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“James,” Remus said, sitting down on the chair.
James looked up from his enthusiastic game of Scrabble, firewhisky in hand. He was just a little bit drunk—exactly as Sirius had planned—and leaning against Lily’s knee.
“Yes, darling Moony?” he replied, voice hoarse.
Sirius, seated next to Remus, put a hand on Remus’ thigh and leaned forward. “We’ve got something to tell you,” he said, taking a small breath. “We’re not moving in with Peter.”
James furrowed his brows, shifting completely to look at them. “Well, why not? It’s perfect, and we already decided.”
Lily glanced between Sirius and Remus, then her gaze flickered to Sirius’ hand still resting on Remus’ thigh. Understanding dawned on her face.
“That’s because we’re moving in together,” Sirius announced grandly. Then, with a wicked grin, he added, “And we’d rather not have little Petey listening to us make out at night.”
James let out a short laugh. “Good one, Pads. Nearly had me there.”
Sirius just smirked, and Remus—long-suffering and resigned—sat quietly, watching James expectantly.
James’ laughter faded. He looked at them again, properly this time. “Wait. You’re serious?”
Sirius, predictably, grinned. “Always.”
James ignored that. He set his firewhisky down with a slow, deliberate motion and straightened up. “You’re actually moving in together? Just the two of you?”
“That is what we said, yes,” Remus replied dryly.
James blinked, then squinted at them. “So… it’s not a joke?”
“No, Prongs,” Sirius said, rolling his eyes, though he was still smirking. “I’m not pulling some elaborate prank just to see if you’d cry.”
“Though you did look a bit misty-eyed for a second there,” Remus added, mostly to amuse himself.
James exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “Huh.”
There was a long pause.
Then, James clapped his hands together. “Well, that’s bloody brilliant, isn’t it?”
Remus blinked, caught off guard. “You’re—okay with it?”
James scoffed. “Moony, please. I may be dramatic, but I’m not an idiot. You two have been making eyes at each other since Hogwarts.”
“I do not make eyes at Sirius,” Remus muttered.
“Moons, you literally do,” Sirius said, grinning. “Like, constantly. It’s adorable.”
James waved them off. “Point is, I’m happy for you.” Then, after a beat, he added, “But you do realize this means you’ll have to figure out how to live together without burning the place down, right?”
Remus sighed. “I’ve already accepted my fate. And the fact that if he burns our cottage down, he’ll probably burn down the forest as well.”
Sirius nudged him playfully. “I am an environmentalist, Moony! How dare you?”
James snorted. “Sure, Pads. That’s why you once set fire to one of the trees in the Forbidden Forest for having a spider on it.”
“One time!” Sirius protested. “And I got over the fear of spiders after it burnt in front of me!”
Lily, who had been enjoying the conversation immensely, finally spoke up. “So, James, does this mean it’s just you and me, then?”
James turned to her, realization dawning. “Oh. Right. I suppose it does.”
“That was always the plan,” Lily reminded him, sipping her wine.
“Well, yeah, but I guess I thought the others would be in the flat next door or something.”
Sirius smirked. “Don’t worry, Prongs. I’ll still visit. Often. Uninvited.”
Lily sighed, making long-suffering eye contact with Remus.
James grinned, turning back to Sirius and Remus, his expression warm. “I mean it, though. If you ever need anything—help moving in, setting up, dinner when you inevitably realize neither of you can cook—”
“Oi,” Sirius said.
“—you know where to find me.”
Sirius rolled his eyes but looked pleased. “Obviously, Prongs. You’re not getting rid of us that easily.”
James grinned. “Good. Now, let’s toast.” He raised his glass, and the others followed.
“To new beginnings,” Remus said.
—
“Where did you get this cottage, Sirius?” Remus asked, holding a large box of all his books. There were only so many things even he could levitate, after a point, and this particular box deserved touch.
“Do you remember the time I told you I was in Warkworth for some cousin Tiyana’s engagement?” Sirius said, struggling with his own varied luggage, “I snuck out, obviously, and this cottage was right near it. It’s always been at the back of my mind.”
Remus regarded the cottage once more. It wasn’t big or sprawling at all, but a rather modest size. It was topped with a striking red roof, and plain wood on its walls. The porch was the same, with three steps leading up to it. He’d also been told that there was a yard behind the cottage, which led out into the surrounding forest. In essence, it was the perfect house for Sirius and Remus.
Remus stepped onto the porch, shifting the weight of the box in his arms as he took in the cottage again. It wasn’t grand, not like the Black family homes Sirius had abandoned, nor even particularly large. But that was the appeal of it, wasn’t it? It was simple, unassuming, and felt strangely welcoming, like it had been waiting for them all this time.
Sirius was already fussing with the door, grumbling under his breath. “Bloody thing—oh, wait, no, I’ve got it—” The door creaked open, and Sirius grinned in triumph before stepping aside with a dramatic bow. “Welcome home, Moony.”
Remus stepped inside, inhaling the scent of wood and something faintly earthy, like the forest had seeped into the very walls. The space was small but open, sunlight filtering through the windows and casting warm pools across the floor. A fireplace stood at one end of the room, and Remus could already picture the two of them curled up beside it, a book in his hands, Sirius’ feet resting in his lap as he pretended to be interested in whatever Remus was reading.
Sirius, still holding his overstuffed bags, looked around with an expression that was nothing short of joy. It softened something in Remus’ chest.
“You really like it here,” Remus said, setting down his box on what he presumed would be their living room floor.
Sirius turned to him, beaming. “Of course I do. It’s ours.” He gestured around as if to emphasize the point. “No one else’s. No Blacks, no rules, just—us.”
Remus exhaled, letting himself feel the weight of that. Just them.
They spent the rest of the afternoon moving things inside, Sirius predictably carrying too many things at once and nearly toppling over more than once.
“Pads, put something down before you fall over.”
“I’m a fully capable wizard, thank you very much.”
A beat of silence.
A loud crash from the kitchen.
Remus sighed.
“...That was not my fault,” Sirius called out.
When they finally had most of their things inside, Sirius dramatically collapsed onto the floor. “Right. That’s enough moving in for today.”
Remus arched an eyebrow. “We’ve only moved in the essentials.”
Sirius waved a hand lazily. “Exactly.”
At that moment, as if summoned by sheer mischief, a pair of absurdly mismatched chairs floated into the room from the front porch. One was a short and stout red-and-gold canvas-striped number, the kind that looked like it belonged at a seaside carnival. The other was tall, old, and a rich, chocolatey brown, like it had been stolen from an aristocrat’s study.
Remus stared at them. “Sirius.”
Sirius sat up immediately, looking far too pleased with himself. “Yes, love?”
“What,” Remus gestured vaguely at the chairs, “are those?”
“They’re chairs, Moony.”
“I gathered that.” Remus pinched the bridge of his nose. “Why do they look like they were taken from two entirely different universes?”
“They are a statement, ” Sirius said solemnly. “A declaration of personality. A rebellion against the mundane.”
“One of them looks like it belongs to a ringmaster.”
“Exactly.”
“And the other one looks like it has hosted no fewer than five wars.”
Sirius grinned. “Perfectly balanced, as all things should be.”
Remus sighed but gave in, lowering himself into the brown chair. To his great annoyance, it was comfortable. He gave Sirius a long-suffering look. “Fine. They stay.”
Sirius let out an exaggerated cheer before disappearing into the kitchen.
Moments later, Remus heard the clatter of cabinets and the unmistakable rustling of bags.
“Pads?”
“Don’t come in here yet.”
Remus, naturally, walked in anyway.
He stopped short.
There, mounted neatly on the wall, was a single spice rack, filled to the brim with tiny glass jars, each meticulously labeled. There was cinnamon, of course—because Sirius had an inexplicable obsession with it—but Remus was genuinely surprised at the variety of seasonings that had made it onto the rack.
Remus folded his arms. “Pads.”
Sirius, caught mid-arrangement, turned with a sheepish grin. “I may have… overprepared?”
Remus raised an eyebrow.
Sirius cleared his throat. “Okay, look. Cooking is a mystery to me. But I figured if we had the right spices, I could just—improvise.”
“With this level of organization?” Remus gestured at the neatly arranged rows. “Pads, you don’t even organize your socks.”
Sirius scoffed. “Socks are oppressive. This is art. ”
Remus huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “You’re ridiculous.”
Sirius sidled up to him, resting his chin on Remus’ shoulder. “But you love me.”
Remus sighed, leaning into him. “Unfortunately.”
Sirius grinned, pressing a quick kiss to his temple. “Then I’d say we’re settling in quite well.”
—
Remus was not supposed to be here.
That was the first thing he thought as he stepped into the dim, overstuffed thrift shop, the bell above the door jingling in a way that sounded entirely too much like a warning. The place smelled of dust and aged wood, and the air was thick with the quiet hum of forgotten things.
He had come to London for some weird little press conference, and he had been on the road needling into Muggle London’s post office for a simple errand before heading home. But then he’d seen the shop, tucked between a boarded-up bookstore and a café that smelled overwhelmingly of cinnamon (which he was absolutely not telling Sirius about, lest they end up with yet another jar of the stuff).
He should have kept walking. He didn’t have the time or, frankly, the money to go into a thrift shop where he would undoubtedly end up spending most of his careful savings.
Instead, he pushed open the door, because Remus was a weak man and thrift shops were his weaknesses.
Inside, it was chaos. Not in the loud, disorderly way of a shop that had been abandoned to time, but in the way of a place that wanted to be strange. Shelves tilted at odd angles, tables sagged under the weight of too many trinkets, and the entire back corner seemed dedicated to a collection of clocks, all ticking slightly out of sync. A gramophone played soft jazz in the background, though Remus could see no sign of it.
He didn’t mean to stay long—just a quick look, maybe a book or two if he was lucky—but then, through the maze of clutter, something caught his eye, standing at a desolate corner near the door of the shop.
A streetlamp.
Or, well, a light pole , if he wanted to be technical.
It stood just taller than him, cast iron painted black with intricate curls of filigree winding up its length. But it was the top that held him still—the lamp itself was a globe of deep, indigo blue, speckled with tiny, golden flecks that shimmered like stars. It wasn’t just painted to look like the night sky—no, it glowed , shifting like real stars trapped in glass. The stencils on the bulb made constellations in its beams of light, and little shooting comets. How something so clearly magical ended up in a muggle thrift shop was beyond Remus.
He swallowed.
It was ridiculous. Utterly, entirely Sirius.
He sighed, already resigned, and went to find the shopkeeper, pulling out his wallet like it physically hurt.
—
Sirius was waiting on the porch when he arrived home, sprawled out on that ridiculous red-and-gold striped chair like he had been there for hours, in one of Remus’ cable knit sweaters and those ridiculous office socks. He sat up immediately when Remus apparated in, eyes alight with curiosity.
“You were gone ages,” Sirius said, stretching. “What were you—” His words cut off as he caught sight of what Remus was levitating behind him.
His mouth fell open.
Remus set the light pole down beside the steps and folded his arms. “Before you say anything, I don’t know how it works. And it was very expensive. But if you bring those chairs, I bring this.”
Sirius scrambled to his feet, practically bounding forward. “Where did you find this?”
“Some bizarre little shop in Muggle London.”
Sirius ran a hand over the cast iron, fingers tracing the filigree before he tilted his head back to stare at the lamp itself. The shifting stars reflected in his eyes. “Moony,” he said, voice quieter now, “this is brilliant. ”
Remus rolled his eyes, a smile making its way onto his face, “Yes, well, I figured you’d say that.”
Sirius turned to him, expression unusually soft. “You saw this and thought of me?”
Remus huffed. “You are the only person I know who would look at a completely impractical, probably cursed, glowing star-lamp and immediately fall in love with it, so yes. And it looked so sad, just sitting there in some small muggle shop, I had to buy it.”
Sirius grinned, reaching over to tug Remus into a small kiss. “You are the best thing that has ever happened to me.”
“Yes, yes,” Remus muttered into it, setting his forehead against Sirius’, “Now help me install the damn thing before I change my mind.”
They spent the next hour setting it up, Sirius absolutely no help at all, mostly providing unhelpful commentary while Remus actually did the work. There was a lot of debate as to where the light pole would actually go – Sirius was on the losing side, suggesting the bedroom – until it ended up on the porch, on the right side.
They both sat in their chairs, Remus drinking his black coffee and Sirius with his cinnamon-something and Remus looked at the small constellations casting shadows and glows on Sirius’ pale skin. He was speaking animatedly about the bush in front of their house.
Remus smiled, before agreeing that it was a rather ugly bush and they would have to prune it immediately.
“Wait, Sirius, not right now!” He yelled, as Sirius got up and sauntered his way towards it.
—
Remus took a deep breath.
“Pads, love of my life, why are there so many paint cans here?”
Sirius emerged from their bedroom – in some jean overalls that not even a Russian washerman could recover, for the sheer amount of stains on them – absolutely beaming.
“We’re painting a mural on the door!”
Remus stared at him, then at the absurd number of paint cans stacked precariously in the living room. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “A mural. On the door .”
Sirius nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, Moony, that’s what I just said.”
Remus inhaled. “You mean the front door? The one people see when they visit?”
“Obviously.” Sirius placed his hands on his hips, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “Our cottage is already perfect, but it lacks flair . Personality. A grand, artistic statement.”
Remus folded his arms. “And what, exactly, is this statement supposed to be?”
Sirius grinned wider, grabbed a parchment from the table, and unfurled it with a dramatic whoosh . “ This .”
Remus took one look and blinked.
It was a sketch of a black dog standing in a vast field of lilies, its head thrown back in a howl toward a full moon hanging low in the sky. The flowers stretched out endlessly around it, painted in delicate strokes, their pale petals glowing against the deep, inky blue of the night. The dog itself—Padfoot—was captured mid-motion, its silhouette outlined in silver, almost ethereal against the flowers swaying around its paws.
But as Remus’ eyes roved over the design, he noticed something else—a small, golden-brown rat curled up near the dog’s paws, nestled within the lilies. Not hidden, not forgotten, just there , warm and steady, a quiet presence beneath the night sky.
His throat tightened.
“You want to paint this on our front door?” His voice came out quieter than he intended.
Sirius hesitated, just for a second, before grinning again—though this time, it was softer. “Yeah. It’s nice, isn’t it? I mean, lilies for James, obviously, and—well.” He scratched the back of his head, suddenly sheepish. “The moon and the dog are us , I suppose. And the rat’s Pete. He’s not really the ‘dramatic statement’ type, but you know…he was always there.”
Remus swallowed.
It was them . It was James. It was Peter. It was all of them.
Remus sighed, but there was no real exasperation left in it. “Fine,” he muttered. “But if we’re doing this, we’re doing it properly . You are not freehanding it, Sirius.”
Sirius whooped, already reaching for the first paint can. “Wouldn’t dream of it!”
—
James and Lily arrived in a flurry of noise and the unmistakable scent of something baked. James, juggling a precarious stack of wrapped parcels, nudged the door open with his hip while Lily trailed behind, cheeks pink from the cold, her ever-present camera swinging against her chest.
" Evans, love of my life, " Sirius drawled from the couch, draping himself over the arm like a spoiled cat. " Tell me you come bearing gifts. "
Lily smirked, holding up a pie dish. “Pumpkin. Homemade. Not that you deserve it.”
James dumped the rest of the boxes onto the kitchen table with a thud , clapping his hands together. “Alright, Moony, Pads. You’ve got one hour to impress us before I eat this entire pie myself.”
Remus, wandering in from the kitchen, wearing a little apron which Sirius laughed himself silly at, rolled his sleeves down, a dusting of flour still on his wrist. “Already in the oven. You’ll live.”
Lunch was loud and familiar—James talking a mile a minute about Quidditch, Lily rolling her eyes at the Ministry’s latest nonsense, Sirius dramatically arguing about the latest werewolf law, and Remus quietly watching, and adding humorous inputs. The kind of thing that only happened when the four of them were together. (He didn’t think about Peter. Didn’t miss him. At all).
Afterward, they spilled outside into the crisp autumn air, leaves crunching underfoot.
Sirius, because he never had a thought he didn’t act on, made a beeline for the old light pole at the end of the garden path and leaned against it with a grin. “Moony, come here.”
Remus sighed, but he was already moving. “What now?”
Sirius tugged him in, a gloved hand curling around the front of Remus’s jumper, and kissed him.
The light pole was cool against Sirius’s back, but Remus was warm, steady in the way Sirius’ always ran cold. The world shrank to just the way Remus’s lips moved against his, the faint taste of cinnamon still lingering from lunch.
That’s when Lily’s camera clicked.
Sirius startled slightly, but Remus didn’t let him go, just exhaled a quiet laugh against his lips.
Lily, smirking, waved the developing Polaroid in the air. “I think he’s a keeper, Black.”
James peered over her shoulder and let out a low whistle. “Merlin’s teeth , that’s a romantic photo. Which one of you is writing the novel?”
Sirius, still catching his breath, huffed, and ran his hands through Remus’ hair, gloves catching on every blonde curl, “It was supposed to be cool . Dashing. Not—”
Remus smirked. “Romantic?”
Sirius scowled, but his ears were red.
Lily handed over the Polaroid without a word. Sirius took it, looking at it longer than necessary. The grainy image showed them caught in golden afternoon light, Sirius’s fingers curled in Remus’s sweater, Remus’s hands bracketing Sirius’s waist, the old light pole framing them like something out of a Muggle film.
Later, long after James and Lily had gone, and took all the loudness and laughter with them and left soft quietness, Remus found the photo tucked neatly into the mirror’s frame above their dresser.
He glanced at Sirius, who was already half-asleep, curled under their duvet, hair spread out across the pillow and on Remus’ shoulder.
“It’s a good one,” Remus murmured, brushing his fingers over the edges of the picture, “She could be a photographer.”
Sirius, eyes still closed, smiled. “Nah,” he said, voice thick with sleep. “I think that’s just us.”
—
It’s a normal dinner. Remus is leafing through some book he saw under the dining table, eating his food absentmindedly.
"He doesn’t even try anymore," Sirius grumbles, voice tight. "We send letters, we visit, we beg him to come out, and what do we get? A few measly sentences and some half-baked excuse about being busy."
Remus sighs, tired of returning to the same avenue of conversation they’ve had so many times, "Sirius, he is busy. He’s working, he’s got that ministry job, he’s got Livia, you know how it is."
"Oh, don’t give me that," Sirius cuts in sharply. "We’re all busy! But I make time for you. I make time for James. Even Evans, when she decides she can tolerate me." His fork clatters against the plate as he throws it down. "Peter just—what? Decided we weren’t worth it anymore?"
Remus presses his fingers to his temple, book abandoned, "He just needs space. Not everyone is like you , Sirius. Not everyone throws themselves into friendships with the same—" He hesitates. " Devotion ."
Sirius’ jaw tightens. "Devotion?" He repeats, slowly, "That’s what you think this is?"
Remus exhales through his nose. "I’m saying Peter needs time. Not everyone processes things the same way. He’s struggling, Sirius."
"Struggling," Sirius echoes bitterly. "So, what, I should sit here and wait for him to decide we’re worth talking to again? Because I’ve had just about enough of that. If he wants to act like we don’t exist, fine. I don’t need him. I don’t know why we were ever friends in the first place. It was me and James and then – stupid little idiot."
Remus slams his book shut. His hands hit against the table, rattling the cutlery, his chair scraping back as he stands. "You don’t get to say that," he snaps, voice sharper than he intended. "You don’t get to act like you never cared about him. What the hell do you – what, it was you and James and then me and Peter just crash landed?"
Sirius rises too, eyes blazing. "That’s not what I meant! Stop putting words in my mouth!"
"But that’s what you said !" Remus shouts back. "Merlin, do you even listen to yourself? He’s our friend , Sirius!”
"Yeah? Well, maybe he doesn’t feel the same way anymore! Clearly!"
Silence.
Sirius’ chest is heaving. Remus clenches his fists at his sides. He sends Sirius one considering look.
And then he turns.
Leaves.
Doesn’t bother taking his coat, doesn’t bother looking back. Just shoves the door open and steps into the night, and coincidentally the light pole dims at that very moment.
The cold air is biting, but Remus barely feels it as he apparates.
He reaches in front of his old orphanage, the building once tall and imposing, destitute and dilapidated now. October fog swirls around it.
His feet take him down familiar streets, past dimly lit buildings, past places he hasn’t visited in years. He ends up near an old book store that was once his favourite place on earth. Before Hogwarts came along. Before Sirius came along.
He leans against the wall, the rough surface biting into his back. With a sigh, he digs through his pocket, finds a crumpled cigarette and a match. The flame flickers in the wind, but he shields it just enough. Takes a long drag. He hasn’t done this in a while.
The smoke is bitter and stale, pours out in wisps from his mouth. It doesn’t calm him, not really.
The night stretches long and empty, but Remus isn’t ready to go home. Not yet. It’s only when he sees the sky turn into a light pink that he realises how much time he’s really spent.
He finishes the cigarette down to the filter, drops it, and crushes it beneath his shoe. Then he walks. Just walks. Past the ruins of his childhood, past quiet, sleeping streets, past all the memories he thought he left behind.
Sirius' words are still ringing in his head, a loud booming voice with an aristocratic accent that only comes out when Sirius has lost control. Only Remus has ever heard it.
"It was me and James, and then—"
God, it hurts. He knows Sirius can be careless with his words, that sometimes his anger rushes ahead of his mouth. But this? This hit something in Remus.
Hadn’t Remus always feared this? That he was just an addition to them? That without the war, without the shared pain of their youth, maybe Sirius wouldn’t have ever chosen him at all? Why would he – extraordinary boy choose someone damaged? A damn near newspaper headline, if nothing else.
It’s a thought that claws at him as he walks, a gnawing thing that won’t let him rest. By the time he finally apparates home, the first light of dawn is bleeding into the sky.
And there—on the porch, curled in on himself like a wounded animal—Sirius is waiting.
He's a wreck. His hair is a mess, his clothes rumpled, his eyes red-rimmed and hollow. He’s wearing Remus’ cable knit sweater, but his feet are bare and his hands and cheeks are pink. He looks up the second Remus appears, and something inside him seems to break.
"Remus," he breathes. And then he’s moving.
Remus barely has time to react before Sirius crashes into him, arms wrapping around him so tightly it’s like he’s afraid Remus will disappear if he lets go. His whole body is shaking.
"Moony," Sirius chokes out, voice raw, sniffing once or twice, "I didn’t mean it, I swear . I—God, I was angry, and I was saying stupid things, and I—" He pulls back just enough to meet Remus' eyes, his own wide and desperate. "You’re my whole life now, Remus. You know that, don’t you?"
Remus’ breath catches. His anger, his exhaustion, all of it wavers in the face of Sirius’ obvious anguish.
"I thought—" Sirius swallows hard, burying his face in Remus’ shoulder. "I thought you weren’t coming back."
And just like that, Remus feels himself breaking too. He sighs, wrapping his arms around Sirius, holding him steady.
"I always come back," he murmurs, pressing his lips to Sirius’ temple. " Always ."
—
The night air is crisp as Sirius and Remus step out of the Potter’s home, the warm glow of the house behind them still spilling onto the porch. Laughter and celebration linger in the air, the echoes of James' joy vibrating through their bones.
"A baby, Moony," Sirius had kept saying all night, eyes bright, full of something vast and uncontainable. "Can you believe it? James is going to be a father. Merlin, what a nightmare."
But now, as they walk through the quiet streets, it’s simmered down into something softer. Sirius swings their joined hands between them absentmindedly, something he picked up in sixth year and hasn’t stopped since. The celebration had been beautiful—Lily glowing, James glowing even more—but there was one particular comment that had lodged itself in Sirius’ chest.
"Sirius is going to be excellent at parenting," James had said, grinning like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "With how he fusses over us? Merlin, this kid's going to have two sets of parents."
At the time, Sirius had laughed. Had thrown an arm around James and ruffled his hair, making a promise about how he’d absolutely spoil the kid rotten. But now, the words meant differently in the quiet.
Remus, perceptive as ever, nudges him. “You’re thinking,” he murmurs.
Sirius huffs a small laugh, billowing some smoke into the cold night air. “God forbid.”
They walk a few more paces before Sirius speaks again. “James thinks I’d be good at it,” he says, voice unreadable. “Parenting.”
Remus smiles. “He’s right.”
Sirius glances at him, and his scars are a bit silvery under the light-pole littered path they’re walking, his hair like a blur of greyish-yellow paint, “You think so?”
Remus shrugs. “You already take care of everyone, Sirius. You just pretend you don’t.”
A beat of silence. The only sound is their footsteps against the pavement.
Then, carefully, Sirius says, “Do you ever think about it?”
It’s the first time either of them have broached the subject—kids, a future like that. With their respective histories – Remus, with no parents, and Sirius with parents that he was better off not having.
Remus doesn’t answer immediately. He exhales, considering.
“I don’t know,” he says finally. “I never really… saw it for myself.”
Sirius nods, like he expected that. "Yeah," he says. "Me neither."
But something in his voice wavers.
Remus studies him. “But?”
Sirius hesitates. Kicks at a stray pebble on the pavement. “But James just looked so damn happy tonight,” he admits, almost sheepishly. “And I started thinking—what if?” He lets out a small, breathy laugh, running a hand through his hair. “It’s stupid, I know. But I just can't stop thinking of some tiny weird little kid with blonde hair running through the cottage and making our life hell,” Sirius takes a pause, almost beaming now, “He’d definitely have your smile.”
Remus doesn’t say anything for a moment. Then, “Putting aside the fact that we’re two men and magic is a limited thing, he’d have your smile. It’s definitely the prettier of us, and we’re giving him the best.”
Sirius glances at him.
Sirius blinks. Looks away, looks back. Something flickers across his expression, too fast to name.
“Agree to disagree, until we find out, then,” he murmurs.
Remus clutches Sirius’ hand a bit tighter, like some schoolyard promise.
They don’t talk about it after that. The night stretches on, and soon, they’re home, tangled up in each other’s warmth. But as Remus drifts off to sleep, he wonders if maybe—just maybe —there’s a world where a child could fit between them, with a brilliant smile and brilliant grey eyes.
—
The summons comes at midnight. A sharp, insistent knock against the door, followed by the unmistakable flicker of a Patronus—Moody’s voice crackling through the dimly lit room.
"Raid in the North. Apparition point in five. Move."
Remus moves immediately. Years of war have made the process second nature. He’s pulling on his coat, gathering their wands, stuffing provisions into a bag before the echoes of Moody’s voice have even fully settled. But Sirius—
Sirius is sitting in a chair by the fireplace, unmoving. His hands are clasped together, elbows resting on his knees, head bowed.
He doesn’t move to grab his coat. Doesn’t reach for his wand.
"Pads," Remus calls, barely pausing as he shoves another item into the bag. "We don’t have time for this."
Sirius doesn’t answer.
Remus turns. The firelight casts shadows along Sirius' face, the sharp angles of his cheekbones, reflecting red in his eyes.
Then—softly, almost too quietly—Sirius says, “Are we ever going to come back?”
Remus stops.
The room is silent except for the crackling fire. The weight of the question settles between them, heavy and suffocating.
“Sirius—”
“No, really,” Sirius interrupts, looking up at him. His voice is quiet, but there’s something raw behind it, something desperate. “We leave. We fight. We throw ourselves into this war and certain death over and over again, and—” He swallows, looks away. “What if we don’t come back this time?”
Remus lets out a slow breath. Sets the bag down.
He crosses the room, kneeling in front of Sirius. He takes Sirius’ hands in his own, warm despite the chill that has settled over them both.
“We are coming back,” Remus says, steady and certain.
Sirius shakes his head. "You don't know that."
"I do," Remus insists. "Because we have to. Because we’re not done yet, Sirius." He squeezes Sirius' hands. "Because you and I, we don’t just disappear. We live ."
Sirius exhales shakily. His fingers tighten around Remus’, like he’s trying to memorize the feeling, like if he holds tight enough, he won’t have to let go.
Remus presses a quick, fierce kiss to Sirius’ forehead. Then he stands, pulling Sirius up with him.
He draws his wand. Flicks it once.
A shimmer spreads through the house, a soft blue glow wrapping around the walls, the furniture, the pictures on the mantel. The air hums with magic—gentle, protective, waiting.
“A stasis spell ?” Sirius asks, watching the way the light lingers before disappearing.
Remus nods. "Everything stays as it is. Nothing changes until we come back." He meets Sirius’ gaze, unwavering. "Because we are coming back."
Sirius doesn’t answer for a long moment. Then, finally, he exhales, something in his expression softening.
"Alright," he murmurs. "Alright, Moons.You’re an honest man, I hear."
Remus huffs a laugh. Picks up the bag. Slings it over his shoulder.
Sirius pulls on his coat, shoulders squaring. He still looks unsure, but when Remus reaches for his hand again, he takes it without hesitation.
—
The house had waited.
Through the years. Through the dust and the cold and the silence. Through war and grief and time stretching on without them.
Sirius steps inside, and the air shifts. Just barely. The faintest hum lingers in the walls, like a heartbeat slowed but not stopped. A whisper of magic, stretched thin but holding, still clinging to the house after all these years.
The stasis spell.
Remus’ spell.
Sirius swallows hard, his throat dry and aching. His hand brushes against the wall, and he feels it—faint, trembling, but still there. The magic curls around his fingers like a ghost of what once was, a memory suspended in time.
"We’ll always come back," Remus had said. His voice is long gone, but the promise lingers, wrapped into the very bones of the house.
But no one had come back.
The dust on the floor is undisturbed, the air thick with the weight of years. Sirius moves through the rooms, past furniture draped in sheets, past shelves stripped bare, past the shadows of a life that had been his. The kitchen table is still there. The chair he used to sit in. The doorframe where Remus had once carved something with his wand—half a name, half a thought—now worn and faded but not erased.
He exhales, a shaking breath that doesn’t feel like his own.
The spell is still here, waiting. Holding on.
He presses his palm flat against the wall. "Moons," he murmurs, his voice hoarse, broken. "You stupid, stubborn—" His voice catches, and he laughs, but it’s a fractured sound, sharp and uneven.
Remus had never let things go.
Even when he should have. Even when the war was swallowing them whole. Even when they were falling apart.
And he hadn’t let go of this either.
Sirius closes his eyes, lets himself stand there, lets the quiet wrap around him. The house feels like an echo of something he barely remembers—like a dream slipping away the moment he reaches for it.
"We’ll always come back."
Sirius’ fingers curl against the wall. He stays until the weight of it all is too much, until the spell hums faintly beneath his skin, until the silence settles deep into his ribs.
“I’ve made a dishonest man out of you, Remus.”
Then, finally, he steps away.
And leaves.