magical energy than even Hogwarts. The oak trees in the grove whispered to Remus, groaning their way through stories he couldn’t quite understand. The brook that ran just next to his cabin hummed at him, so long as he was quiet enough to listen. The thick magic of the nemeton calmed Remus’ wolf and made it possible for Remus to think and grow. 

Together, Remus’ father and the magic of the valley taught Remus religion. He learned to give thanks to Danu through drops of blood on the roots of the towering oak trees. He practised rituals for the solstices and equinoxes. He learned how to whisper back to the trees and listen for magic bubbling under the surface of the earth. He got to know every creature in the valley, from grindylows to clabberts to the occasional unicorn.

His friends, the children of clients from his parents’ potions business who made the trek into the valley, taught him how to play and joke. 

His wolf taught him how to run, sniff, and stalk, and how to feel the pull of the moon on his skin.

His mother taught him to read the stars. His favourite had always been Sirius, the brightest star in the sky. It was the star he would howl to, when the moon was new and his wolf was scratching a bit too hard under his skin. It still was. 

By the time he was eleven, Remus’ soul was so twisted together with his wolf’s that there was almost no distinction between the two. Every instinct and urge the wolf felt, Remus felt. In return, every emotion Remus had, the wolf reacted to. Full moons were still difficult—the moon made him more creature than boy—but under the valley’s watchful eye, he didn’t give himself more than a few scars. 

His core had grown strong enough to host the wolf’s magic, meaning he could finally leave the nemeton. It was then that a letter appeared at the Lupin family’s cabin door, inviting Remus to Hogwarts. 

His family lived in the nemeton while he was in school, but when the war hit, they fled the country to escape persecution as a muggle-wizard couple. Remus never moved back in after they left, instead renting a flat with Sirius in the city. 

- 

Harry climbing into his lap broke Remus out of his reverie as they sat on the Hogwarts grounds.

“Moony, inside?” Obviously bored with playing with his figurines, Harry started to sniffle. Sensing a tantrum on the horizon, Remus swung Harry up onto his hip and started walking towards the castle. 

“Yes, Harry. Inside. We’re going to see Auntie Minnie.” He bet that Minerva would love that name. 

He might as well tell her about the move, so she wouldn't be so damn worried the next time she stoped at his flat. She’d be happy to know that he eventually gave in to what she wanted, as usual. 

Remus smiled bitterly. His entire life had been defined by an attempted political assassination from when he was a toddler. It forced him to grow up isolated from the world and established the way that people would see him for the rest of his life. 

He glanced sardonically at the scar on Harry’s forehead. 

Fate was a bitch. 

At least they’d have something to talk about when Harry grew up.

Chapter Text

“Are you sure this is a good idea, Remus?” Minerva was sitting on her desk, watching as Remus tried to get Harry to stack blocks in the transfiguration classroom. He was being fussy this afternoon and seemed more interested in knocking them off the table than building them up.

Remus rubbed his face. “It’s the only one I have.” For some reason, no one seemed to want to acknowledge that Remus had only been an adult for four years. A week ago, he was lying awake in his own sick. Now, both Albus and Minerva expect him to just know how to be a father. That's what he gets for being the “responsible” one in school. 

“Growing up alone isn’t healthy.”

Remus barked out a laugh. He knew all too well about what loneliness will do to someone. “We’ll travel from time to time, and I’m thinking about enrolling him in a muggle primary school.” He couldn't put Harry through the same childhood that he had. “He’ll be protected, but I refuse to hide.” He’d done enough hiding. 

Minerva smiled, looking at Harry softly. He’d started chewing on the blocks now instead of stacking them. Remus was just glad he isn’t crying. “He’s good for you. I think you’ll be good for him, too.”

He hated that she was right about the first part. He’d showered and hadn't drank in two days. Potions are probably the only reason he was still standing, but that didn't take away from the fact he couldn't smell himself for the first time in weeks. He felt angry at the compliment. “I won’t replace James and Lily, Minerva.”

“You don’t have to. You’re enough, Remus. He’s going to love you.” She looked down at Harry, who was reaching for him with his blocks discarded. “I think he already does.”

Remus felt sick. Minerva had a special way of doing that to him. 

-

Remus and Harry flooed to the valley from Minerva’s office. Lyall never bothered to disconnect the floo, what with the cabin being essentially an impenetrable fortress of magic. Remus wasn't sure what to expect. He hadn't been to the family cabin in four years, and he felt like an entirely different person. He was afraid he wouldn't even recognize it. Or worse, the valley’s magic wouldn't recognize him. 

When he stepped out of the green flames with a gentle whoosh, he knew that his worries were baseless. 

The air sang  as he stepped into the cabin’s small living room. It tasted just as sweet as he remembered, and he took a moment to breathe it in. Harry wriggled in his arms, trying to get down. When Remus let go of him, he ran to the window and pressed his chubby hands to the glass. 

Outside, grass and tree leaves waved to greet him. Harry giggled as a bowtruckle climbed up the window to chirp at him. 

For the first time since he left the valley, Remus’ wolf curled up in a corner of his mind. The itch under his skin—to shed his human form, his human responsibilities, to become wild —quietened. He was home, and it had been too long. 

Together, Remus and Harry stepped outside of the cabin into the valley. The magic rose to greet them, so thick in the air that it was visible to the naked eye. Harry shrieked with delight, swinging his arms in the air and trying to grab it.

“Moony, pretty!” He giggled and spun around, dancing. Remus needed to fetch his training broom from Godric's Hollow so he could swoop through the valley. He was sure that James would want him to have it. 

Look at him, Prongs. James and Lily’s little miracle, dancing in Remus’ childhood garden. Happy, at least for now. 

He joined Harry in the grass, twirling him through the swirls of light. 

I’ll keep him safe. Pinky promise. 

Remus just might be able to pull this off. 

- 

The evening was a battle. 

“Harry, please, just one slice of banana.”

The toddler swatted the food away, pouting. “No!”

It was his favourite word of the evening. 

Remus changed tactics, guiding a spoon of pasta to his mouth while making train noises. Harry just turned his cheek, scrunching up his face. Come on. “One bite? Come on, Prongslet, you can do it.”

“Want mama!”

Remus inhaled sharply, closing his eyes. “Mama isn’t here right now, baby. But I have food for you.” He pushed more pasta towards Harry.

Harry screamed, kicking “MAMA!”

Remus turned away, throat burning. He was wrong; he couldn't do this after all. He couldn't be Lily, or James, or even Sirius. He was never Harry’s favourite, and that wasn't about to change now. 

He could see Lily then. She could always just look at Harry and know exactly what he wanted. Harry looked back, just as enamoured with her as she was with him. Sure, she made just as many mistakes as James when learning how to take care of Harry, but she learned so fast it made Remus dizzy. She loved Harry with everything she had, and it showed. Remus was afraid he’d never be able to measure up. 

Still, he was all Harry had. Leaving wouldn't help anyone, least of all his nephew. He wanted a cigarette, but settled for scooping Harry out of the highchair and into his arms. 

Remus spoke to him softly, trying to counteract his cries. “I miss Lily too, Prongslet. Shhh, I know, I wish they were here too.”

Tears slipped silently down his face. He wished Sirius were there; he could make Harry stop crying in an instant with some bullshit story or strange face. Remus settled for rocking him softly, cooing at him despite Harry being too big to be treated like an infant. 

“You and I, Harry, we’re going to get through this together. We’ll be each other’s families, yeah?” The toddler didn't respond, but he did stop crying, which was as close to an agreement as Remus was going to get. 

They’d try eating again a little bit later. For now, Remus was going to sit with Harry and try to remember what it meant to be a part of someone's family. 

- 

Remus gave Harry his potions and put him to bed, before stepping outside of the cabin with a baby monitoring spell buzzing in his ear.

He circled the border of the nemeton, checking each of its ancient ward stones. Together, they acted as the anchor for the valley’s magical connection. Created centuries ago by the druids, they were reawakened by Lyall when they moved there. 

Remus smeared a drop of his blood on each of the seven stones circling the house. Then, he placed a few wards of his own—magic to deflect hexes, anti-apparation wards, muggle repelling charms, and an unchartable charm. That, combined with the valley’s natural defences that keep out any soul with malicious intent, was enough to let Remus relax. 

With his protections created and enforced, he took a moment to rest, leaning back on an ancient oak tree in the grove. Spread out before him was the valley, so beautiful it hardly seemed real. 

The magic soaked into the earth from ancient blood sacrifices and Danu’s blessing made the fauna develop in fantastical ways. The flowers growing at his feet glowed faintly, shimmering in the breeze. The trees hummed, whispering to each other. Fairies darted from plant to plant, giggling and swooping down to play with Remus’ hair. 

From his vantage point, he could see the cabin. Vines creep up the wooden structure, cradling it in green. A stone path led from the front door down to the edge of the brook winding through the valley. As Remus watched, a freshwater selkie popped up out of the water, settling in some grasses to take a nap. Remus wasn't worried about her; every living creature that passed the ward stones had pure intentions. 

The grove was a safe haven for all magical creatures that manage to come across it. Remus would never go against Danu’s wishes and close it off from the world, especially during a time where naturally occurring magic was so rare. 

- 

The next morning, Remus brought Harry deeper into the thick trees of the grove, to the centre of the nemeton. Harry needed to sacrifice his blood to the grove in order to be sure that he receives Danu’s blessing in the same way Remus did seventeen years ago. 

Remus, armed with dittany and band-aids with little flying broomsticks on them, guided him to sit down in the small bald spot in the grass where he had been healed as a child. Harry was far too busy trying to grab a clabbert, a small frog and monkey hybrid, to notice the prick on his elbow. When a drop of Harry’s blood hit the dirt, a little bit of black oozed out of his scar. 

That seemed like it was going to be an issue.

Chapter Text

Harry’s scar had been steadily oozing black tar for days, the moon was waxing, and Remus was stressed.

His running theory on the scar issue was that Voldemort’s killing curse left spell residue on Harry’s forehead, which then festered. Really, it shouldn’t have been that big of a deal. Usually, a few cleansing spells, a well-placed episkey, and a good night’s sleep are enough to rid someone of a magical infection. Even if it had been growing for two months, it shouldn’t have had enough magic to cling to Harry quite as tightly as it had. 

It was almost like it’s a piece of Voldemort’s own magic, with how strong it was. But that was a silly thought. Every dead creature’s magic is reabsorbed by the earth. 

It was best not to dwell on the dead. Remus had learned that well these past months. 

His worries were proven silly when, that night, Harry put his face into the brook to blow bubbles and his scar essentially exploded with black gunk. Harry shrieked and pulled back, but by the time his face exited the water, all of the tar has already dissolved in the current. When Remus dried him off, his normally irritated and red scar was a pearly white. Even with Remus’ sharp eyes, he could barely see it on his nephew’s pale skin. 

There’s no greater medicine than the blessed waters of the deity of life. Remus was just grateful he doesn’t have to take Harry to St. Mungo’s. That place was a fucking nightmare. 

The more pressing issue was the growing moon. Being back in the valley had Remus’ wolf begging to transform and tear through the woods. 

The problem was twofold. First, Remus couldn't afford to leave Harry alone for a night while he goes through a case of the monthlies. He was too young to look after himself, and Remus didn't know if he trusted anyone else to watch him overnight.

Also, Remus was terrified to transform. The two moons that had passed since October were agony. Remus was shattered by the loss of his husband and best friends, however much he was trying to keep it together for Harry’s sake. Sure, he was sober and clean, but their absence had only become more clear with Harry around. Remus felt like he was drifting, waiting for something that will never happen. He couldn't sleep or eat, and every smile he threw at Harry was a poisonous lie frothing on his tongue.

Still, however bad he had taken their loss, his wolf took it worse. The wolf was pure, somehow. Innocent, almost. It didn't understand why Padfoot, Prongs, or Wormtail left. It only knew that they were gone and that he was alone. His instincts and emotions were so raw, so unfiltered, that they were all-consuming. 

Wolves aren’t meant to be alone. They’re social creatures that crave interaction and intimacy. They crave a pack. To Remus’ wolf, the fact that the pack disappeared all at once meant they decided to abandon him. Remus could understand the complexities of that terrible night. The wolf just thought that he did something wrong. 

Last full moon, he tried to make a den to apologise to Sirius. He spent the night pacing outside of it, whimpering and pawing at the ground, waiting for Sirius to come back. Every attempt to access their mating bond was met with a cold silence. 

The wolf’s confusion, his warped sadness, left Remus despondent for days. He didn't know if he can go through it again and come out the other side. 

Unfortunately, the moon doesn’t wait for anyone. Remus needed to pull himself together, for Harry’s sake. He wondered if Minerva is too busy to look after a toddler while teaching full-time. 

- 

She laughed at him when he asked her to take Harry for a night. Admittedly, he could have chosen a better time to contact her than right in the middle of a lecture. She turned him away with a stern, “You have your own mother, Remus. Ask her.”

That would be a great idea, if not for the fact that he hadn't spoken to Lyall or Hope since before Halloween. 

At first, it was because he was so deep into his bender that he had forgotten that anyone alive still knew he existed. Recently, he'd just been so busy that he didn’t even think to update them. 

Remus’ parents fled from the war to France a few years ago, and they had kept in touch sporadically since then. Remus set Harry up with a toy dragon in the sitting room, and ducked into the fireplace to floo call them. 

He was met with a, “Remus John Lupin, where the hell have you been?” Not a strong start. Remus winced up at his mother. Despite being magicless, she had always been the most intimidating of the Lupin family. 

“Hi, mum.” Remus tried to collect himself to explain his situation. If he managed to ease her slowly into an explanation of his problems, she might just help him. 

In true Potter fashion, Harry chose that moment to start crying. His dragon had bit him in the finger. Damnit. Why can’t he have nice things?

“Remus, is that a baby crying? Why on earth do you have a baby? Have you kidnapped it?” Hope was crouched down, trying to see around Remus. 

Remus sighed, buckling down for a very, very long conversation. Albus better get him the best damn mind healer in the country for making him go through all of this bullshit. 

-

In the end, Hope agrees to stay in the cabin with Harry for the full moon. When she stepped through the floo, the cabin seemed to lean into her for a moment. It had grown quite fond of her while she lived in the valley. She just had a certain way about her that makes every sentient thing adore her. It was her own form of magic. 

Like everyone else, Harry couldn't seem to resist her kindness. He toddled over to her as soon as she steps into the room, flailing his little arms in greeting. She laughed and lowered herself onto the floor, sitting eye-to-eye with the child. 

“He’s lovely, Remus.” She pulled a toy from her robes—one of his favourites from when he was a kid. It was a rabbit, and Harry loved it instantly. 

Remus still felt a little guilty about the biting dragon. He probably should have started with something soft. 

He sat next to them. “Harry’s a wonder. He shouldn’t cause any problems while I’m gone.”

Harry beamed up at Hope and Remus, waving his new toy. “Moony, hop!” He started bouncing, climbing up onto the sofa. “Hop, hop, hop !” With the last exclamation, he jumped right off the back of the sofa. Remus was up in an instant, scrambling to catch him. 

Instead of falling, Harry floated gently into Remus’ arms, giggling. 

Well. Congrats, James. It's a wizard. A child’s first magic is just like their first steps or words. Remus was glad to have witnessed it, sure, but it still felt  wrong, somehow. It should have been Lily and James who witnessed Harry’s milestones, not Remus. Still, better him than Lily’s horrible relatives. 

Hope cooed at the child. “He’s just like you were at that age, Rem.” She plucked Harry out of Remus’ arms and set him back down on the ground. Unlike him, she wasn't phased by the accidental magic. She'd already had to deal with it for years.

“He’s in good hands. Go have fun in the woods.” Hope never avoided Remus’ lycanthropy. It reminded him of Sirius, who was always able to joke about Remus’ wolf side. It was his furry little problem, and the full moon was when he would go bump in the night. 

He had always made him feel less like a monster and more like a person. It’s one of the things he missed most about Sirius. It’s one of the things he looked forward to the most about getting him back. 

-

The pain of the transformation rose with the moon. Remus was deep in the grove, far away from the cabin. His skin tore and his bones groaned as his wolf fought his way to the front of Remus’ mind, while Remus was shoved deep down into his own consciousness.

As the moon emerged, he felt every snap of bone, every follicle of hair growth, and every tooth forced out of his gums. He fought the transformation, like always. He lost, like always. 

With the wolf at the helm, the world changed. Every sense Remus purposefully dulled when he was in control screamed. The instincts to hunt, prowl, fuck, and play were overwhelming. The moon tugged at his skin, goading him on. It wanted him to be wild. To chase Prongs and Wormtail. To growl and nip at Padfoot until he has him pinned. To run until the sun rises and washes the moon’s magic from the air. 

Instead, he was stuck without a pack or a mate. Remus’ wolf whined, restless. In a desperate attempt for companionship, he tried again to reach for Padfoot through their mating bond. 

The bond was one thing that human-Remus would never understand. To him, Sirius was his husband, best friend, and partner for life. To Remus’ creature side, Sirius was his soulmate. He was the second half of the wolf’s magic. For the wolf, Sirius wasn't just his life partner. He was the only living being that the wolf would ever love. His magic was tied to Sirius. Nothing short of death could break their connection. 

The past two moons, Remus resisted the wolf’s attempt at communicating with Sirius with every fibre of his being. This time, he sat back and hoped.

The wolf sent magic towards Sirius as if through a tube. It contained feelings, mostly. Love, loneliness, and longing. The emotions echoed in the abyss of the bond, searching. At first, there was nothing. Then, a faint sensation. The wolf poured more magic into the connection and waited. In the back of his mind, Remus waited with him. 

The second response was a cacophony of sound. Jaggad and desperate, Sirius screamed  down the bond back at Remus. At first, the message was just sensations. The cold, the sharp agony of a dementor’s presence. Then, it was memories. A picture of Lily, her hands clasping Peter's forearms as they cast the Fidelius. Peter, taunting Sirius in a muggle street. 

Finally, he sent a location. The exact coordinates of a small island in the North Sea. 

Azkaban.

Chapter Text

When the moon set, Remus found himself sprawled in the grass far from where he started the night. 

He sat up, taking stock of his injuries. Every single bone in his body ached, but his skin was intact and, he didn't taste blood. As far as full moons go, that was way above average. Even better, his wolf was calm in the back of his head, a far cry from the panic and confusion the last two moons had wrought. 

It took Remus a second to remember why. When he did, pure relief shot through him. 

His agonised muscles, still trembling from the transformation, gave out, and he collapsed back onto the ground. Here, finally, was additional proof that Sirius was innocent. The bone-deep terror that had plagued him ever since he smelt Peter’s scent in the wind evaporated from his body. 

After his meeting with Dumbledore, he almost doubted his own senses. The idea that he was wrong, that Sirius wasn’t innocent, had haunted him for days. 

The idea that someone that he loved so deeply could be so rotten as to kill his best friend had paralysed him. If he could love someone that terrible, what did that say about his own heart?

He looked up at the trees spanning over his head and allowed himself to cry. Tears of relief slid down his face and into the earth. With them, he sent a prayer of thanks to gods. His husband was innocent and alive. He wasn't in love with a murderer. And now Sirius knew that Remus knows of his innocence. 

He hoped that could keep him sane until Remus came to get him. 

- 

With his face dry and his clothes repaired, Remus returned to the cabin to find Hope and Lyall teaching Harry how to finger paint. 

Lyall looked up when he arrives, his face slightly guilty. “Remus, how did it go?”

His father had gotten better with respecting the creature’s rights since the bite, but still wasn't as comfortable as Hope with Remus’ nature. Remus thought he would never quite forgive himself for making his son a target. Some days, when he would stare in the mirror at the thick scars that criss-cross his face, he wasn't sure that he forgave Lyall either. 

Still, he leaned in to hug his father. “It went fine. Welcome back, dad. I take it you like Harry?”

The child was delightedly dipping both hands fully in green paint and smearing it over his clothes. When he saw Remus, he shrieked, “Moony, look!” and pointed at his artwork. The parchment—and the rest of the dining room table—was covered in bright, glittering paint. 

“Very nice, Harry.” Remus glanced at his parents, pained at the damage to the table. “Pretty colours.”

Harry clapped his hands, flinging more green about the room. “Pretty!”

Lyall, unperturbed by the mess, looked at him steadily. “Harry is a smart child. You’ll raise him very well, Remus.”

The sentiment punched Remus in the chest. Lyall had never been a great dad. When he was growing up, his father was distant and sad, like he was mourning for a son that was standing right in front of him. The sorrow sometimes made Remus feel like a ghost in his own home, the shattered remains of what once was a normal wizarding boy.

Still, Lyall smelled like books and chocolate. He taught Remus to hoard love like gold and showed him how to whisper to magic herself. He healed his scraped knees and let him catch hinkypunks in the forest. He was the only father that Remus would ever know, and he loved him through it all. 

Now, it was Remus’ turn to raise a small boy. Lyall made it work despite their violently uprooted lives and the creature lurking behind Remus’ eyes. Maybe, if his parents thought Remus will do alright, Harry would really have an opportunity to have a childhood that James and Lily would be happy with. 

When Sirius got back, their dysfunctional family just might work. 

- 

Azkaban was on an island just a couple of miles out from the east coast of Scotland, by Aberdeen. Really, it was almost comical how close it was to the bustling magical community within the city. Close enough that a relatively powerful wizard could swim there if they had a couple of charms to keep them afloat. 

This usually wouldn’t matter. For one, Azkaban was unplottable, highly secret, and absolutely swimming with dementors. No wizard could make it in and out alive without explicit permission from the Ministry. 

It was a good thing that Remus wasn't a wizard. He was a werewolf. 

For him, the entire situation was different. Azkaban may have been an airtight facility for humans, but its security was riddled with holes for Remus for a couple of reasons. First, the dementors were its only magical line of defence. Because they decomposed latent magic in the air, the Ministry didn't bother with maintaining very complicated wards. Instead, it had classic anti-apparation and muggle-repelling charms, and little else. Never let it be said that the Ministry was anything but cheap. 

According to the Ministry, the dementors were enough because they killed any human who came close without Ministry permission. However, wolves didn't have emotions in the same way that humans did. Instead, they had instincts. Because of this, dementors didn't really bother Remus, especially during the full moon. He was a creature, like them, so they didn't care about him one bit. 

The usual deterrent for breaking into Azkaban for werewolves, beyond the relative secrecy of its location, lied in the nature of wolves. Wolves didn't care about the opinions of their human hosts. On the full moon, they were feral, typically attacking any human in sight. That included anyone within the prison. It was only a twisted type of luck that Remus wasn't concerned with that problem. 

Sirius was his mate, and Remus and the wolf were in full agreement about what to do. They needed to get him out of there. 

This is going to be one hell of an adventure, Padfoot. 

-

The next full moon fell on the night of February 11th. That afternoon found Remus wandering the streets of Aberdeen alone. Harry was once again safe in the valley with his parents, and he was free to stall until night fell and he could head into the ocean. Despite the magical presence in the town, it was quite dreary. Rain drizzled onto the cobbled roads, pooling in grey puddles at his feet. He turned onto an abandoned street, following the smell of magic to a small alley tucked into the city’s centre. 

From there, he ducked into a cafe, passing by muggle repelling charms to find a booth to hide from the rain. It was a quaint place; the only two people in the cafe were a bored-looking barista who took his order without even glancing at him and a hunched witch cradling a coffee. He tucked himself into a corner, drinking a hot chocolate and wishing it was something stronger. 

He hadn't drank since he got Harry, but the urge lingered. It clung to him like a parasite, making his hands shake and his stomach roil. He had to fight the thought of having just one. It was always just one with Sirius, but one turned to three turned to passed out together on the couch with a wicked headache and empty pockets. 

Sometimes, the loneliness almost got to him. He found himself staring too long at the ring on his nightstand or too closely at the antler tattoo on his forearm, and he’d remember too much. Then, he’d see Harry start and snap back to the present. 

Now, without Harry for the first time since the last full moon, he allowed himself to remember. He sipped his drink and thought about the way Sirius used to fit against him. The way he’d wake up with Sirius’ hair in his mouth. He thought about how Lily used to study with him, huddled close next to him in the Gryffindor common room while the other Marauders messed about. He remembered the way James used to idly doodle on Remus’ hands when he was bored during lectures. 

He remembered their ragtag family and allowed the grief in the pit of his stomach to finally settle. 

Remus sat, gazing out the cafe window, and ruminated until the sun started to set. Then he apparated to the shoreline, facing the North Sea. 

When the moon rose and his bones cracked and shifted, he'd be ready. His wolf was powerful enough to swim the miles to the shore of Azkaban and smart enough to get inside. Soon, he’d be able to see his husband. 

For the first time in his life, he couldn't wait to transform.

Chapter Text

Under the light of the moon, Remus shed his human skin and entered the North Sea. If the water was cold, he didn't notice. His webbed paws pulled him swiftly through the waves of the ocean and towards Sirius. 

As he cut through the water, Moony started to smell the magic of the prison. The hunger of the dementors leeched into the water surrounding Azkaban, poisoning it to all life. The ocean was black and eerily empty. The air reeked of decaying magic and death. 

To a wizard, the infected water would be unbearable. The ocean absorbs latent magic in the air, usually purifying it and sending it back to Danu and the earth. Here, however, the sick, agonized magic of the dementors and their prey overwhelmed the water. It frothed and swelled, forming a yawning maw waiting for its prey. 

Moony didn't hesitate. He was the real predator here, and he knew it. 

He paddled through it all, closing in on the prison. It was illuminated by the light of the moon, a jagged stone spike jutting out from the waves. Remus’ wolf passes through the meagre wards surrounding Azkaban easily, soon reaching the edge of the building. There was no security outside; no human could take the aura of the dementors for long enough to work in the tower. 

The wolf shook, ridding himself of the black ocean water, and approached a wooden door built into the stone. From inside, Padfoot was howling through the bond, egging him on. Urgency wasn't a positive emotion, so Sirius had it in spades. The wolf was so close to him then that he could hear the Animagus pacing in his cell, barking. 

The sound of Sirius’ heartbeat echoed through the wolf’s head like a homing beacon. Any patience that he may have had evaporated in a second, and the wolf slammed himself into the door. It splintered away, having already begun rotting. 

The smell of the inside of Azkaban hit Moony like a train. The stench of piss, shit, infection, and rot mixing together was so thick that the wolf staggered, whimpering. He stumbled down a stone hallway, lined with cells. 

Here, there were only a few dementors. They idly milled about, going from prisoner to prisoner in an attempt to sate their hunger. The people down here were alive and mostly sane, looking haggard but alert. Many screamed and shrank back when they saw Moony tearing down the hall, but he passed them without a second glance. He was focussed only on his mate, who was dozens of floors higher than the ground-level. 

On his way up, Moony passed by a dementor directly. The creature didn't so much as glance at the wolf. He didn't have any happiness or memories to share; on the full moon, he was little more than a mess of instincts and magic.

Those instincts drove him up the slick stairs, higher and higher until he reached the top floor. Here, the dementors were so plentiful they created a swarming black mass of agony and despair. The few prisoners on this floor were little more than corpses. Some don’t even blink as Moony passed them by. Others shrieked and babbled at him, trying to grab him through the bars. The wolf bit off someone's hand as he passed, spitting it on the ground. No one would get between him and his mate.

There was no magic on this floor. It had been completely consumed by the dementors, leaving the air empty and dead. The feeling made Moony move faster, closing in on the last cell in the hall. He made quick work of the bars that separated the cell from the hall, forcing them apart.

Inside, stood Padfoot. His paws were settled on what may have once been a jumpsuit, but had since transformed into little more than rags. The cell was small, barely more than an arm’s width wide, but was very tall. A jagged hole in the wall above their heads let in frigid air and weeping rain, assuring that the entire room was cold and damp. 

Sirius was skeletal and shivering, but there was a spark of intelligence in his eyes that had Remus, who was peering out from deep in the wolf’s head, weak with relief. Moony leapt on him, his large form completely enveloping the dog. He got the sense that he was the first warm thing Sirius had felt since he got to Azkaban. 

For a second, he just breathed, curled around Padfoot. The dog was wrapped around him desperately, his nose buried into Moony’s neck. Their bond was  singing, celebrating their reunion. For a moment, they just basked in each other. The euphoria of the bond was a joy that Moony had missed immensely, and for Sirius, any positive emotion was so foreign that it was nearly paralyzing. 

Moony chuffed, lapping at Padfoot's matted fur. For a moment, they were both at Hogwarts again, curled up in the forest together. Then, the sounds of rattling interrupted them. The dementors may not bother Moony, but Sirius was, at his core, human. He could deter them with his animagus form, but the joy emanating from their bond was like a siren’s song. Moony sensed them taking notice of the two, and made a snap-decision. He gently grasped Sirius by the nape of his neck, and bolted. 

Sirius and Moony had made grand escapes this way before. Daring ventures in the forest had gone bad, and the two had fled from creatures of all types. Remus, when he was feeling particularly sentimental, recalled a particular scenario in which the two were sniffing about before stumbling across a large horde of wild gnomes. 

While Moony was happily crunching down on an especially fat gnome, Sirius had dug up some treasure and was sniffing around it, probably planning to show his spoils to James. When he was distracted, one of the creatures had climbed on top of Padfoot and attempted to sedate him with powdered asphodel petals. However, at such a low dose, all they did was make Sirius ridiculously loopy. 

He proceeded to stumble about, falling over when the gnomes attempted to wage war upon him for revealing their treasure horde. Moony had needed to rescue him from the tiny creatures, heroically scooping him up and running them to safety. Remus nearly laughed himself sick the first time he saw the memory. 

Things were different now. Moony’s claws dug deep into the slick stone of Azkaban as he ran from the dementors with Sirius between his teeth. Surely, by now the Ministry had been alerted to the break-in, so they had precious seconds until Aurors arrive. Moony used those seconds wisely, running to the end of the dark hall before leaping out of a crumbling window. 

They fell for a long, long time. Still settled deep in Moony’s consciousness, Remus prayed to Danu for salvation. 

They hit the water gently. 

-

The trip back to shore was longer than the way out. Padfoot was settled on Moony’s back, held there by weak wandless magic no doubt fueled by his desperation to escape. Moony fought against the waves as he sensed the moon falling lower and lower. They were running out of time, and the wolf’s transformation back into a human couldn't be done correctly in the water. 

He slumped to the shore just as the moon slipped beneath the horizon. As the sun rose, Remus shuddered back into being under Padfoot’s watchful gaze. Moony retreated deep into his chest, and Remus was left sprawled out naked on the rocky shoreline. 

The world spun as Remus panted, spitting blood from his mouth. Before he could so much as sit up, a black furry mass slammed square into his chest.

The hit smarted against his back, his skin tender from the recent transformation, but Remus didn't even feel it. His focus was on the black dog attempting to burrow his way under Remus’ chin. He was dirty, skinny, and had hair more matted than anything Remus has ever seen, but his scent was unmistakable. 

“Sirius.” 

The name came from somewhere deep in his chest. Sirius looked up from his neck, his eyes wide. A tear slipped down Remus’ cheek, and he wasn't sure if it was from relief or sadness or somewhere in between. “Oh my god, Sirius, I’m so sorry. ” He pulled Padfoot closer, breathing deep into his fur. “I missed you, Pads, so much.” 

Sirius’ scent made him feel like finally, after months adrift, he could finally focus. The sensation of magic itching and crawling under his skin lessened, and his eyes cleared a little. “We have a son now, Pads. Harry has gotten so much bigger since you last saw him. I think he'll be even smarter than Lily when he grows up, if you can believe it.” Remus smiled, glancing down at his husband. His smile faded when he saw Sirius, still shivering. “Are you alright?” Sirius just whined, still settled on his chest. Fear shot through Remus, prompting him to cradle the dog and sit up on the rocks.

The soldier still left in him from the war took over and he sent a pulse of magic through Sirius’ body, scanning for injuries. The scan came back showing dehydration, malnutrition, nerve damage in the fingers and toes due to prolonged exposure to the cold, a concussion, two cavities, and severe magical depletion. 

“Sirius, love, can you transform back? I need to heal you.” 

Padfoot stayed as he was, trembling. Severe magical depletion. The thought rattled through his brain, and Remus frowned. Dementors didn't just drain magic from wards, they also drained it from people. “Padfoot, how long have you been in dog form?”

Sirius, of course, didn't answer.

Chapter Text

In school, Sirius was art. He was bold, broad strokes of color far outshining Remus’ sea of dull greens and browns. The first time he had seen him, Sirius—brilliant, stupid Sirius—was poking at the giant squid while they sailed towards Hogwarts, laughing in delight. Remus had been caught off guard, mesmerized by his sharp smile.

Even when they were older, during the war, he glowed like the sun. There was a sort of magnetism to the way he fought, like he was dancing.

His wolf had loved that side of him; the reckless, animalistic way he would take out their enemies. The way he would smile and glitter as he shattered bones like glass and cut through skin like butter. It was like fighting next to a fallen angel.

Now, that carefree, elegant man was gone. Remus trudged through Aberdeen with Sirius cradled under one arm. The other clutched his cane, a necessity so soon after the full moon. Sirius was shivering and silent, his nose permanently fixed to the hollow of Remus’ neck.

The healing potions Remus made sure to always have on him had already done wonders for Padfoot. His nerve damage was gone, and the two rotten teeth were quickly growing back a pearly white. Nutrition potions had clearly lessened the bite of starvation, but the ease at which Remus was able to carry his husband told him Sirius and Harry may take nutrient potions together for a while.

The real issues that worried Remus weren't the physical ones, but the mental ones. Dementors drew on the energy of the soul, decaying magic and destroying memories. Even four months of exposure to them was enough to drive someone insane. Remus would hate to see what years could do to a person, but thank Danu, that wasn't an issue for them.

Sirius being stuck as Padfoot wasn't that surprising, all things considered. Being an animal was… quieter, somehow. Like being half awake. You could still feel, sense, but not think. During the war, on nights where things were just a bit too dark, Remus used to have to coax Sirius back into his human form. They never talked about it, but after he transformed back they’d lay together for hours.

Sometimes, it was hard to remind himself to be human. It was hard to remember why being human was important at all.

Remus would love to take Sirius to St. Mungo’s, as much as he hated the place, but he knew that it wasn't an option. The thought of the Auror response to Sirius’ escape, surely growing by the second, made Remus walk faster. His cane clicked against the wet cobbles of downtown Aberdeen as he entered the wizarding side of the city. Sirius wasn't strong enough to side-along apparate, so the first floo network they could find would have to do.

As he strode forward, a group of young wixen in brown trench coats rushed past. Remus stiffened as he smelt them, the mix of blood, magic, sweat, potions, ink telling him that they were auror trainees.

Not long ago, the smell would have been comforting. Now, he walked faster, his ears pricked. Sure enough, he could hear them murmuring intensely to each other “code black… gone for a couple of hours… has to be close…”

Remus found a floo, finally, in a pub. He ducked inside of it gratefully, before clutching Sirius tightly and whispering for it to take them home.

As the flames swept them away, he caught one last glimpse of the group of trainees through the window. They were still huddled together, wandering about like children. Honestly. If he wasn’t so grateful for the Ministry’s ineptitude, he’d be disappointed. Even during his time as a trainee, James would have at least considered trying to shut down external transportation in the city to slow Sirius’ escape.

Wizards and their utter lack of logic. A shame, truly.

-

The magic of the valley oozed like honey over Remus’ shoulders as he stepped out of the floo, thick enough to make Sirius raise his head. It swirled around them both inside Remus’ bedroom, prodding at Padfoot softly. He sneezed, blinking at Remus balefully. The sight of it—Sirius still looking like a drenched kitten from the rain, gazing up at him with big eyes as magic tickled his nose—wrenched a laugh out of Remus’ mouth. Fuck, he missed his husband.

The sound of Harry, babbling in the other room, distracted Sirius from the magic. He was quick to squirm out of Remus’ arms and settle on the carpet, spreading water everywhere.

Remus smiled crookedly. “Welcome to my childhood home, Siri.” The walls were still covered in what Remus had left there four years ago: a mix of band posters and star maps litter the walls, while the shelves are filled with books and plants under stasis. The fire was going in one corner of the room, bathing them both in orange light.

Sirius wasn't looking at any of it. Instead, his eyes were fixed on the closed door. Harry was still chattering away in the other room, and Remus could hear Lyall reading to him softly. Remus sighed, his logic warring with his want for Sirius to just magically be alright enough to interact with an 18-month-old after nearly four months of torture. “We aren’t going to see him tonight, Pads. Not until you’re feeling better.”

Sirius looked up at him quickly and whined, high in his throat. The complaint did nothing to change his mind. If it didn’t work the night he wanted to dye Lily’s hair fuchsia pink, it wasn't going to work now.

He was already back to being the logical one, it seemed.

-

That night, Remus dreamt.

At first, he could only smell. The air was heavy with the scent of potions and smoke, and held a faint trace of sweetness, like a flower’s bloom. Like a lily.

His eyes focused. It wasn't a dream, it was a memory.

Remus remembered this night well. Lily was standing in front of him, leaning against Remus’ kitchen table. She was so young in the dream, barely nineteen years old and already pregnant. Remus settled on his kitchen counter and stared at her.

She was smaller at nineteen than she’d grow to be at twenty-one. The scar that would soon creep up her left arm, a reminder of a vicious blasting curse, was replaced with smooth skin.

Still, she looked restless. There was already grey in her long hair, and there were deep lines under her eyes.

She heaved a deep sigh and swayed, gazing out his window towards the London streets. Remus looked down, bracing himself for her words. “Sometimes, I wish I never learned about magic.” She glanced at him, and Remus could see her exhaustion. By 1979, the war had bled its poison into every facet of their lives. It had hardened Lily—muggleborn, too-smart-for-her-own-good Lily—more than most.

“Life would just be so much simpler, you know, if I could have just been some muggle.” She smiled, fiddling with her wedding band. “Picture it, Rem. No war, no fighting, no blood prejudice. Just us at some muggle university, being students.”

Remus watched her silently. In the memory, he hadn’t known what to say. Now, he wanted to say too much. He wanted to hug her and beg her to run away, but he didn’t then, and there was no use in it now. Instead, he hummed, listening.

Lily sighed. “James wants to fight. He has some dream of being a hero, like out of a film.” She smiled bitterly. “I’m in love with a child, I think.”

It was true. James was knee-deep in an Auror training program and was nearly buzzing in excitement about it. The war hadn’t quite weighed him down the way it had for everyone else; him and Sirius had always had a taste for violence. It worried Remus, sometimes.  

Lily fished around in her robes and pulled out a piece of paper. Proper, muggle paper.  She handed it to him silently and looked back out the window.

He didn't need to read it again; he already knew what it said. The congratulations shining up at him from the top of the letter mocked him. When she saw him staring, she started to explain. “I’ve already gotten into muggle uni. I applied when I found out about the baby.”

The reminder of the life Lily could have had ached like an open wound. Days before she was set to move, Albus had swept her and James up and into a safe house under the Fidelius. Remus never learned the specifics of why such a response was necessary, but Lily’s dreams were stopped in their tracks.

There was no use in telling her that now, though. The words forced out of his throat tasted artificial. “That’s fantastic, Lily.” He slid off the counter pulled her into a hug. “You deserve it.”

She pulled back and grins at him, her eyes gleaming. “I’ll have to catch back up in maths; arithmancy doesn’t cover nearly enough. But I’ll be ahead in Latin, at least.” She grabbed his hands, her nails digging into the scars on his palms.

“I’m not going to let this war consume the rest of my life, Remus.” Her voice was firm. “If I can’t end it, I’m going to at least escape it.”

Her last words echoed in his head:

“No child of mine is going to grow up afraid.”

-

Remus woke up in the morning with dog hair in his mouth. The feeling, which used to be a daily annoyance, made a rush of pure joy radiate through him.

His wolf was quieter than it has been since Halloween. His magical core—the snapping, sparking, wild thing rushing through his blood—flowed steadily, humming. Sirius was snoring on his chest, his nose cold against Remus’ neck. He smiled quietly, closing his eyes to feel their pack bond enveloping him.

As he relaxed, Lily’s words rushed back to him, bouncing around in his head.

Fuck the war. Harry was about to have the greatest, most peaceful childhood any kid could hope for.

Chapter Text

When Remus left his bedroom, it was to find Hope already sitting at their kitchen table. She was clutching a Daily Prophet in her hand, arching her eyebrow at him.

“I take it your rescue mission went well?”

He glanced at the Daily Prophet. In large letters, it read: Mass Murderer Sirius Black on the Loose, with a picture of Sirius on the cover. Remus knew that Sirius would be pleased to see that his hair was looking quite good in the shot. Vain git.

He laughed, walking towards the pantry. “How’d you guess?” She smiled at him as he continued. “He’s sleeping off the last of his injuries right now. I imagine he’ll be physically alright within the week.”

“And what of his mental state? Did those awful things do any permanent damage?”

Remus sighed. “I can’t tell,” He gathered up ingredients for oatmeal as he puttered around the kitchen. “He’s refusing to leave his animagus form but seems coherent enough. Honestly, I’d be more surprised if he was already back in his human form. I don’t remember much about Azkaban, Mum, but I remember enough to know it’s terrible.”

His wolf, tucked neatly against his soul, huffed its agreement. Anything bad enough to make Moony recoil was surely nothing short of evil. Hope gazed down at the Prophet. “He’s always been a resilient boy, Rem. He’ll be fine.”

She was right. Sirius spent eleven years in a prison of his family’s making. If he could survive that, he could survive a measly three months in a cell.

-

Lyall and Hope said their goodbyes that morning. Their new potions shop in France was thriving and couldn't be left alone long. Harry was nearly despondent when they step through the floo. He shrieked his protest, kicking his little feet against the carpet of the sitting room.

The sound was enough to wake Sirius, who poked his nose out of Remus’ bedroom quietly, seemingly asking for permission to approach.

Remus looked at the animagus carefully. The night of rest had done him some good. His eyes were clearer, more human than they had been the night before. He seemed to stand a little taller, and the nutrition potions had clearly already taken effect. His coat shined and Remus could no longer see his bones.

Remus pressed his thumb against his sternum where he knew his Gyfu rune rests. It hummed, extending a piece of magic to its twin rune on Sirius’ chest. The magic swirled around the pair, spiraling and dancing. The connection, which had been nearly dead for three months, was light and bubbling. They had gotten it the day of their wedding; a physical manifestation of their love. The health of the bond made Remus relax. He beckoned his husband closer.

Harry was well into his tantrum when Remus looked down at him with a raised eyebrow. He cradled his small head to stop it from hitting the carpet as the boy flailed.

Remus was no good at stopping tantrums. His best bet was a surprise. “Harry, do you want to see your uncle?” The question prompted no response, except for maybe a slight increase in volume.

Sirius saved Remus from a second attempt by bounding across the room and poking his cold nose into Harry’s chubby cheek. The feeling shocked Harry into silence, and he gazed up at Sirius for a moment. Then, he gasped and threw his little arms around the animagus’ neck. “PADDY!”

Padfoot wiggled in delight, swiping his tongue across Harry’s curly hair. It stuck straight up and the child squeaked, pressing his palms to his head. He looked up at Remus, pointing at the dog. “Rem, Paddy!”

Remus smiled and settles beside the two on the carpet. “That’s right, Harry,” he said. “It’s Padfoot. He’s going to stay with us.” Harry giggled as Sirius licked him again across the head.

The two rolled across the carpet, playing a game very familiar to them both.

Remus could remember watching the same scene a thousand times over in the Potter’s cottage in Godric’s Hollow. Remus, James and Lily used to throw the two together to tire each other out while the real adults could rest. Sirius would play little games with Harry as Padfoot for hours. Harry brought out a gentle side of Sirius that Remus had never seen before. It used to make him wish they had a child of their own.

It seemed he got his wish.

-

It didn't take their little family long to fall into a rhythm. Remus usually rose first. He took a moment in the mornings to meditate, keeping his magical core settled and his wolf calm. Then, when Harry and Sirius woke up, they would eat breakfast, before going outside to walk the perimeter of the nemeton. Remus checked each ancient ward stone for irregularities carefully. Of course, there never were any.

In the afternoons, they usually played outside. Sirius loved to carry Harry on his back, so they ran, playing games as Remus tends to his potions garden. The valley’s ancient druid magic meant that the land was always warm and mild, so even as the winter wind howled outside their protective bubble, Harry could splash about in the stream. Remus introduced him to the small creatures that live in riverbanks, feeling a bit like his father.

In the evenings, they usually curled together as Remus read to Harry. His favorite seemed to be Matilda, the story of a young witch growing up in a muggle household before getting sent to Hogwarts. Remus was sure he didn't understand a word of the book, but he seemed to like the voices he makes up for the characters.

Every night, after putting Harry to bed, Remus and Sirius made their way outside. Remus spoke magic into the air and carved runes into stones before casting them into Danu’s stream.

Magic may have been dying outside of the bounds of the valley, but Remus and Sirius knew how to pay proper respect to the gods. Together, the two renewed what magic they had used up during the day, sending it back into the earth. Then, they too went to bed.

The new routine was… nice. Domestic in a way that Remus had never experienced. No more war, no job—with the Black inheritance more than paying their dues—and no more constant fear. Even the haze of grief settled over Remus’ shoulders seemed less heavy. Being in the valley again made him feel cleaner than he was in London. The artificial, saccharine feeling of the magic in the city had grated on him more than he realized.

With dark magic outlawed in Britain, the natural cycle of magic was all but destroyed. Light magic—magic that creates, pulling from the earth to fill the air—without dark magic—magic that decays, returning energy to the ground—clogged the air and drained the earth until nothing left remained. Without both sides of the cycle, the magic in the air hung about like smog for a while before dispersing into the clouds and beyond, lost forever.

The rich, vibrant and balanced cycle of magic within the valley was exactly what Remus, Sirius and Harry needed. It soothed Remus’ magic, eased the aches Azkaban left in Sirius’ bones, and encouraged Harry to heal and grow out of the damage he experienced under the “care” of those horrible muggles.

One evening, when Remus was settled on the cabin porch as Harry naps inside, their rag-tag family made another step in healing

Remus was leaning against his cane, gazing absentmindedly at the grove as he recovered from the first full moon of the spring season, when he heard footsteps behind him. He whipped around, confused as he searched for the source of the noise. He didn't smell anything amiss, and didn’t hear the floo, so who-

Oh.

Oh my god.

The front door to the cabin opened, and Sirius stepped out. Tall, handsome, human, Sirius. He was smiling, and Remus felt bolted to the floor.

How could he have forgotten how beautiful his husband is?

Seeing him brought back a thousand memories. The way Sirius and Remus danced around each other until sixth year, when James locked them in a closet because they were both “both trapped in the closet anyway, you stupid berks,” and waited until they figured themselves out. Every time they said I love you to each other, loudly, obnoxiously, in the halls, in lectures, on the train, at home, and in one memorable moment, in front of Walburga. Remus had missed it, had missed him, more than he could bear.

His hair was longer than Remus remembered and he was looking distinctly scruffy from five months of no shaving, but his smile was bright, and his eyes were glittering. He was filled out from the months of nutrition potions, and Remus looked helplessly at him. Sirius laughed. “Hey Moony. Miss me?”

Remus crumbled. His cane slammed into the floor as he fell into his husband’s arms. “You arsehole, leaving me like that.” He shook, pressing his tears into Sirius’ neck. “Never do that to me again,” he pulled back to look him in the eyes. Sirius was crying too. “You hear me? Never again.”

“Never,” Sirius whispered. “Promise.”

Remus smiled wetly, and said, “I missed you.” He laughed, continuing, “You’re going to change so many nappies now that you’re back.”

Sirius grinned back at him. “I’m looking forward to it. And Remus,” he grew somber for a moment, “thank you for getting me out of there.”

There was never any question of whether or not Remus would save him. He'd go anywhere for Sirius. “Of course. I love you, Pads.”

“I love you too.” Sirius brightened, grinning excitedly. “Now, let’s go parent the shit out of our godson.”

Chapter Text

“I can’t believe he’s really starting school tomorrow,” Sirius said, his voice soft, as he folded a stack of Harry’s clothes. "Seems like just yesterday he was a baby, barely walking, and now he's talking about friends and reading books on his own."

Remus paused, leaning against the doorframe, watching his husband. He ran a hand through his hair. "He’s more than ready for it.” They both glanced at Harry through the sitting room window.

He was crouched down outside, talking animatedly to a small cluster of bowtruckles. They were all clearly enamored with the small boy—swaying towards him with their little twig-like limbs. His words pulled them closer, filled with the raw, uncontained magic of a very powerful child.

He was going to be a formidable wizard. They could already tell.

Sirius’ eyes drifted to the small backpack sitting on the sitting room chair, its bright colors out of place in the soft browns and greens of the room. "He’s going to terrorize Molly." He laughed softly, shaking his head. "I’m just not ready to let go. It feels like we blinked, and he’s already grown up."

Remus stepped forward, wrapping his arms around him. "It’s not letting go," he said quietly. “We both know his world needs to be bigger than just us, Siri. He’s going to make friends his own age.” He smiled. He’d heard what the Weasley twins liked to get up to, and he couldn't imagine the other brothers were any less rowdy. If Harry could keep up with Sirius’ antics, Remus was sure that he’d run circles around the Weasley children.

Reluctantly, he let go, stepping back to head toward the kitchen. “Remind me to thank Albus for setting this homeschooling arraignment up. I really didn’t want to deal explaining away Harry’s… peculiarities to a muggle primary school.”

Sirius set the laundry down with a soft chuckle, grinning as he followed Remus with his eyes. “Let us know when dinner is ready, Rem. I’m going to see if Harry wants to catch clabberts by the river.”

From the kitchen, Remus called back, “You’re a child, Sirius.”

Sirius yelled back with a laugh, “You married me!” before bounding out the front door.

Remus rolled his eyes, muttering to himself, “Arsehole.”

-

The next morning, Harry woke the pair buzzing with excitement. “Uncle Moony, Uncle Padfoot, wake up! It’s school time.” The thought seemed positively novel to the small child.

Sirius groaned, rolling over. “Harry, love, it’s four in the morning. School doesn’t start until nine.”

Remus blinked blearily at his husband, not processing as Harry wormed his way under the covers between his uncles. The child was unrepentant, replying with a deadpan “That’s right, Padfoot,” before attempting to yank the blankets off the bed.

Unfortunately for Harry, he only weighed three stone, far too little to do any real damage to the covers. He yanked to no avail before Sirius decided to take mercy on the boy.

“Alright, we’re up,” He said with a yawn, reaching over to ruffle Harry’s hair. “Give Remus a second and run to the kitchen. We’ll be out soon.”

The boy nodded solemnly and ran towards the kitchen without a second glance.

Remus and Sirius were left, sleep-mussed and bleary, staring at each other. Sirius gave his husband a crooked smile, then said “Remember, we’re going to miss this, Rem.”

Remus groaned, burying his face in his pillow. “Not sure about that,” he muttered, his voice muffled. “Four in the morning...”

The two entered the kitchen to see Harry attempting to float up to reach the kitchen counter. The sight was an unfortunately common occurrence in the cabin, and Remus sighed. He was beside the child in two strides, plucking him out of the air with a practiced ease and tucking him under his arm.

Harry grinned up at him unapologetically. The smile, so like James’, softened Remus’s attempt at a scolding look. He was growing into James’ looks more and more every day. Between the chaotic curls on his head, his scraped-up knees, and the dimple on his right cheek, the two were nearly identical.

“No magic without me or Sirius around, Harry. We’ve talked about this.” Remus’ words conflicted with his soft tone. He never quite learned how to be strict with the child.

Harry giggled at him. “But Moony, I was flying.”

Sirius sidled up next to them, plucking Harry out of Remus’s arms and swooshing him through the air with a dramatic flourish. “No more flying without us, pup.” He waved a hand at his shoes, and they start to hover above the ground. “It’s better together anyway, right?”

Harry shrieked and laughed more, spreading his arms as they floated. Remus shook his head at the pair of them, turning back towards the counter.

Four in the morning breakfast it is, then.

-

When Remus set the final dish from breakfast in the sink, it was already eight forty-five. Harry had gone from excited to nervous within the span of the hour and was a shadow at Remus’ leg. He crouched down, smoothing back Harry’s wild curls to look him in the eyes.

“You’re going to have so much fun, pup.” He stooped to tie Harry’s sneakers and straightened, smiling. “We’ll be late if we don’t hurry, though.”

Remus scanned the room for Sirius, and called, “Siri, do you have your face on? We’ve got to go.”

Sirius popped out from their bedroom, complete with sandy blond hair and hazel eyes. Glamours worked wonders for men in hiding. “All ready,” he said, grinning. He did a little twirl to let Remus and Harry see his disguise. “Do you both like?”

Harry looked up at Sirius solemnly, nodding. “You look like a spy, Padfoot.”

Sirius laughed, sweeping into a dramatic bow. “Orion Lupin, at your service.”

Remus studied the glamours with a thoughtful frown, then nodded as well. “You look sufficiently unlike yourself. I’m sure it’ll be enough to convince Molly and Arthur.” He reached for Harry’s backpack on the sofa, slinging it over one shoulder, then extended both hands toward the pair. “Ready to go?”

Harry clasped his hand tightly, his little face set with determination. Sirius grinned and took his other hand, squeezing it gently.

Remus took a steadying breath, his chest tight with a mixture of nerves and anticipation. With one last glance around the cabin, he concentrated, then—pop—they vanished in a rush of air.

-

They reappeared in the front garden of The Burrow, and Remus was immediately hit by the sight of what may have been the strangest magical house he had ever had the pleasure of seeing. Seemingly held up by pure magic, the large, crooked house swayed as if to greet them. It was positively exploding with noise—the clattering of pots in the kitchen, the shrill peal of children’s laughter, the thunderous patter of feet racing up and down the stairs, and the constant hum of overlapping voices. Remus loved it immediately.

The Burrow was brimming with life and joy. It contrasted nicely with the serenity of the valley. It would be a good place for Harry, Remus thought, watching the boy stare up at the house with wide, curious eyes. The valley had been perfect for their family, but it was also quiet; a little too still. Those days, Harry bursted with energy. Remus and Sirius could hardly keep up.

As they approached the door, Remus hoped that homeschooling with Molly and the magical children around Ottery St. Catchpole would be enough for Harry to find friends. He needed them.

He raised his fist and knocked on the door. Inside, he could hear the chatter in the sitting room quiet slightly, before a slightly haggard-looking Arthur Weasley opened the door with a smile.

“Hello, Remus! We’ve been very ex—”

His voice faded into the background of Remus’ mind as he inhaled. The comforting, earthy scents of the Burrow, the layers of magic, wool, and herbs hit his nose, but so did something else. Something… familiar. Remus’ breath caught. His heart faltered in his chest. He knew that scent.

Wormtail.

The world shifted, greying out at the edges. His heartbeat slowed, each pulse thudding painfully in his ears as his gaze sharpened. The next words out of his mouth felt as though they were coming from far away.

“Sirius, take Harry and go. It’s Peter.”

He didn't wait to see if Sirius understood. He didn't think about the fact that he had just called his husband by his real name in front of Arthur, or about how strange he must have looked, silently stalking past him into his house.

His mind was consumed by the scent. The one he and Sirius had spent years searching for, chasing shadows and false leads. They had started looking for Peter soon after Harry turned two, but the trail had always gone cold. Now, it all clicked into place. The rat had been hiding in one place the whole time. And now, Remus was going to kill him.

He felt his teeth sharpen slightly, forcing his jaws slightly apart. At any other moment, the feeling would worry Remus. The wolf never emerges outside of the full moon. Now, however, he hardly noticed. He was only concerned with protecting his child. Nothing else mattered.

The scent led him into the sitting room of The Burrow. Remus’ slitted eyes landed on the rat immediately.

Peter.

The fucking traitor.

The sight of him—sleeping, healthy, and disturbingly fat—nearly made Remus choke on his rage. He clenched his fists, his breath shallow, but the spell was already leaving his mouth, instinct guiding him through the haze of fury.

“Revertere humano.”

There he was. Peter, in his fat, cowardly, ugly, human form. The hate Remus had been harboring for the man nearly strangled him.

The wolf side of him wanted to sink his teeth into his quivering throat. The human side had him raising his wand, the killing curse on the tip of his tongue.

His hand was steady as he incanted “Avad—”

“Stupefy!”

The spell cut through the room like a whip. Remus felt the energy of the spell before he heard it—then came the harsh crack of Molly’s voice, the fury behind her words. He didn't have time to react before a jet of bright red light streaked past him, striking Peter squarely in the chest.

For a moment, the world went still.

Then, Pettigrew, who had been standing stalk-still, crumpled. His body hit the floor with a dull thump.

Remus’ ears rang. His wand, still extended, felt heavy in his hand. The flames of fury licking up Remus’ throat didn't abate, but his brain seemed to come back online. The spell he had been about to cast felt distant, a shadow of a thing he had almost allowed to consume him.

His eyes flickered to Molly, whose breaths were coming in ragged gasps. She was staring down at Peter’s unconscious form with a type of cold rage that Remus was becoming quite familiar with.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then, in a voice thick with emotion, Remus finally whispered, “He’s mine, Molly. He was mine.”

Molly’s eyes softened, but only just. “Not today, Remus. Not like this.” Her voice was firm, but there was a tremor beneath it that betrayed the depth of her own fury.

A cough came from behind them both. Arthur was standing by the door, his eyes wide. “Right, well… we should get in touch with the DMLE. And probably Albus. They’ll want to hear about this.”

They all took a moment to stare at Peter again. Then, snapping out of his stupor, Remus casted a quick incarcerous before burning an Algiz rune on the ropes to ensure that the traitor couldn't escape, even in his animagus form.

He took a deep breath, staring at the man he used to call one of his closest friends. He let the taste of the Killing Curse, so foul on his tongue, dissolve in his mouth. It didn't feel like forgiveness, but it was enough to let him step back from the man’s body without sinking his teeth into his throat.

Remus straightened, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Quite right, Arthur. Sorry to cause such a stir on the first day of school.”

Molly let out a faint laugh.

Chapter Text

Within the hour, The Burrow was crawling with Aurors. Their presence was a stark disruption to the home’s usual warmth and bustle. The clatter of boots against wooden floors and the low murmur of hushed conversations filled the rooms, replacing the familiar sounds of laughter and chatter.

The once homely place was overrun by strangers combing every corner of the house for any trace of Peter Pettigrew. No stone was left unturned. Auror after Auror investigated room after room, their steps purposeful, their voices clipped and businesslike.

Pettigrew was long gone, surely carted off to the Ministry holding cells until he could be properly questioned.

Remus sat back on the Weasley’s sofa, taking in the chaos. Molly was settled next to him, talking quietly with Alastor Moody, who had been the first Auror to arrive.

“I’ve already told you, Alastor,” Molly said, her voice tight. “Percy found Scabbers years ago. Arthur and I had no idea. We didn’t know he was an Animagus.” Her face hardened with disgust, her eyes flashing. “A despicable man,” she added, her voice low and full of venom. “Sleeping in the same bedroom as my child... It’s unforgivable.”

Moody’s face remained unreadable, but his magical eye locked on her with an intensity that felt almost accusatory. His voice, when it came, was rough and final, carrying the weight of authority that brooks no argument.

“He’ll never walk free again,” he said gruffly. “Not if Albus and I have anything to say about it. He can’t hurt your family any longer.”

The promise rang in the air like a spell, and for a moment, something loosened in Remus’ chest. It felt a bit like… hope.

Hope that Lily and James would finally get justice. Hope that his husband would walk free. Hope that, after everything, things would be okay.

He rubbed his face roughly with one hand, trying to chase away the sudden surge of emotion.  When he spoke, his voice was sharp and raw. “And what about Sirius?” he asked, voice thick, eyes burning with the question. “You know what happened that night, Alastor,” he continued, clenching his fists. “You know who betrayed them. You know it wasn’t Sirius. He didn’t do it.”

For a moment, desperation tinged his words. “The Ministry will sweep this all under the rug if they can.” The thought made him tired. Sirius had hidden from the Ministry for years, wearing disguises, brewing Polyjuice, and telling so many lies. It was an unsustainable burden. “Don’t let them. Don’t let them hunt my husband forever.”

The old Auror’s one good eye flickered with a flash of understanding. Moody’s gaze shifted from Molly to Remus, his expression softer.

“You’re not the only one waiting for that, Remus,” Moody said, his voice low. “I’ve made it my business to make sure Peter never sees the light of day again. But you’re right. We can’t let Sirius be hunted forever—not for something he didn’t do.” His jaw tightened. “I’ll make sure he gets a fair hearing. If it takes everything I’ve got, I’ll see him declared innocent. He’s been paying for Peter’s crimes long enough.”

Remus felt a breath he didn’t know he was holding leave him in a rush.

Moody met his eyes then, the gravity of his words settling between them like a bond, unspoken but understood. “You have my word.”

It wasn't a promise of freedom, not yet. But it was the closest thing Remus had heard in a long, long time.

-

When Remus returned to the cabin, Sirius was preparing lunch for Harry. He stood in the doorway for a moment, watching his husband in the kitchen. His hands were steady, his movements fluid as he chopped broccoli and fetched ingredients to make Harry a sandwich.

Remus was struck by how... normal it all seemed. Sirius should have been seething. He should have been caught up in the whirlwind of emotions—anger, disbelief, joy, relief. But instead, there was an unnerving calmness to him. When he saw Remus enter, he smiled at him, waving him towards his kitchen chair.

“Remus, welcome back.” His grin grew larger as he gestured towards the kitchen table. Harry was already there, patiently waiting. He shimmied in his chair, his little legs swinging back and forth. “Lunch?” Sirius asked.

Remus smiled unsurely back. “Thanks, Padfoot.” Sirius set down his plate hard enough that it rattled, then sat across from him, still showing his teeth.

“So,” he said brightly, “can you believe it?” His voice was loud in the quiet room. “All these years... living in plain sight. In the Weasley house, of all places.”

Remus didn't know what to make of it. His brow furrowed, the oddness of the situation settling heavily on him. He knew Sirius. They’d both carried that same burden for too long—the loss, the betrayal, the years of pain and secrets. Peter’s sudden reappearance should have ignited fury in Sirius’s veins. It should have.

But instead, he just... laughed. A short, sharp bark of a sound that didn't quite reach his eyes. Sirius stared at him for a moment, and then the laugh came again, a little higher than before.

“Isn’t it funny, Remus?” His eyes were wide. Remus was pretty sure he hadn't blinked. “All this time, and he was living as a pet.” Harry watched the exchange silently, his head swinging between his two uncles.

Remus exhaled quietly, his gaze flicking to Harry. He knew what it looked like when Sirius was on the edge, and Harry didn't need to get caught in the crossfire. “Harry, love, would you please go to your room? Sirius and I need to have a chat.”

Harry frowned. “But—”

“Now, please. You can take your sandwich with you.”

The child pouted, his expression dropping into a familiar sulk, but he didn't argue further. He slumped down from his chair, dragging his feet as he shuffled out of the kitchen with his plate in hand.

The moment the door creaked closed behind him Remus turned back to Sirius. His husband was still grinning, his sharp teeth glinting. “He’s in Ministry custody now. He can’t get to us or Harry.” Remus said quietly. “You don’t need to worry anymore.”

The words were meant to be a balm, but they didn't land the way Remus expected. The grin dropped from Sirius’s face with alarming speed. Sirius’s eyes darkened, his expression hardening into something sharp.

“I’m not worried. I’m not scared of that bloody bastard.” Sirius snarled.

Remus let out a long sigh, the sound heavy and worn with exhaustion. His hand ran through his hair, fingers tugging at the dark strands. He should have known better than to expect this to be easy. Peter had been a sore spot for them both for years. And Sirius—Sirius is Sirius. Always fighting, always pushing, never backing down. He’d always been too attached to his ‘Gryffindor courage’ to think rationally.

“Well, I’m terrified, Sirius. I’m scared he’ll escape and I’m afraid they’ll just sweep everything under the rug, so they don’t have to admit that they wrongly arrested the heir to the Black fortune.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, and looked tiredly at his husband.

“I just want to give Harry a normal childhood. He doesn’t need one of his fathers to be a wanted criminal.”

The words landed heavy between them. For a long moment, Sirius was silent, his chest rising and falling with measured breaths. Then, the hardness in his face cracked—just slightly—and his expression softened, showing a flicker of helplessness buried under all the anger.

“Peter killed James and Lily,” Sirius said, his voice low, as though he was forcing the words out. He rubbed the back of his neck with a tense hand. “He destroyed Harry’s life. It’s all I thought about in Azkaban. Every. Single. Day.” His voice caught, and for a moment, the fight drained out of him.

“I shouldn’t have gone after him, that night.” Sirius whispered, so softly that Remus had to lean in to catch it. “I should’ve let him go, let the Ministry handle it. But no, I... I had to be the hero. I had to do it myself.” His voice faltered, cracking under the weight of a guilt that had been festering for years. “And here he is, caught after all these years. I didn’t even have to do anything. He didn’t need me to chase him.”

“Padfoot,” Remus began softly, his voice low and steady, “what’s been done is done. What matters is that you’re here, now. Harry is safe, Peter is arrested, and—” Remus’ voice caught, his tone lifting in excitement, “when Peter is put on trial, when the truth is finally out, you’ll be declared innocent.”

Sirius blinked, his dark eyes clearing, and he let out a breath that could be something like a chuckle, though it was laced with doubt. “Innocent,” he repeated softly, as though tasting the word. Then, he snorted bitterly. “If the Ministry can manage to do their bloody job right.”

“They will.” Remus said, firmly. “I’ve already spoken with Alastor, and between him and Albus, we’ll have enough influence to force them to hold a trial.”

Sirius’s lips twitched into a half-smile, but it was faint, like a candle trying to stay alight in a gust of wind. “I want to believe that,” he murmured. “I do. But after everything… you know how they work. How they always find a way to twist it, to cover their own arses.”

“Not this time, Pads. I’m sure of it”

-

Remus didn't hear anything about Peter’s case for weeks. Then, one afternoon while sitting out on the patio, Remus received news in the form of a plain-looking letter. It read:

Ministry of Magic
Office of the Head of Law Enforcement
6th of May 1987

Dear Mr. Remus J. Lupin,

I am writing to you on behalf of the Ministry of Magic and the Department of Magical Law Enforcement regarding the case of your husband, Mr. Sirius Orion Black.

After an extensive review of the facts and following new developments that have come to light, we deeply regret to inform you that we must acknowledge a grave error made during the investigation and conviction of Mr. Black. The Ministry, in its rush to respond to public demand and political pressures, failed to conduct a thorough investigation and relied on inaccurate evidence that led to his wrongful conviction and imprisonment.

As of May 6th, 1987, Mr. Sirius Orion Black has been formally cleared of all charges previously levied against him by the British Ministry of Magic.

It is with the deepest regret that we acknowledge the significant harm caused by this miscarriage of justice, not only to Mr. Black but to you, his family, and the many others who have been affected by this injustice. In light of this, we have taken immediate steps to correct the records. Mr. Sirius Orion Black has now been formally exonerated of all charges, and we extend our sincerest apologies for the pain, suffering, and years of injustice he endured.

Additionally, as part of the Ministry’s effort to support Mr. Black in his recovery, he has been awarded a monetary sum in recognition of the hardship he faced. Further, we are pleased to offer Mr. Black access to the finest available care, including treatment from a leading Mind Healer at St. Mungo’s Hospital, to aid in his emotional and psychological recovery from his time in incarceration. This service is, of course, offered free of charge.

We fully recognize that no apology, nor any compensation, can undo the suffering Mr. Black and those who love him have experienced. However, it is our sincerest hope that this gesture, along with our commitment to ensuring such an error will not be repeated, can begin to restore some measure of the trust that has been lost.

The Ministry deeply regrets its past actions and the damage they have caused, and we will take every possible step to ensure that such a miscarriage of justice is not allowed to occur again.

Yours faithfully,

Amelia Bones
Head of Department of Magical Law Enforcement
Ministry of Magic

Remus lowered the letter in disbelief. For a moment, he just stared at its plain exterior, disbelieving. Then, he jumped up, a smile exploding across his face. He laughed, yelling, “Sirius, Harry,” his voice rang out, uncontainable, “a letter came for us!”

Sirius emerged from inside the cabin with Harry at his heels, looking curious. The instant they saw Remus’s expression—a mix of disbelief and triumph—Sirius’s face stilled with something like hopeful recognition.

Before Remus could react, he bounded forward and snatched the letter from his loose grip. Sirius’ eyes moved quickly, reading the first few lines.

“New developments, grave error… oh my gods, Remus,” Sirius looked up, joy blooming on his face, “I’m free.”

In the next heartbeat, he was laughing. He stooped to sweep Harry off his feet, swinging him in a wide circle before crushing him and Remus in a hug. “We’re free, Prongslet!”

Harry giggled in the face of Sirius’ excitement, swept away by the pure, radiant joy on Sirius’ face. Remus stood still in the hug for a moment, before tucking his face into his husband’s neck.

“We’re free,” he murmured back, and smiled into Sirius’ skin.

Chapter Text

Parenthood was an alien concept to Sirius. It sat on his shoulders like an ill-fitting coat—too tight in some places, too loose in others. He could barely imagine what a father was supposed to be like.

Was Orion—a man Sirius remembered only through the cold bite of a cane—a real example of a parental figure? Fleamont Potter was certainly an amazing dad, but becoming someone with his temperament seemed almost unachievable. Fleamont and Euphemia dragged Sirius, beaten and bloody, back from the brink of death and into their home. They were patient, kind, and understanding, even as Sirius lashed out, stole food, and spit venom at anyone unlucky enough to be around when he was low. When he yelled, they spoke calmly. They were steady as he fell apart, and he clung to them like a lifeline. He didn’t think he’d ever be able to offer that level of patience.  

Even after years of raising Harry, Sirius still felt out of his element. One moment, Harry and he would be playing peacefully in the gardens. The next, Harry’s dark curls would lengthen and smooth, and Sirius would be looking down at Regulus, who was teary-eyed because Walburga had struck him with a trowel. The images assaulted him erratically and violently. They were vivid; each memory sharp and clear from the months spent in Azkaban when he could think of nothing else. 

Sirius sometimes even caught himself talking like his parents. Once, after a particularly long night, he snapped at Harry to “act like a proper wizard,” after the child had spilled juice down his new robes. He could feel his mother in his words, her sharp nails digging deep ruts into his brain. 

Harry hadn’t been phased, just blinking at him in confusion for a moment before Remus spelled the stain away. After, Harry had smiled at him and said, “It’s ok, Uncle Sirius, see?” He smoothed his hands over his dry clothes, clearly trying to soothe his uncle.

All Sirius could do was shoot Harry a weak smile and agree. Remus pressed a palm against Sirius’ arm calmly, looking at him steadily for a moment, before turning back to their son. 

Fatherhood looked right, somehow, on Remus. It softened him. He was gentler, now. His jagged edges, sharpened during the war, were smoothed down like sea glass.

Sirius blinked, and the memory faded into the soft, neutral tones of the mind healer’s office. He looked helplessly at the woman seated across from him, settled in her chair with her legs crossed and a clipboard balanced on one knee. He liked her—more than he’d expected to.

Healer Iona Pennifold didn’t coo or coddle. She never flinched when he talked about Azkaban or the war, about what it felt like to lose everyone and survive anyway. She didn’t pity him or try to offer useless platitudes. She simply listened, her gaze steady, her presence solid.

“He’s just so much better at it than me,” Sirius said, the words almost catching in his throat. "At being a parent."

Saying it aloud was harder than he thought. Even after two months of bi-weekly sessions, mind-healing still felt like dragging himself over glass. Some days were easier than others; on those, he could talk, even joke. Other times, the sessions passed in heavy silence. But Iona never pushed. She just waited, looking at him knowingly.

He started again, bracing himself. “Ever since… you know—” he coughed, the word sticking like ash in his throat. Coward, coward, coward, his mind hissed. “Ever since Azkaban, I feel like I’m not fully there for him. For anyone.”

The words were brittle, but they were out.

Sirius exhaled sharply, continuing. “It just feels like a piece of me never escaped, I guess.” He smiled weakly at Iona. She didn’t smile back. She never let him turn anything into a joke. It made Sirius crazy.

She was quiet for a long moment. Then she said gently, “What you're describing is common for survivors of long-term trauma. That sense of being... incomplete. Disconnected.”

Her voice was even, clinical but not cold. She glanced toward the corner of the room, where the Pensieve sat—its surface swirling faintly, deceptively peaceful.

“I think we may be approaching a point where going back—safely—and revisiting some of those memories might help,” she said. “Not to relive them. But to witness them with the mind you have now. To make sense of them in a way you couldn’t then.”

Sirius followed her gaze. The Pensieve pulsed softly, innocent and terrible.

“You don’t have to decide today,” Iona said. “But avoiding the past doesn’t make it disappear. If you don’t look at it on your own terms, it’ll keep showing up on its own.”

-

Sirius returned to the cabin that evening feeling worn down. When he entered, he paused, leaning quietly against the doorway, gazing at the scene unfolding there. The golden light of the setting sun spilled through the windows, washing the sitting room in warmth and casting long, soft-edged shadows across the wooden floor. In the center of it all, nestled together, were Remus and Harry.

They were completely absorbed in a novel, their heads bent close.

Remus looked ethereal; his hair caught the sun and turned it a shining gold. The scars stretching across his face seemed to shimmer. His face was adoring as he looked down at Harry, patiently listening to him read.

After a moment, Remus inhaled and glanced up, sensing Sirius’ presence almost immediately. Their eyes met, and Remus smiled—soft and familiar.

Sirius’ chest unwound, the weight of the session falling from his shoulders. He moved deeper into the room, settling next to the Harry on the sofa. He nudged the boy, making him look up from his novel.

“Hey, kid, I got you something,” he said. He reached into the pocket of his coat and pulled out a small orb, no larger than a snitch. It shimmered faintly in the afternoon light, the glass smooth, filled with a roiling mist of smoky grey that twisted and curled like it had a mind of its own.

Harry’s eyes widened with curiosity as he took it, turning it over in his hands. The orb was cool to the touch, almost unnaturally so, and the smoke within responded to his movements, coiling in tight spirals when he held it still, then stretching lazily as he rolled it between his palms.

“Happy birthday, Harry.”

Harry grinned, poking at it. “What is it?” he asked, watching the smoke swirl within the orb.

Sirius looked at the orb, feeling wistful. He remembered his seventh birthday, when he received the same gift. Him and Regulus used to call that day the beginning of the end; the last day that Sirius was a real part of the Black family. He could still remember the chill of the glass in his hands as the soft grey mist inside had flared into searing orange flame.

“It’s called a soul stone,” Sirius answered. “Witches and wizards get them on their seventh birthdays, when their magical cores have matured enough.”

Harry examined at the trinket with renewed interest. It really was an unassuming thing, for all the damage it had done to Sirius’ life. Barely larger than a snitch, it sat in Harry’s palm, grey mist swirling lazily.

Remus, a far better teacher than Sirius, interjected. “Harry, do know how magical people got magic?”

Harry nodded solemnly. “We were blessed by Danu,” he said confidently.

“That’s right,” Remus smiled. “And Danu is a deity of the earth, remember?” Harry nodded again.

“Well,” Remus continued, “our magic is tied to Danu’s connection to the earth. Each of us has a magical core that reflects one of its four elements.”

He waved his wand, and four identical soul stones appeared, floating in the air. Except, they weren’t filled with grey mist. The first appeared to contain tiny, delicate roots and vines. They twisted and weaved through the stone, slowly growing and changing.

The second stone was swirling and bubbling with clear, flowing water. It reflected the light of the room, glittering and sending patterns dancing across the walls. The third stone shone bright with tiny, roaring flames. Embers flickered brightly in its core, glowing red. The final stone contained a vortex of air, vibrating and quietly whistling as it twirled.  

“The four elements: earth, water, fire, and air.” Remus said softly. “Sirius and I both have fire-based cores, the same as your mum and dad.”

Harry’s eyes widened as he gazed at the stones, a mix of awe and hope shining in his expression. “Will I have a core like you guys, too?” he asked, his voice tinged with longing. Sirius’s heart tightened, recognizing the same eager hope he had felt when he was Harry’s age—before he learned the truth about his own core.

 “Magical core elements tend to run in families, yes,” Remus answered. “But that’s not always the case. Your uncle Sirius, for example, has a different magical core than everyone in his immediate family.”

Sirius offered a tight smile. The House of Black was notorious for its linage of water-based magical cores. Any child born with a different affinity was said to be a bastard. After Sirius' seventh birthday, that's what he was: an invader in his own home. A marauder. 

Remus ruffled Harry’s messy curls.

“Your magic is just like any other of your physical traits. It has nothing to do with the way you act, or what you believe. It’s something that you’re born with, like your hair.”

Sirius chuckled, his mood lightening as he added, “It’s how you get sorted at Hogwarts, too. The sorting hat is a bit like a talking soul stone. It can sense your core element. Fire for Gryffindor, water for Slytherin, earth for Hufflepuff, and air for Ravenclaw.”

Remus nodded. “The founders sorted students that way because different magical cores tend to react differently to certain spells. It’s easier to teach a group of students if they all have the same core element.”

Harry looked down at his soul stone, the swirling mist suddenly seeming far more significant. “How do you make it pick a core?” he asked.

Sirius grinned.

-

“Sirius,” Remus muttered, “are you sure that this is a good idea? We could just do the ritual inside like literally everyone else does.”

Sirius rolled his eyes, hefting Harry up higher on his back as they marched deeper into the valley, toward the circle of ancient druid stones nestled in its heart. “We live in a nemeton, Remus. The holy grounds here basically eat rituals for breakfast. Think about how good this could be for Harry’s magic.”

Remus glanced around warily. The grass underfoot shimmered faintly, and the trees stood unnaturally still—watching. Sirius got the strange impression that they were excited. “I am thinking. That’s exactly why I suggested we not do it in the middle of the most magically charged place in Britain.”

“I’m sorry,” Sirius said dryly, “did we or did we not just spend an hour explaining how magical cores are connected to the earth and elements and Danu and the whole bloody foundation of wizardkind?”

Remus sighed, rubbing his forehead. “We did. I just didn’t think you were going to go all ancient Druid priest of the old ways about it.”

Sirius laughed and dipped his head in a mock-bow. “That’s me, Heir Black, connoisseur of the old ways.”

As they walked farther from the cabin, the air seemed to get thicker. The valley was so ripe with magic, it made Sirius want to inhale deeply and hold the magic inside him until his lungs burned.

From Sirius’ back, Harry laughed suddenly, holding his hands out for the fairies who tugged at his curly hair and danced on his palms. Magical creatures were always drawn to Harry. It made Sirius think of a saying Professor Kettleburn used to say: “You can’t trick a unicorn or tame a thestral. But if your soul’s clean enough, they might just let you walk beside them.”

Sirius didn’t have a pure soul. Hell, neither did Remus. They were too tainted by the war; their hands bathed in a red that’ll never wash off. Harry was different. He was kind to a fault and smart as a whip. He got all the best parts of Remus and Sirius, and some things that Sirius swore came straight from James and Lily.

He tapped Sirius on the head with the hand that wasn’t being used as a cushion for a fairy. “Are we almost there?” he asked. Unlike Remus, he clearly wasn’t nervous at all.

“Just up ahead,” Siris responded. He could hear the low hum of magic, growing louder.

The trees thinned, their moss-covered trunks parting like a curtain until the trio stepped into the clearing—the heart of the nemeton.

A perfect circle of open land lay ahead, rimmed with ancient boundary stones etched in runes too old to name. The fairies who’d followed them through the woods stopped at the treeline, hovering uncertainly before retreating into the shadows. Nothing living crossed into this place without purpose.

As Sirius stepped over the boundary stones circling the clearing, the hum of magic grew louder, reaching a peak before cutting off completely.  Next to him, Remus inhaled deeply. He closed his eyes and tipped his head back, the silver crescent moon bathing his face in pale light. When he opened his eyes again, they were tinted gold.

Sirius smirked, waving at Moony cheerily. Sirius was glad that Remus and his wolf had finally made peace with each other; Moony was an expert in navigating the wild magic so abundant in the valley.

Remus rolled his eyes, still present tucked beside the wolf, before gesturing at Sirius to hurry.

Sirius gently set Harry on the ground, peering at the ancient ritual circle. All that grew in the clearing were sprigs of dittany and soft grass that waved gently, despite the lack of wind. At its center, the grass curled inward, spiraling toward a single point where the earth glowed faintly beneath the surface—as though something deep below was pulsing with power. Harry walked slowly toward the heart of the spiral. His hair lifted slightly, drifting around his face as if gravity itself was beginning to fail.

Sirius knelt at the northern arc of the circle. He pressed his wand into the dirt and carved glowing runes into the ground, one at each cardinal direction. To the north, he etched fire—a dancing flame rendered in one smooth, curling stroke. To the east, air—a spiral tight as a whirlpool. Southward, he drew water—a flowing wave cresting into itself. And to the west, earth—a bold, sharp diamond grounded in steady lines.

Next, Remus joined Harry to outline a final rune above his head—the rune of soul. It glowed faintly, a shimmering silver in the moonlight like a halo above his head. He handed Harry four objects: a piece of coal, an eagle’s feather, a small vial of water, and a stone.

“Place each one on the matching rune,” Remus instructed. “Speak the name of the element as you do. And after—" he drew a final object out from his pocket, “—hold the soul stone to your heart. Your uncle and I will do the rest.”

Harry glanced up at him, uncertain for a moment, before nodding. Remus and Sirius stepped back, holding their breath.

He knelt first at the northern point, where the flame-shaped rune flickered faintly in the moonlight. Holding the coal in his palm, he whispered, “Fire,” and set it down. The rune pulsed for a moment, growing brighter, before dimming again.

Harry turned east. “Air,” he said, laying the feather gently on the spiral. A breeze stirred, rustling the grass for a moment before calming.

He moved south, next. “Water,” he murmured, pouring the vial of water gently over the rune. The water sank instantly into the earth, and the rune hummed.

Finally, he turned to the west, laying the stone in the center of the earth rune. The ground shook in greeting.

As Harry walked back to the center of the circle, the humming of the air returned, growing louder and louder. The magic sang in a slurred, twisted language Sirius couldn’t hope to understand. It was shockingly beautiful.

Sirius nudged Remus. “Did any of this happen when you did your soul ritual?” he muttered to his husband.

“Gods, no,” Remus crossed his arms, “but I did mine in the sitting room, like a normal child,” he hissed.

Sirius raised his hands in surrender, grinning. “I’m sure we can figure everything else later,” he said, “but I think it’s our turn.”

Remus sighed and rolled out his shoulders. “Let’s try not to blow anything up, this time,” he remarked dryly, before his eyes flared gold again and he stepped forward.

Sirius followed with his wand raised.

Harry now stood in the very center, holding the soul stone in both hands. He pressed it to his chest, and the clearing erupted.

Light burst from each rune, arcing up and into the sky. The colors—crimson, silver, blue, and green—intertwined and danced above Harry’s head. They surged down, illuminating the soul rune still floating above Harry’s head.

Remus raised his wand and extended his other hand to Sirius. He took it, preparing himself to feed magic into Remus’ core. Remus began to chant, the sound coming from somewhere deep in his chest. It wasn’t a language Sirius knew, and he had a feeling that Remus, his Remus, didn’t know it either. The language sounded like starlight, and each word fled from Sirius’ mind as soon as he heard it.

He felt a pull from his palm and opened his core for his husband to take. Fire surged through his veins, rushing to meet the ritual—amplifying it, sharpening the colors, making the magic burn brighter.

Sirius glanced to his right and squeezed Remus’s hand tighter.

Ready? he mouthed.

Remus nodded and fixed his golden eyes on their son, who stood at the heart of the vortex with his eyes closed, hair weightless, bathed in light.

Together, they turned toward him and spoke in unison, voices steady and sure:

“Elementa conveniunt, anima surgit.”

The elements unite. The soul rises.

For a heartbeat, nothing happened.

Then, from the soul stone, a brilliant white light erupted—blinding, pure—followed by a wave of searing heat that rippled outward like a shockwave, flattening the grass in a perfect ring. Sirius and Remus were knocked flat, landing hard in the soft grass.

An inferno erupted from the stone, fire arcing high into the sky like a phoenix in flight. It roared for a moment—wild, almost alive—before shrinking neatly into the soul stone, little more than an ember.

Harry stood still as the magic calmed, blinking slowly in wonder.

“Fucking hell,” Sirius whispered, propping himself up on his elbows. Louder, he called, “That was supposed to be a beginner’s ritual, Remus!”

His husband laughed weakly from where he was sprawled out on the ground. “It is a beginner’s ritual. For someone with a beginner’s core.” He panted for a moment, then added, “Pretty sure Harry’s might be… a bit above average.”

“Does this mean I’m going to be a Gryffindor?” Harry called from the middle of the rune circle.

Sirius collapsed back down to the ground, giggling.

Chapter Text

There was water dripping from the ceiling. It was grey and murky and made everything cold. Sirius could remember the scent of the water—it smelled like rot. Like dead things. The smell had clogged his sinuses for weeks after his escape.

Now, however, even as he stared at the mildew-slick stone beneath his feet, he breathed in only clean air. He was there, but… separate. Imprisoned, but safe.

It was a contradiction that his brain struggled to comprehend. He pressed his fingers to the gyfu rune carved into his sternum, grounding himself with the warmth it offered. He felt for the thread of connection. It hummed in response, Remus’ magic surrounding him for a moment. He exhaled slowly.

“Remember,” Healer Iona said, her voice calm and sure, “you’re safe. This memory cannot harm you.”

She looked out of place in the pensive memory. Her deep green healer’s robes cut through the monochrome haze of the prison like a living spell.  She was a flicker of color in a world drained of life—so vivid they forced Sirius’ eyes to focus.

“Focus on what we’re looking for here, Sirius,” she instructed. “Search for what’s weighing you down.”

He nodded silently, turning to look at himself.

There, curled in the corner of the cell, lay his own prone form. The man there was thin and pale—barely moving. His hair hung in filthy tangles across his hollow face, eyes open but unseeing.

Blood crusted beneath his fingernails clawed raw from scraping at stone.

As Sirius watched, the swarm of dementors outside of his cell drifted closer. The sound of their rattling bones swelled, and a woman near Sirius’ cell screamed in agony.

Sirius gagged, staggering back.

“No, I can’t—”

He scrambled to escape the pensive. The memory disintegrated around them in an instant, and he was again sitting in a mind-healing room in St. Mungo’s, panting. Iona sat across from him, her face grim with understanding.

“I’m done.” He said, his face resting in his hands. “I can’t do this anymore. I’m better off not remembering what happened there.”

Iona looked at him knowingly. “We’ll try again next session,” she said. “Good work today, Sirius. We’re making progress.”

“Iona,” he said slowly. “I don’t even know what memory I’m trying to find.” He gestured vaguely to the pensive resting between them. “This may not do anything.”

She sighed slowly. “The effect of prolonged dementor exposure on the mind is not well-studied,” she stated, leaning forward. “However, we do have a name for what you’re experiencing—the feeling that you left something behind in the prison. It’s called Residual Self-Displacement.”

She let the term settle in the air between them. Sirius said nothing. The pensive between them glimmered softly on its table, swirling gently as if it didn’t contain nightmares.

“It happens when trauma collides with soul magic,” Iona said. “The mind creates distance between itself and what it can’t survive knowing. It’s a kind of… partitioning. In the split, memories get left behind.”

Sirius exhaled sharply. “You’re sure?” he asked.

She gave a quiet nod, looking into the pensive. “In Azkaban, you experienced something that you couldn’t live with at the time, so you forgot it entirely. Now that you’re safe, the part of yourself that you locked away is trying to re-emerge.”

Sirius frowned. “I wasn’t that fragile in Azkaban. I was only there for two months, for Merlin’s sake.”

“You were starved,” she said quietly. “Greif-stricken and isolated. Surrounded by creatures designed to devour your soul. Sirius, anyone would have broken under that.”

-

That afternoon, it was Sirius’ turn to pick Harry up from school.

He walked the dirt path toward the Burrow, hands shoved deep in his coat pockets, the memory of the session still clinging to him like fog.

The Burrow was as loud and colorful as ever. As he walked, he barely dodged Fred—or maybe George—who came whipping through the front garden on a training broom. The boy shouted a cheerful warning as he passed, hair blazing in the sun.

He smirked despite himself, pausing to watch the two twins hit a quaffle back and forth on the lawn. They reminded him so much of James—all wild grins and reckless laughter.

The thought didn’t hurt like it used to.

James and Lily had been dead for nearly six years. Their absence was a constant pressure on his chest, but it was no longer an unbearable burden. Sirius and Remus had learned how to walk through their grief with a kind of stumbling grace, these days. They had to, for Harry.

He entered the Burrow’s dining room to see Harry with his new best friend, Ron. They were hunched over a maths workbook, foreheads nearly touching. The night before, Harry had proudly announced to his uncles that he was “basically a subtraction expert,” and Sirius smiled slowly as he realized that might have been a slight exaggeration.

Ron was slumped to one side in apparent defeat, forlornly watching his brothers play in the garden through an open window. Harry, meanwhile, glared at the page in front of him as if it had dealt him a personal insult.

Sirius leaned against the doorway and folded his arms. “Merlin’s beard,” he said gravely. “Has the Dark Lord returned in the form of arithmetic?”

The two boys jumped. Harry whipped around, eyes wide. “It’s hard!”

Sirius raised his hands in surrender. “I believe you,” he said, lips twitching. He walked over to peer at the offending worksheet. “You know, I once tried to convince your grandfather that arithmancy was a Ministry conspiracy.”

Ron perked up. “Did it work?”

“Absolutely not.”

“But you tried,” Ron said admiringly.

“Always.”

Harry huffed, dropping his quill. “Why do we even need maths?” he moaned. “Magic is so much more interesting.”

Sirius laughed. “Without arithmancy, none of our rituals would work. How would you have discovered your Hogwarts house?

Ron leaned in curiously. “How do you figure out your Hogwarts house?” he asked.

Harry started to answer before Sirius deftly pressed a gentle palm over his mouth. “Most parents like to keep it a surprise,” he said, ignoring Ron’s immediate complaints.

“You’ll know when you’re older, Ronald!” Molly called from the kitchen, without missing a beat. “If you’ve finished your work, you can go play with the others!”

The pair stared at their blank parchment for a moment.

“Thanks, mum!” Ron called back, and the boys scrambled down from their seats and out the front door.

Sirius lingered behind, moving to the window.

Getting homeschooled with the wizarding children of Ottery St. Catchpole had done Harry some good. He was less quiet now, more confident—even cheeky.

Outside, one of the twins lobbed a quaffle at Harry’s head and he ducked, shrieking. Sirius grinned when he scooped the ball up and hurled it back. Ginny and a small blonde girl ran beneath the twins’ flight path, waving crooked toy wants and shouting made-up spells with conviction.

They played like siblings.

James and Lily had always dreamt of a large family. He was grateful that Harry could experience that sense of belonging, even without his parents.

“Harry!” he called through the open window, “time to go!”

Harry, with a training broom already in hand, groaned. “Five more minutes!”

Sirius raised a brow. “Two!”

Harry mounted his broom with a whoop, chasing after the twins before Sirius could object.

He didn’t protest, watching as Harry laughed with his friends. Remus always said he was whipped for the kid, but there were worse things than being a soft touch.

As he watched, his thoughts drifted back to his session. The idea that he was forgetting something important kept bothering him, niggling at the back of his mind.

He didn’t know what he had locked away in Azkaban, but he had a feeling it was very bad.

-

Harry and Sirius returned to the cabin nearly thirty minutes after Sirius’ two-minute warning.

Remus raised an eyebrow when the two stumbled through the floo, glancing at the clock on the mantel before fixing Sirius with a look of long-suffering amusement.

Sirius grinned sheepishly. “Harry had to learn how to twirl on his broom.”

Harry bounced excitedly on his toes. “Me and Ron were trying to learn how to do it before Ginny figured it out.” He frowned for a moment. “She’s scary,” he said lowly.

Remus hummed knowingly. “She is quite the flier for her age,” he replied.

He turned to Sirius for a moment, looking at him curiously before turning back to their son. “Why don’t you go work on your schoolwork while your uncle and I talk?”

Harry nodded without complaint and padded off toward his room.

The pair settled on the sofa, waiting to hear Harry’s door close. When it did, Remus grew more serious.

“How’d your session today go?” he asked.

Sirius ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “More memory work today,” he said. “Iona things I have suppressed memories from my time in Azkaban.”

Remus tilted his head. “Do you believe her?”

Sirius hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. I think I can feel the gap. Every time we get close to it in the pensive, I panic. My whole body just… revolts.”

Remus stayed silent for a moment, thoughtful.

“Mind healing has been good for you,” he said. “You’re more present, now. Less spacey. I think Harry’s noticed the change. He doesn’t cling to you like he used to.” He reached out and took Sirius’ hand. “You’ve been doing good work, Siri. Don’t try to rush anything.”

Sirius shook his head, lacing their fingers together. “This is important, Remus. Whatever I forgot, I just have this feeling that I need to remember. For Harry.”

“You’re sure?” he questioned.

“I’m sure.”

Remus nodded slowly, exhaling. “Be careful, Padfoot.”

-

The night had been a full moon.

Waves smashed into the jagged stone far below his cell, each impact making the prison shudder. From his place beside Iona, Sirius listened to the ocean crash and roar, the sound thunderous even within the memory. Beside him, Padfoot lay sprawled on the slimy floor, sides heaving, breath ragged and shallow.

As they watched, there was a sound from the hall. The rattling of keys.

A prison guard approached the cell door. She was dressed in heavy burgundy robes, her boots squishing through the filth of the prison. Padfoot looked at her robes greedily, drinking in the color that was so different from the greys, blues, and blacks he had grown used to.

When the guard reached the door, she leaned in, peering at Padfoot. She spat into the cell, scoffing at his shivering form.

Sirius frowned. His head pounded as he watched.

The guard laughed when Padfoot winced, shying away from her. She slammed her hands onto the bars of the cell. “You’ll regret this, you mudbloods,” she hissed.

Her laugh was high-pitched and cold. Sirius’ head felt like it was splitting open.

Her voice. Her laugh.

He turned to Iona in alarm, breathing heavily. “Something’s wrong,” he muttered. “This doesn’t make any sense.”

Iona tilted her head. “What’s wrong?”

He scanned the cell, trying to stay focused. “Guards don’t go to the high-security part of Azkaban unless there are special circumstances,” he said. “There are too many dementors.”

He stepped closer to the bars, narrowing his eyes at the woman. “No guard ever saw me in my Animagus form, either,” he said slowly.

As he spoke, a wave of agony rushed through his skull, and he crumpled, clutching his head.

He gazed up at Iona through his streaming eyes. She was looking at him with alarm, her arm extended to help him up.

“We need to leave the pensive, Sirius,” she said seriously. “This isn’t doing any good.”

“No,” he said sharply. He staggard upright, his eyes fixed on the guard. Her face flickered—blurring, warping, like a poorly-cast glamour. She was still laughing, but her figure distorted, bending in impossible ways. A nightmare wearing human skin.

Sirius gasped, realizing.

“This memory isn’t real. This didn’t happen.”

The pain in his head reached a peak, and then the world went black.

-

He woke up with a gasp. He was back in Iona’s office, the beige walls and soft cushions comforting to his pounding head. He moaned and rolled sideways, dry heaving off the edge of the sofa.

Iona was kneeled in front of him, muttering softly. Her wand was emitting a soft blue light over his head.

“Stay still,” she whispered. “I’ve almost got it.”

Sirius groaned and closed his eyes, trying not to vomit on her robes. “Almost got what?”

“Sirius,” Iona’s voice was deadly calm. “I need you to look me in the eyes and focus very hard on what memory is causing you pain.”

“What?” he asked, disbelieving. “You can’t be serious.”

“I promise you that I am. We’re so close, now is the time.”

He grimaced and obeyed, trying to find the root of the pain in his skull. He rummaged through his memories of Azkaban. The day that the cell flooded—a twinge. The first night he spent as Padfoot—a sharp poke. Finally, a night came to him: the first full moon he spent away from Remus.

The thought sent a wave of agony through his body. He focused on it, pulling harder.

The memory came into focus. That night had been lighter than usual, the bright moon illuminating corners usually cast in shadow. It wasn’t raining, and the sea was somewhat calm.

It was one of the nicest nights he spent in Azkaban, despite the eerie silence from his mating bond with Remus.

It was also a loud night. The moon had driven the dementors back, and they were far less numerous than usual. That meant that the prisoners, usually little more than corpses, were animated and chatty.

Sirius hissed, clutching his head.

“Good work,” Iona muttered. “Just a bit more and we’re done.”

Iona’s blue light was brighter now, twirling around his head, trying to sneak into his ears.

He concentrated harder, pushing through the pain. What had he heard that night?

He thought of the people in the cells neighboring his. He didn’t know who they were, but he was pretty sure it was a man and a woman.

The man had gone quiet about a week after Sirius arrived; he assumed he had died in there.

The woman, however, had arrived some time after Sirius. The thought of her sent screaming pain through his head. His eyesight faded again, consciousness slipping through his finger when—

“YES!” Iona shouted in victory. At the same moment, all the pain radiating through his skull disappeared.

He sat up, trying to orient himself. “Did it work?”

Iona grinned, more excited than Sirius had ever seen her.  “It did,” she held up her wand. Hanging from it was a strand of silvery light. A memory.

She gently fed it into the pensive. “Viewing this memory shouldn’t cause any more magical backlash,” she said victoriously. “It’s isolated now; it can’t hurt you anymore.”

She extended a hand to him as she stood in front of the pensive. “Shall we?”

He took her hand, determined. She pulled him into the memory beside her.

-

They were back in the cell.

For some reason, Sirius felt like he could see it more clearly, now. It was small and damp, with rusting bars and crumbling stones. He felt like he could breathe easier. It was simple to tell that he was in a memory; everything echoed slightly, and when Sirius concentrated, he could smell the soft floral smell of the healer’s office.

Iona rested a hand on Sirius’ shoulder, and they waited, listening.

The screaming was horrible. An incomprehensible blend of agonized voices pushed to the edge of insanity and beyond. Sirius flinched despite himself, even knowing it was only an echo.

In the cell, the past version of himself sat hunched, counting marks carved into the stone. His eyes were hollow, his skin ashen. But when the screaming reached its peak, he didn’t react. Not at first.

And then—

Bellatrix laughed.

It rang out like a curse. Sirius stiffened.

“You’ll regret this, you mudbloods,” she shrieked. “He’ll come back! He’ll make us whole again! You fools—you think he’s dead?”

Memory Sirius sighed deeply, lifting his eyes to the ceiling as if praying for silence. He was used to her rants by then.

But Sirius and Iona leaned forward. Alert. Listening.

Bellatrix’s voice grew louder, more frenzied. “The soul pieces are safe!” she screamed. “He told me so—seven times, he said! Seven!”

Sirius’ blood ran cold.

“He cannot die! He cannot die! He is immortal!”

The past version of himself had gone still.

The real Sirius was frozen now, too. He felt the memory shift inside him—like a key turning.

“That’s it,” he whispered.

Iona glanced at him, brows drawn. “Do you understand?”

He nodded slowly, pale-faced. “She wasn’t just raving,” he said.

A memory surfaced—far older than Azkaban. He couldn’t have been more than ten. In the dusty Black family library, curled in a corner, reading a book his family would never admit to owning publicly.

Secrets of the Darkest Art by Owle Bullock. Barely a page on the subject, but enough to burn into a curious child’s mind.

“Seven soul pieces,” he whispered. “Horcruxes.”

The words came back to him like a prophecy:

Those who split the soul, Owle wrote, may never die, for the soul ties the body to the earth. But beware, reader—for those who choose to create such abominations damn their own spirit. To create a Horcrux is to reject Danu’s gift of magic.
While the pieces exist, you shall live. But you shall live a cursed life. A life without the blessing of magic.
Magic is borrowed, not given. Earned, not taken. To become immortal is to remove your magic from the cycle of life and death.
It is a crime without defense.

Sirius shook his head in shock.

“She knew he’d made them.” He took a shaky breath. “And my mind—my magic—it made me forget. Because if he couldn’t die… what was the point of surviving?”

Iona said nothing. She didn’t need to.

They stood in silence as the memory played out—Bellatrix ranting, prisoners sobbing, the sea crashing somewhere far below. But none of it touched Sirius anymore. He was only thinking about one thing.

The war wasn’t over, and now he had a son.

Harry. Seven years old. Brilliant, curious, stubborn. Already too brave for his own good.

They had to end it. For real, this time, because no child of his was going to grow up afraid.

Chapter Text

“Good work, Harry,” Remus praised gently. “Try bringing your hands down just a bit.”

Harry, his eyebrows scrunched in concentration, lowered his hands slightly from where they were raised above his head. Delicate strings of light swirled around his fingers, following his movements with reverent grace.

Remus nodded in satisfaction. Ever since Harry had turned seven, he’d begun introducing him to traditional wizarding rituals. Of them all, this one—the purification ritual—was the one Remus had looked forward to most. It was the same ritual he performed every night since returning to the safety of the nemeton.

From the center of the grass-covered ritual circle, Harry tilted his head curiously. “Uncle Rem, why are we doing this?”

The movement made the child break his focus. The small ribbons of magic dispersed from his hands, spreading back out into the air around them.

“Let me show you,” Remus said, lifting his wand. “Look very closely at the tip of my wand as I cast.”

With a whispered Lumos, his wand glowed with white light. Faintly, small strings of shimmering energy slipped from the glow, spreading into the air.

Harry leaned close, squinting. “Why’s there mist coming from the light?” he asked.  

Remus smiled. “Being in a ritual circle makes magic much easier to see,” he explained. “What you’re looking at is a byproduct of light magic. When we cast a light spell, it pulls energy both from our core and the earth and concentrates it, before emitting it. The mist is the magic used from the spell.”

Harry frowned in confusion. “Where does it go?” he asked.

“Into the air,” Remus answered. “And if it’s not caught again, it… floats away. To space, maybe. Who knows. But it doesn’t stick around.”

Harry waved his hand through the mist, trying to catch it. “How do you get it back?”

Remus hummed in approval. “Excellent question,” he said, extinguishing the light with a flick. The swirling misty magic remained even with it extinguished.

“As far as I know, there is only one way.”

Harry groaned impatiently. “What is it?”

“Dark magic,” Remus said simply. “You can capture latent magic in the air and return it to the earth using dark magic.”

Harry perked up. “Arthur’s talked about that magic before,” he said cheerily. “How bad wizards use it.”

Remus sighed and rubbed his eyes, weariness slipping into his voice. “I’m sure he has, pup. Arthur’s a good man—but when it comes to magic like this, you need to listen to your uncle and me.”

He knelt in front of Harry, resting on his knees so they were eye to eye.

“Dark magic isn’t bad magic, Harry,” he said seriously. “It’s just a kind of magic. Like how there are different flavors of candies. Do you understand?”

Harry nodded without hesitation. “Sounds good, Moony.”

Remus chuckled quietly. “You make it sound so simple.”

In a way, it was that simple. For all the ancient debates, fear-mongering, and cautionary tales, children like Harry hadn’t learned to fear nuance yet. He hadn’t been taught to see magic through the lens of fear or division. It was refreshing.

He brushed a strand of hair off Harry’s forehead. “Dark magic is used when you break something down, concentrate it, or bind it somewhere. Light magic is for when you build, create, or add something using your own power.”

Harry tilted his head. “So… is making a shield light or dark?”

“Good question.” Remus stood slowly. “The act of making a shield—if you cast it directly—is usually light. You're creating something with your magic. But the type of shield changes that.”

He paused, thoughtful. “If your shield deflects or repels incoming spells—bouncing them off—that’s light magic. It pushes energy outward, dispersing it.”

“But,” he continued, “if your shield absorbs the energy of a spell, holds it, or even stores it for later—that’s dark magic. It pulls energy in and binds it.”

He turned to glance at the fading mist left behind by his Lumos spell. Most of it had drifted off, thin wisps barely visible now, spiraling lazily into the evening air.

Harry was watching it too, eyes wide, tracking the faint trails as they floated away.

Remus gave a small smile. “Do you want to bring the magic back?”

Harry nodded slowly, completely captivated.

Remus reached into his pocket and pulled out a smooth river stone, pale and flat. He held it up for Harry to see, then drew his wand and carefully etched a simple rune into the surface—a clean, angular shape.

“This is Uruz,” he said. “A grounding rune. It helps magic find its way home.”

He set the stone gently on the ground within the ritual circle.

“It’s a simple ritual,” he explained. “All you need is the rune, the right intention, and the word Purificare. That means to purify.”

He pointed his wand at the stone. “Purificare.”

At once, the faint mist stirred. The remnants of the spell curled like smoke in a wind tunnel, spiraling downward in graceful arcs. The scattered magical residue began to draw in, funneling toward the stone.

Harry gasped as the last threads of light vanished into it.

The stone shimmered faintly, then began to sink—slowly but steadily—into the earth, as if the ground itself had opened to accept it.

Remus gave a small nod of satisfaction. “There. The energy is returned to the earth. It’s part of the cycle again.”

Harry stared at the spot where the stone had disappeared. “We just gave the magic back.”

“Exactly,” Remus said softly. “Dark magic doesn’t destroy. At its best, it restores.”

A sudden crashing noise split through the quiet, followed by the rapid pounding of footsteps.

“Remus!” Sirius’ voice rang out. “Are you here?”

Remus straightened instantly, his arm going protectively around Harry as he turned toward the sound. A moment later, Sirius burst from the trees into the clearing, chest heaving. He had a wild look about him, sharp with something Remus hadn’t seen in years.

“Need to—” Sirius started, then bent over slightly, catching his breath. “Need to talk to you. Now.”

“Padfoot?” Harry asked, stepping toward his uncle.

“Hey pup,” Sirius managed a tight smile. “How would you feel about spending some time at Molly’s today?”

Harry frowned. “But there’s no school tod—”

“That sounds like a great idea,” Remus interrupted quickly, voice firm. “Harry, sorry to cut this short, love, but let’s head back to the cabin, yeah?”

Harry looked between the two men in confusion but acquiesced. “You guys are weird, you know that?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sirius muttered absently.

Remus gave Harry a small nudge. “Go pack a bag, just in case. I’ll be right behind you.”

As Harry walked off, Remus turned to Sirius

“What is it?” he asked urgently.

Sirius’ face was grim. “Have you ever heard of Horcruxes?”

A cold pit opened in Remus’ stomach. “…No, I don’t think so,” he said slowly. “What are they?”

-

“Minerva!”

Remus stumbled out of the Floo in a burst of green flame, soot blooming out from beneath his boots as he half-fell into Minerva’s stone-floored office. Sirius was close behind, stepping out far more gracefully. He stared dryly at his husband when he saw Remus’ footsteps.

“Sod off, you bastard,” Remus hissed. “Now is not the time.”

Sirius’ mouth ticked up for a moment before his face darkened again. Across the room, Minerva McGonagall rose from behind her desk. Her reading glasses were perched halfway down her nose, quill still poised mid-mark on a stack of essays. 

“Remus, you know I grade in the evenings on Saturdays—” she cut herself off when she saw his expression. His face was pale and drawn, and his clothes were a mess of soot and grime. Next to him, Sirius had a steely look.

“What in Merlin’s name has gotten into the pair of you?” she asked, worry seeping into her tone. She walked around her desk toward them, flicking her wand to get rid of the soot.

Remus wasted no time. “You-Know-Who is alive,” he blurted. “Sirius heard Lestrange say so in Azkaban. He just remembered.”

Minerva frowned in confusion. “He’s been dead for nearly six years,” she said slowly. “His support base is all but destroyed and there’s been no sign of him since James and Lily died.”

“He’s got Horcruxes, Minnie,” Sirius said. “Six of them, if Bellatrix had anything to say about it.”

Minerva froze. Her eyes flicked between them, calculating.

“That’s impossible,” she stated firmly. “Horcruxes are a myth. A terrible theory, nothing more.”

She stepped forward, reaching out and resting a hand on Sirius’s shoulder. “Bellatrix Lestrange was a cruel woman. Don’t let her torture you any more than she already has.”

Sirius laughed dryly. “Bella doesn’t have any power over me. I’m not rotting in that prison, she is. And now, she spilled her master’s biggest secret directly to the Order. If she’s not already dead, she will be soon.”

He looked pleased as he said it. A vicious part of Remus was pleased as well.

Rotten pair, they were.

“Help us find them, Minnie,” he said, his voice low. “You know I wouldn’t come to you about this unless I was absolutely sure.”

She studied them quietly for a moment. When she finally did speak, her voice was cold.

“If you’re right, the war isn’t over.”

It wasn’t a question.

Remus drew in a slow breath, tasting the air in the room.

The air in her office smelled like hearth-smoke and spell-dampened stone, old parchment and burnt edges. But beneath all that—underneath layers of books and chalk—Remus could smell something else. The smells of ozone and iron, the bitter tang of blood filling his nose.

She could retire; teach children and hand out ginger snaps like a mild-mannered professor, but she couldn’t wash the red off her hands.

She smelled like a soldier. Just like them.

“If you’re right,” she continued, “more people are going to die. Families. Children.”

“When have you ever run from a fight?”

Minerva’s lip curled.

“I don’t run,” she hissed, and for a heartbeat, she wasn’t a professor. She was a war general.

“I’ve fought more battles than you could imagine. I’ve buried students. I’ve stood in blood-soaked halls and held the line when the Ministry wouldn’t lift a finger. I do not run. I endure.”

She stepped away from Remus, towards the tall arching windows that overlooked the darkening grounds. Below, the last of the golden light slanted across the grass, cutting through the mist curling off the lake.

There were students on the grounds, enjoying the early autumn air. Minerva gazed at them with something heavy in her eyes.

“If Voldemort has truly split his soul,” she murmured, “then we have work to do. Terrible, dangerous work.”

She glanced back at her former students. Something about her had shifted, as if she'd stepped into an earlier version of herself. She stood taller; the years of peace shed from her shoulders like an old cloak.

“Tell me everything you know,” she said.

Chapter Text

Remus stared blankly at Dumbledore. Next to him, Sirius looked like someone had just punched him. Minerva stood next to them both, looking furious.

“You knew?” Sirius asked. “You knew he was alive, and said nothing?”

The headmaster sighed, sinking deeper into his office chair. A trinket on his desk chimed softly, so at odds with the feeling in Remus’ chest.

Remus’ baser instincts bristled at Dumbledore. He could feel the wolf’s displeasure mingling with his own, making it sharper. Meaner.

“You didn’t think,” he started slowly, “that telling literally anyone would be prudent?”

“It was nothing but a suspicion,” he sighed. “I didn’t want to frighten—”

“You’re a headmaster, not the damn Minister,” Remus hissed. “You don’t own state secrets.”

Minerva spoke up with a silky soft tone. “Do you remember what you told me when we learned of Tom’s disappearance?”

She didn’t give him a moment to answer before continuing, her voice growing louder. “You said that we were a team. That the trust we had in each other had allowed us to win the war.” She paused, her eyes narrowing. “Do you take me for a fool, Albus?”

The headmaster looked at her sorrowfully. “Of course not. I wanted, with all my heart, to believe that Tom was gone.” His eyes crinkled with a sad smile. “I turned away from the truth out of naive hope, a habit that I have long wished to be rid of.”

Minerva threw her hands up in exasperation. “Oh, do grow up, Albus. Naivety is a defense for the young and stupid, and I had previously believed that you were neither.”

Sirius let out a short, startled laugh, quickly silenced by the razor-sharp glance she shot his way.

Albus folded his hands, looking very old. “You’re quite right,” he acquiesced. “I should have raised my concerns.”

“Damn right, you should’ve,” Sirius muttered.

Remus took a slow, calming breath. “What’s done is done. What matters now is that we make up for the time we’ve lost.”

-

They stayed hunched in Dumbledore’s office, sitting on plush sofas, as night deepened outside the windows. A rough plan began to take shape.

The list of potential Horcrux locations was daunting. The idea that Voldemort—Tom Riddle, Remus reminded himself—was immortal was concerning enough. The idea that the only way to reverse that affliction was to find unknown objects, in unknown places, hidden under unknown spells was doubly so.

Sirius rubbed his face tiredly. “At least we know that Bella has one,” he sighed. His being neighbors with her was the biggest stroke of luck that they could have had for the search. Her knowledge of the Horcruxes was near irrefutable proof that she had access to one. There was no way Riddle would tell someone about them if it wasn’t necessary.

“We’ll start with the Black estate,” he said. “And the Lestrange properties. Vaults, old houses, anything my lovely family left rotting behind.”

They noted the likely places: Number Twelve Grimmauld Place. The Lestrange manor in Wiltshire. Their Gringotts vaults.

The rest were… guesswork.

Remus leaned back, fingers steepled in thought. He’d never been more grateful that Riddle’s vanity likely outweighed his paranoia. The man wouldn’t have hidden parts of his soul in random junk. Each object, each location, would have meant something.

That narrowed the search, though not nearly enough.

And there was another small mercy: the Death Eaters were scattered, disorganized, lying low in the wake of their master’s fall. They had time. Not much, but some.

“We could start the search assuming that he entrusted several Horcruxes to his most dedicated followers,” Minerva suggested.

Dumbledore gave a low hum of agreement. “Many of them are in Azkaban. It would not be difficult to persuade the Wizengamot to grant temporary seizure of their assets—for investigatory purposes.”

Remus had taken to scribbling notes as they spoke, a growing list scrawled across the parchment before him. He jotted down the names of every high-ranking Death Eater he could recall.

Bellatrix Lestrange. Barty Crouch Jr. Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange. Lucius Malfoy. Antonin Dolohov.

“Regulus Black,” Sirius muttered, reading over his shoulder.

Remus glanced sharply up at him. Sirius was staring at the parchment, seemingly torn between grief, betrayal and anger.

He slowly added the name to the list.

Albus leaned forward slightly, eyes scanning the parchment, fingers steepled beneath his chin. “There are also certain locations we ought not to overlook. The orphanage where he was raised, for instance. It left an impression on him… not a happy one, I think, but lasting all the same.”

He paused, gaze drifting slightly as if following a thought only half-formed.

“Borgin and Burke’s may still hold some remnants of his time there. He was always drawn to objects with… history. And of course there’s Hogwarts.”

Minerva’s frown deepened. “You truly think that the wards would let in such a thing?”

Dumbledore inclined his head. “The wards are powerful, yes, but they are not omniscient. If someone is invited, or welcomed, or belongs—even conditionally—they can carry in all manner of things. It is one of the school’s blessings, and one of its great vulnerabilities.”

Sirius scoffed. “When would he have been allowed on the grounds past graduation?”

Dumbledore sighed. “I do recall Mr. Riddle interviewing for the Defense against the Dark Arts position, not long after he graduated. He made a rather dramatic case for his suitability.”

Remus pressed his palms into his eyes.

Minerva looked at the headmaster in disbelief. “And you never thought to mention that, either?”

“The errors I have made when dealing with Tom Riddle have been nearly countless,” Dumbledore admitted.

“Clearly.”

Remus stood from his chair, exhausted. He reached for Sirius’ hand, leaning on him for support. His leg ached. “I don’t imagine you have any idea of where he would’ve stored a Horcrux on the grounds?” he asked.

Albus shook his head slowly, his half-moon glasses glinting. A faint smile crossed his face. “I would never dream of assuming I know all Hogwarts’ hiding places,” he said. “Only this morning, for instance, I took a wrong turning on the way to the greenhouse and found myself in a beautifully proportioned room I have never seen before, containing a really rather magnificent collection of giant Alihotsy trees.”

Sirius cursed lowly, then stilled, squinting at the headmaster. “Alihosty trees? Is Madame Sprout growing them?” he asked.

“Oh, no, I shouldn’t think so,” Dumbledore said, his voice growing brighter. “These appeared far too old for cultivation. Several centuries at least, judging by their size. Very healthy specimens, too. Terribly fragrant.” He smiled as though he were commenting on a particularly fine cup of tea. “Quite the find, really.”

Remus glanced at Sirius in confusion. He was quite certain they had mapped the entire castle. Sure, they may have missed the occasional nook or cranny, but there was no way they wouldn’t have found a room large enough to house ancient trees.

His husband seemed to be thinking the same thing. “You’re certain this was inside the castle?” he asked, brow furrowed. “It wasn’t… I don’t know, a dream or something?”

“Oh, quite certain,” Dumbledore answered. “The room was right across from a rather ghastly tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy's attempt to teach a group of trolls ballet.”

Remus blinked. “That’s on the seventh floor, near the Gryffindor common room, isn’t it?” he asked. “I can’t recall there being any sort of door there.”

“Precisely,” Dumbledore said, sounding far too pleased with himself. “Which makes it all the more interesting, don’t you think?”

He stood in one fluid motion, the weight of the past hour seeming to lift from his shoulders. For a moment, he looked twenty years younger.

“Come along, then. I’ll show you. A brisk walk will do us good, and I’d quite like to see those trees again before they vanish.”

“And we’ll look for the Horcrux,” Minerva added dryly.

“Yes, yes,” Dumbledore said, waving a hand vaguely as he opened the door. “That too.”

-

Minutes later, the four of them stood staring at a blank wall. The aged stones seemed to mock them, looking remarkably unlike the door that Dumbledore had been describing.

“Well then,” Dumbledore said mildly, “it seems we may have missed our window. Possibly, it only appears at five-thirty in the morning. Or perhaps under a quarter moon. Hard to say with these things.”

Sirius let out a frustrated breath and resumed pacing. “No offense, Headmaster, but James, Remus, and I explored every damn inch of this castle. There’s no way we missed a passageway this close to Gryffindor Tower—even if it only opened on leap days at one in the morning. Honestly, I just want to know if this bloody room actually leads to the Horcrux—”

A low, grinding sound interrupted him.

He paused to look up as the rough rock smoothed into polished wood. Soon, a small, narrow door stood innocently in front of them, as if it had always been there.

“No way,” Remus whispered.

Dumbledore clasped his hands together in delight. “Wonderful! We’ll see the trees after all, then. Perhaps Severus would like some fallen leaves for potion ingredients.”

He stepped forward and pushed the door open with a gentle creak—then stopped.

Instead of the large, tree-filled space he had described, the room was no larger than a cupboard.

And in the center of it, resting on a cracked pedestal, sat a single object.

A diadem. Dull with age and coated in dust. Forgotten.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Minerva breathed. “Is that Rowena Ravenclaw’s diadem?”

Remus sniffed at it, trying to detect any magic remnants, then doubled over, retching.

“Black magic,” he choked out.

The stench was suffocating. It smelled like rot and infection, like something long dead had clawed its way back into the world. It filled his mouth with the taste of decay—thick and oily. It was worse than anything he had ever smelled, and he’d been to Azkaban.

He turned and vomited onto the stone floor, gasping as he stumbled backward.

“That thing,” he gasped, “is definitely a Horcrux.”

Dumbledore moved quickly, enveloping the diadem in a glowing shield. Minerva cast a purifying charm in the air, and Remus gasped for breath.

Sirius knelt beside him, pulling him to his feet. He’d seen Remus react to black magic before—during the war, there was no shortage of black or white magic—but Remus doubted that he had ever seen such a poor reaction. He himself couldn’t think of a time he had responded so badly.

Light and dark magic were a part of nature; naturally occurring phenomena that witches and wizards could harness. But white and black magic—those were man-made. Synthetic.

White and black magic decayed what they touched. It leeched the life from the air itself. Necromancy, soul manipulation, certain branches of healing magic—they weren’t meant to exist. They were rot disguised as power.

Remus shuddered to think about how long-term exposure to a Horcrux would affect a person.

His wolf had shrunk deep into the recesses of his mind, snarling and pacing. It was far more in tune with natural magic than Remus, and the Horcrux seemed to be a step too far for it to tolerate.

Remus grimaced, straightening next to Sirius. “Good news,” he said, wiping his mouth. “I think I’ll be able to tell if we’re close to a horcrux.”

“No shit,” Sirius muttered, vanishing the puddle of sick with a flick of his wand.

“That’s excellent luck indeed.” Dumbledore hadn’t quite lost his good mood. “Perhaps this dreadful business can be dealt with more quickly than expected. I would quite like to get back to my research, I’ve just discovered the most fascinating thing about the ancient Glumbuble—"

“First, let’s get the diadem to a safe place, away from the school,” Minerva interrupted. “Then, we can see about destroying it.”

Chapter Text

Harry was seven years old, and that was more than old enough to know that something strange was going on. Uncle Remus always said he was clever, so he wasn’t sure why his uncles were lying to him. He wasn’t a little kid anymore. He could handle whatever secret they were keeping. He just had to figure out what it was.

For the past few weeks, his uncles had been whispering when they thought he couldn’t hear. Sometimes, he figured it was just about his parents again—sad adult things. But lately, it sounded sharper. Scarier.

He stared unseeing down at his homework, straining his ears. Words drifted toward him from the kitchen.

“…couldn’t find…looking…Dumbledore…”

He slid off his chair, landing soft-footed on the floorboards before tip-toeing towards the kitchen. He pressed his ear to the door, straining to hear.

Uncle Remus’s voice came through, low and serious. “We’ll have to be discrete. If anyone’s watching—”

Then the floor creaked under Harry’s heel. Remus stopped mid-sentence.

After a pause he spoke again, his voice suddenly bright and casual. “—and that’s why we really ought to harvest more dittany for the garden, don’t you think, Padfoot?”

Uncle Sirius snorted. “Rem, what are you talking—”

Harry heard a faint thud followed by a pained oomph. He pressed in closer, confused.

As soon as his weight hit the door, it swung open and he found himself flat on the floor.

“Harry.” Uncle Remus stood over him, arms crossed, looking exactly like he did when he caught Harry bringing toads into the cabin. “I thought you were supposed to be finishing your homework.”

Harry blinked up at him from the floor. “I—I got hungry,” he said quickly. “I was gonna get a snack.”

His uncle raised his eyebrows. “Really,” he said dryly. “Well, there’s food in the cupboard. Next time, you can just ask for it instead of spying.”

Harry frowned, reeling at how quickly he was caught. Really, you would think Remus was a super-spy or something with how quickly he always seemed to figure Harry out. 

With nothing to lose, he decided to take the direct approach. “What were you guys talking about?”

Uncle Sirius gave him a carefree smile. “Nothing to worry about, Prongslet. Just boring adult stuff.”

Harry pouted. “You always say that,” he complained. “Why don’t you guys tell me anything?”

Despite himself, he felt his eyes start to well up with frustration. He tried to take deep breaths like Sirius had taught him. They didn’t help.

Sirius knelt in front of him. “We’ll tell you when you’re older. No need to worry about it right now.”

A gentle hand settled on his head, ruffling his hair. Harry shook it off, his face twisted with frustration.

“I’m old enough now.” The words came out as a high whine as he threw a hand down onto the floor. He couldn’t understand why his uncles were so set on lying. He knew that he was smart. Remus told him so. He knew he wasn’t weak, either. He could climb up into the trees with the fairies and keep up with the unicorns that ran through the valley. He wasn’t a little kid. Despite knowing this, his eyes still felt hot.

Actually, his whole body felt hot.

He lifted his hand from the floorboards to see a deep black singe mark etched into the wood. It glowed a faint orange for a moment, embers flaring before sputtering out.   

He stared, surprised. It wasn’t often he lost control of his magic. His uncles spent forever teaching him how to harness it so it simmered and spun under his skin instead of outside of it.

He looked up at his uncles cautiously, a feeling of guilt starting to stir in his stomach.

Instead of the disappointment Harry expected, Remus was gazing at the mark with a haunted look on his face. Sirius was slightly pale.

Harry poked at the mark for a moment, hoping it would somehow disappear. The movement shook Sirius out of his reverie.

He waved his wand over the mark, wood smoothing over the charred section until there wasn’t a trace of the burn left. He looked at Harry seriously.

“We know that you’re very smart, Harry,” he said. “And you deserve to know what we’re up to.”

He paused for a moment, a strange look on his face. “In fact, I’ll make you a deal.”

Harry perked up, thinking of all the wagers he’d made with the twins. “What kind of deal?” he asked.

“Remus and I teach you how to defend yourself, and if you can beat one of us in a duel, then we’ll tell you what we’ve been working on.”

Harry looked at his uncles thoughtfully. They were strong, sure, but Harry was faster. He knew the woods better than Sirius, and Remus still sometimes walked with a limp. Neither of them seemed to be very good at dueling—he’d never even seen them use any offensive spells like he’d see in Ron’s storybooks. They just seemed… old. Harry was pretty sure he could win.

“Deal,” he said, extending his hand proudly.

Sirius shook it, smiling.

-

After Harry had skipped off to—hopefully—resume his homework, Remus cast a quick muffling spell before turning on Sirius.

“Have you lost your damn mind?” he hissed. “What’s wrong with you? We can’t teach a seven-year-old how to duel.”

Sirius was still smiling a bit. “Did you see how confident he was?” he asked, sniggering. “He thinks he can beat us. Us.” He bent over, his giggles getting the better of him.

Remus exhaled in frustration. “This is serious,” he said. “That kid has so much energy we can barely do rituals with him, let alone duels. He’ll blow the whole place up.”

Sirius was getting ahold of himself, his giggles dying down. In their place, a stubborn look was taking over his face. “Exactly. You saw that mark, Rem. He’s too strong to walk around with so little control. Rituals and magical theory can only do so much when you’re a tiny magical savant.” He gestured out the window towards the calm valley. “There isn’t a better place he could learn than here. And with the horcruxes about, it’s time he learned how to defend himself.”

Remus’ face was pinched. “He’s just a kid,” he said slowly. “He already lost his parents to the war; I don’t want him to lose his childhood as well.”

His point erased any amusement left on Sirius’ face. “We’re not making him into a child soldier, Remus. I just want him to be safe.”

Remus looked at him for a long moment.

A memory stirred—Lyall kneeling in front of him on the morning he was to leave for Hogwarts for the first time. The war had already been raging for a year, carving new lines into his father’s face. As he fastened Remus’ cloak, the wireless crackled with casualty reports behind them. Lyall’s voice had been steady, but his hands hadn’t been.

“If something happens, you run. Don’t wait for anyone. Don’t try to be brave.”

Remus had nodded, fingers tight around his brand-new wand. He remembered the way his stomach twisted with fear—how utterly unprepared he’d felt for the world waiting beyond the valley.

“Fine,” he acquiesced. “Defensive spells only. And the second he says he doesn’t want to learn anymore, we stop.”

Even as he said it, he knew Harry would never ask to stop. He and Sirius were the same in that regard. Too stubborn, too bull-headed.

“Agreed,” Sirius said, looking smug.

Remus rolled his eyes internally. “Now that we’ve got that out of the way, can we please go back to talking about the Horcruxes?” he prompted.

Sirius sighed, settling back down at the kitchen table. Remus followed, re-conjuring the map that he had quickly banished when he heard Harry at the door.

The sprawling map outlined what little information Dumbledore had been able to scrounge up on Tom Riddle’s life with significant locations labeled.

Some locations were easy to search through—Hogwarts, Diagon Alley,  Knockturn Alley—and others were more difficult—the Manors of prominent Death Eaters, vaults, Albanian forests. Remus settled his wand on one such location, tapping the map in thought.

Sirius looked pained. “Do we have to?” he asked. “That place looks bloody sad.”

Remus sighed. “That seems to be a theme of this bastard’s life.”

He banished the map once again after memorizing the coordinates. “We’ll go tomorrow when Harry’s at Molly’s.”

-

It was raining sluggishly when Remus and Sirius arrived in London, because of course it was. Wool’s Orphanage loomed in the grey afternoon, blotting out what little light was eking through the clouds. It seemed to ooze despair.

“This place might be worse than Grimmauld Place,” Sirius muttered.

Remus couldn’t help but agree. He could hardly believe children lived there at all. It seemed more like a prison than an orphanage.

“Might as well get this over with,” he said softly, already walking towards the front door.

The pair entered the small building smoothly, wiping their wet shoes.

A young woman quickly greeted them as they walked in. She looked harried and couldn’t seem to look straight at either of them. Instead, she nervously fiddled with her uniform as she gazed over Remus’ left shoulder.

Remus couldn’t blame her, really. They looked decidedly out of place.

Sirius was a tall, beautiful woman with slanted grey eyes and sharp cheekbones. His hair fell in a dark waterfall down his back. Remus had chosen to appear as a slightly rotund man with gleaming black hair and a large mustache. They were wearing clothes that, in Wool’s Orphanage, seemed far too new and expensive.

Remus silently cursed his husband’s constant need to be well-dressed.

Sirius extended one smooth, glittering hand towards the orphanage worker.

“Hello,” he greeted smoothly. “I’m Cynthia, and this is my husband, Leon.”

The young woman seemed a bit dazed at Sirius’ glamor. She quickly gathered herself, however, and shook his hand. Remus greeted her, and she smiled at them.

“How can I help you both?” she asked politely.

“We were hoping you could help us find information on my father,” Sirius said, his face crinkled in sudden sorrow. “He recently passed, you see, and I wanted to know more about his childhood.”

Remus pressed a supportive hand on Sirius shoulder, bowing his head. “It would really mean so much to us if you could give us any information at all,” he murmured. “He was so important to the family.”

The employee—Sonia, her nametag read—looked sadly at the pair of them. “Of course,” she said, pity coloring her words. “Follow me.”

She led them to a small office branching off the entryway of the orphanage. It was a dingy room with a desk, some filing cabinets, and a couple of wooden chairs. She gestured for them to sit.

As they sat, Remus sniffed the air discreetly, trying to see if he could sense anything out of the ordinary.

Sirius glanced at him, and he shook his head slightly. Nothing yet.

Sonia settled at the other side of the desk, already shuffling papers. “What was his name?”

“Thomas Riddle,” Sirius responded, dabbing his dry eyes.

Sonia gave him a sympathetic look before turning her back, pulling more papers out of the filing cabinet. She flipped through them in practiced motions, fingers flicking through page after page.  

“Looks like he was with us during the Second World War,” she said to them as she pulled out a thick stack of yellowing papers. “There’s a chance he wasn’t properly…” she fell silent as her eyes moved quickly down the top file, her eyebrows wrinkling.

“Who did you say you were, again?” she asked slowly.

“Cynthia Brookes, maiden name Riddle,” Sirius replied. “Is there a problem?”

“No, no problem, miss,” she hurried to say. “It’s just, I’m not sure I’m supposed to be giving you these… they’re confidential, you see,”

She stumbled a bit over her words, clearly unsure. Her eyes kept darting back down to the pages on her desk.

At her words, Sirius crumpled. Tears slipped down his smooth cheeks as his shoulders shook. Internally, Remus applauded Sirius’ talent for acting. Outwardly, he frowned deeply.

“Are you sure you can’t make an exception?” he asked. He glanced at Sirius meaningfully before leaning closer to Sonia. “She’s been a wreck for days; this would really mean a lot to her. To feel close to him, one last time.”

Sonia caved instantly. Remus almost felt bad for taking advantage of such a kind young woman.

“Of course,” she said quickly. “The files are so old, and no one really checks the ones this far back anyway.” She pushed them towards Sirius as if using them as a shield.

He looked up instantly, a beautiful smile spreading across his face. “Really?” he asked. “Thank you so much.” He quickly stashed the files in his purse before gathering the woman up in a hug, leaning across the desk. She pattedhis shoulder, flailing a bit. Sirius leaned back quickly. “Would we be able to see where his room was?”

Sonia, clearly still reeling from the hug, nodded absently. Sirius clapped, his rings tapping against each other. “How wonderful! You’re such a great help, dear.”

Remus and Sirius stood quickly, ushering Sonia out the door before she could respond.

Sonia led them up the stairs to the second floor. “The files said he was in room seven,” she said. “I’m afraid you can’t go in the room—it’s someone else’s now—but you can look.”

“That’ll be more than sufficient,” Remus said warmly. As they walked, he kept breathing in through his nose, hunting for even the faintest trace of dark magic. But the place smelled only of dust, mildew, and too many children crammed into too little space.

They stopped in front of a small, cramped room with two beds. Clothes were scattered across the floor, as well as a few worn toys. A small cabinet stood in the corner. The walls were blank and peeling, and the room smelled a bit musty. When Remus inhaled deeply, he could pick up the faint smell of rot, but nothing more. No Horcrux.

“I can’t believe he grew up here,” Sirius said wonderingly. “It seems so… ordinary.”

Sonia nodded, clearing misunderstanding Sirius’ meaning. “Great people often have very humble beginnings,” she said with a gentle smile toward the room. She seemed like she had real fondness for the children who lived there. Remus was glad they had someone looking out for them.

He hummed in agreement, before stepping back. “Thank you for showing us this,” he said. “We shouldn’t take up any more of your time.”

Sonia guided them back down the stairs, chatting brightly, but Remus barely heard her. When the front door finally clicked shut behind them, Sirius let out a long breath and dropped his shoulders.

“Well,” he muttered, pushing his hair out of his face, “that could have gone better.”

Remus scanned the street, the damp air settling cold against his skin. “Let’s hope the files give us something we can actually use.”

Sirius slid a manicured hand into his bag, pulling out the thick stack of papers. “At the very least, this gives us far more information to work with.”