Chapter Text
Soft morning sunlight spilled into the bedroom and onto Sirius’ sleeping form. Remus watched the slight rise and fall of Sirius’ chest, saw how the light cast his pale face and dark hair in an ethereal yellow glow, and realized that the knot in his stomach was regret.
Careful not to disturb the man beside him, Remus propped himself up on an elbow and quietly continued to stare. In this light, he could almost fool himself into believing that the sharp lines and angles Azkaban had left on Sirius’ face were naught but a dream and that Sirius’ face was as full and vibrant as it had been in their youth. Not that he was any less beautiful now—but the visible reminder of the distance and time between them left a sour taste in Remus’ mouth.
Remus swung his legs over the side of the bed and began to redress himself quietly. He knew the steps to this dance well. He’d be out of Sirius’ bedroom before anyone in the Order woke or arrived, and when Sirius finally stumbled down for breakfast, Remus would offer him tea the way he liked it and the two of them would smile at each other but leave all mention of the night’s activities locked away with the mementos of Sirius’ teenage years.
It was pathetic, Remus knew, that the highlight of his days were those secret nights with Sirius, but he supposed that shouldn’t be surprising. Since he was sixteen years old, Sirius Black had been too charming for Remus to resist.
As he walked past the decapitated House Elf heads mounted on the walls and the framed portraits of Sirius’ disapproving ancestors, Remus wondered if Sirius would still choose to lie beside him if he had his freedom. Once upon a time, he’d have been sure of the answer. Now, though, Remus felt like little more than an old, hobbling werewolf, horribly aware that he appeared closer to fifty years than his actual thirty-five and that he’d greyed around the edges like an aged photograph.
By the time he reached Grimmauld’s kitchen, Remus was considering drinking something stronger than tea.
Remus breathed deeply and pushed away that old urge. He started the kettle and located his favorite brand of tea, helpfully kept stocked by Molly Weasley’s thoughtfulness, and readied two cups. He had just begun pouring the water when Sirius walked into the kitchen. His heavy footfalls—and the sudden screeching of shame of my flesh coming from Walburga Black’s portrait in the front hall, which Remus silenced with a well-placed flick of his wand—gave Remus ample warning before Sirius pressed himself against Remus’ back and wrapped his arms around his waist.
“You’re up early,” Remus observed. “Normally I have time to add the milk.”
“Am I interrupting your alone time?” Sirius asked with an amused lilt to his voice.
Remus wandlessly summoned the milk and sugar. “You always do, although it’s never bothered you before.”
He felt more than saw Sirius’ shrug. “What’re boundaries, anyway?”
Remus finished making the tea and handed Sirius a cup. “Good morning,” he said warmly.
Sirius looked gaunt in the kitchen light, but his grey eyes were soft as he responded with his own, “Good morning, Remus.”
The two of them sat at the kitchen table, Remus with a new Defense tome and Sirius with that morning’s issue of the Daily Prophet. Every so often, Sirius’ eyes would flit up to the window. Looking for Hedwig, Remus knew. It dampened his mood a little, and he wasn’t sure why.
“Who’s stopping by today?”
Sirius asked that every morning. Remus hummed thoughtfully. “I believe Mundungus is still upstairs, and Tonks stayed the night. Arthur and Kingsley may come by for a short while. Other than that, it’s the two of us again.”
A beat passed in silence. “You don’t have to stay because I’m stuck here. I’ll manage.”
Remus turned the page of his book. “So you keep telling me. One might think you don’t want me here.”
“I didn’t say that.”
Ah, how he missed the simplicity night brought them. “I’m here because I want to be.”
Sirius shook his head. His long hair, disheveled from sleep and years of neglect, swung about his face. “No one wants to be in this fucking house.”
Remus wondered, again, what post-Azkaban Sirius would look like once he had his freedom. “Right,” Remus said dryly. He sipped his tea. “I stay for the tasteful Black decor.”
That, at least, elicited an amused snort from Sirius. “Kreacher’s relatives add to the space, do they?”
“As do yours. Their disapproving late-night muttering helps me sleep.”
Sirius watched him almost fondly. “Are you spending the moon here?”
The rest of Remus’ good mood drained away. Sirius asked him every month, and every month, Remus had the same answer. It wasn’t that transforming in Grimmauld would be impossible—the Wolfsbane Potion Severus begrudgingly supplied made it a viable option. But Remus had gotten used to spending the moons alone, with or without the potion, and he wasn’t so sure he’d forgiven Sirius enough to show him something as vulnerable as the wolf he was now. Somehow, the sex felt less intimate. Remus sighed tiredly. “Sirius.”
“ No. Don’t—” Sirius cut himself off and tried again. “Please don’t shut me out again. Remus. I know things have changed between us, but this is something we could get back.”
Remus looked at him sharply. “I don’t run anymore, Sirius. I sleep. You’d be bored.”
“You could never bore me,” Sirius told him, sending a fresh wave of heartbreak over Remus. Both of his palms were flat on the table as he leaned closer. “We’ve hurt each other. I know. But I want to get back some of what we had, and I can’t do that if you don’t let me in at least a little.”
Remus felt his expression shutter closed. They were dangerously close to a topic they hadn’t dared mention since that night in the Shrieking Shack. “I wasn’t the one who pulled away.”
If he let his mind wander back to that time, the memories would be as crisp as if they’d happened yesterday, the hurt just as fresh. He’d remember waking up alone and walking into the kitchen to see that Sirius had already eaten and gone. He’d remember returning from long Order missions and being interrogated instead of embraced. He’d remember sneers and barbed words and learning that heartbreak can be slow and excruciating.
Something in Sirius’ eyes flickered. “We betrayed each other.”
Remus downed the last of his tea. “No,” he said softly. “For there to have been betrayal, there would have to have been trust first. You haven’t trusted me for a very long time, Sirius, so don’t ask me to trust you with—” He’d intended to say my heart but changed his mind. “—this now.”
“I trust you,” Sirius argued, his volume climbing as it did when he geared up for a fight. “It was a war, Remus. No one trusted anyone back then, you should know that—”
“I trusted you.” Remus’ hands were trembling, so he hid them under the table. “Until Lily and James were dead and I thought you to be the Secret Keeper, I trusted you. I believed you were the spy after, I admit that. I wish I’d questioned it more, wish I had pushed back. I’m sorry for not doing more. But the months you put me through—I need time. You were the one who stopped coming to the moons, Sirius. That was your decision.”
That, Remus was surprised to see, got through to Sirius. “I should never have left you alone to transform,” Sirius admitted. His voice was hoarse. “It was… cruel. I can be cruel, sometimes. I thought about that a lot in Azkaban.”
Remus looked away, swallowing the lump in his throat. He hadn’t expected an admission like that from Sirius, but this Sirius—worn and small from his time in prison—had a habit of catching Remus off guard. An old friend masquerading as a stranger. Relearning the man was as exciting as it was heartbreaking.
Sirius plowed on. “I’ve always had a talent for hurting you.”
Remus’ amber eyes flew to Sirius’ grey. “Don’t say that,” he said quietly. It made their history feel so inevitable. Like they’d been pulled to a terrible fate that they never stood a chance of defying. “Saying that means we were meant to fail from the start.”
Sirius huffed out a laugh. “C’mon, Remus. You and I have always faced those odds. It’s why we know each other so well. And it’s why—it’s why—”
“Why we thought each other capable of such darkness,” Remus murmured.
“Exactly. But I shouldn’t have stopped coming to the moons,” Sirius admitted. “I knew it’d hurt you. It’s the only reason I stayed away. It was about striking first.” Sirius closed his eyes, and Remus could read the regret and self-hatred in every line on his face. “You know me.” The smile was bitter. “I’d rather give the wound than take it.”
Those words, at least, Remus knew were true. He closed his eyes and let the statement wash over him, feeling the familiar sting that every thought he’d had of Sirius over the years left, but beneath it all was the burning Remus associated with old scars trying to heal. He did a little soul-searching and came up with an honest conclusion of his own: “I should… I should have fought harder for us. I waited instead of taking any action of my own, and for that I am truly sorry.”
When Remus next met Sirius’ eyes, he was startled to see that they were wet with tears. Sirius Black rarely ever shed a tear, and the sight caught Remus flat-footed. “You’d be the one to hijack my apology, wouldn’t you, Moony?”
Moony. Sirius hadn’t called him by that name in so long… “Apologies are my specialty, Padfoot.”
Sirius’ responding grin was blinding. There was a little bit of sunshine in his eyes now, and Remus ached to find a way to keep it there. Even the decade apart could not grant him immunity from Sirius Black’s charm. Still, Remus couldn’t make the same mistakes twice. “Sirius. I want to be perfectly clear with you. I am happy you’re back, and I am happy to, well—”
“Fuck me?” Sirius lifted one brow both critically and in amusement.
Remus shot him a look. “If that’s how you’d put it, yes. Everything we’ve spoken about, I forgive you for. I do. But it will take more to rebuild the trust that was broken.”
Sirius tilted his head thoughtfully. “You’re saying… that I have to earn back your trust to see the furry side of you, but not to get into your bed?”
Anger flashed through Remus so suddenly it made him dizzy. He stood abruptly, and Sirius jumped in response. Remus shook his head at himself as he gathered his dishes, intent on washing up and leaving the kitchen as soon as possible. He didn’t appreciate Sirius’ attempt to undermine his words with a joke, nor did he like the implication that he was an easy lay. Sirius, of all people, should know that Remus rarely let his walls down enough for anyone to get that close. Sirius himself was one of very few exceptions.
“Hey!” Sirius stood. “Wait, Remus—it was a bad joke, all right? I only meant that I’ve seen all of you already. You don’t have to hide any of it from me.”
He understood correctly, then, that Remus didn’t want to show Sirius anything Sirius hadn’t seen before. His body—that was an old relic. More wear and tear, certainly, but for the most part unchanged. Sirius would recognize that, much like how Remus could still see the old Sirius in the new one before him. But the wolf?
The wolf didn’t run anymore. The wolf curled up with a blanket and slept until sunrise. Its bloodthirsty ways remained trapped deep within Remus’ mind even as his body underwent the transformation, leaving awkward, old Professor Lupin in a body he could not and didn’t care to use. His gait as the wolf was wobbly, his human mind completely opposed to moving the way an animal would, and Remus was embarrassed that this was his reality for one night out of each month. No, Sirius would never recognize the wolf like this, nor would he be able to recognize Remus.
And to be completely candid, Remus had never had to face anyone’s true reaction to seeing the wolf for the first time, and he didn’t intend to begin any time soon.
“I am not the man you fell in love with twenty years ago,” Remus insisted softly.
Sirius’ gaze hardened. A familiar determination settled over his features. “Well. I’ll just have to prove you wrong.”
Remus certainly did not like the sound of that, but Tonks’ loud “Bugger!” as she collided with the kitchen door frame prevented him from saying so.
…
It started with little comments about their previous lives thrown about here and there. Remus didn’t think much of it at first. Arthur brought in a strange mixture of lilies and dittany at Molly’s request to “give the place some green,” and Sirius asked loudly if Remus recalled the abundance of dittany they’d kept in their first flat out of Hogwarts. Tonks bought out half of Honeydukes after a mission gone wrong, and Sirius nicked Remus’ old favorite chocolate bars from her stash. Bill showed up in a Siouxsie and the Banshees t-shirt—which Remus suspected he was unaware was a Muggle band—and Sirius groaned at the loss of good music and asked Remus if he remembered sneaking out of Hogwarts to go see The Clash perform in Muggle London. He did, of course—he’d orchestrated those excursions. He’d have gone alone, in all honesty, if the other boys hadn’t been up to the risk. He’d found acceptance in that scene, and some of his best memories were of sneaking into pubs and other locations to hear it live. He still put on those records, still grinned when he heard the Ramones or the Sex Pistols, and it seemed that Sirius knew that without being told.
“I remember that night,” Sirius continued, unaware or uncaring that half of the Order was listening intently to this rare anecdote of before, “because you looked so sexy with two pints in your hands and a cigarette between your teeth. Do you still smoke Marlboro?”
The question was not “Do you still smoke?”, which jarred Remus enough that he didn’t have the sense to lie and keep up appearances. “Yes,” he said, surprised. “I do.”
“Hmm.” Sirius tapped his chin in exaggerated thoughtfulness. “Funny how remarkably similar you are to the man you were twenty years ago.”
Remus paused in the doorway. He’d been about to help Molly with the washing up, but now half of the Weasleys, Tonks, Mundungus, and Kingsleys were all watching him curiously. He didn’t particularly mind that Sirius was sharing these little tidbits, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to reveal the finer points of their relationship just yet. “You’re basing your judgement on my music taste and what I smoke?”
Sirius’ grey eyes twinkled. “Partially. Were you about to do the washing up?”
Remus blinked. “I was going to offer my assistance.”
With the same dramatic flourish he possessed at sixteen, Sirius stood from the table and stretched. “I’ll dry, then. Like old times.”
Arthur and Kingsley both glanced between Remus and Sirius with some surprise, obviously having puzzled out the nature of those old times. It jolted something deep inside, realizing that Sirius was being so purposefully open about what they’d been to each other. He hadn’t been in 1980. Remus was the one who wanted to be open about the relationship then, but he’d always respected Sirius’ wish to keep it under wraps. He wasn’t sure if James had even been aware that the two of them were ever more than friends—Remus had certainly never told him. He figured that Sirius had feared James’ response to such news and hadn’t wanted to lose another brother.
Remus had wondered often in those days who Sirius would choose if it ever came down to him or James. Well. Sirius had answered that when he kept the true Secret Keeper from him, hadn’t he?
It was a nasty, unfair thought. Sirius hadn’t been anything but sweet, and here was Remus wanting to wipe the smile from his face. He kept his face impassive. “If you’d like.”
But Sirius could still read Remus like no one else, and he wasn’t fooled. He tilted his head to the side, concerned, but he didn’t say anything as he followed Remus into the kitchen. They relieved Molly of the cleaning, and only then did Sirius speak. “All right. What’d I say wrong?”
Remus avoided his gaze. “Nothing,” he muttered. It was a silly thing to worry over—Remus felt sixteen again, and that made him feel foolish.
Sirius plucked the plate Remus had been scrubbing from his hands and got to drying. “Moony,” he said lowly, “I want to know.”
For a moment, Remus debated ignoring him. But Sirius was looking at him so beseechingly that he felt his resolve waver after mere moments. “I don’t understand,” he admitted, voice coming out harsher than he’d initially intended. “You never wanted—I mean, not even James. You never even told James, did you? And now you’re telling everyone like it doesn’t matter?”
When Remus finished speaking, he looked up sharply, ready to confront Sirius’ undoubtedly raised hackles. To his utter shock, Remus didn’t see any fight in Sirius—just a deep look of horror and regret.
“It means everything, Remus. That’s why I’m saying it now. Fuck, don’t you know that it’s one of my worst regrets? Not telling anyone, much less James and Lily? I was…” Sirius’ mouth twisted into a frown, like the words were clamoring to say locked in his throat. “I was a bloody coward then. I swear to you, I’m braver now.”
“I didn’t realize it took so much courage to admit to—” Remus cut himself off and looked away.
Sirius heard the unspoken words anyway. “It wasn’t about you. Or—or maybe it was. Because ruining us would’ve been catastrophic for us all—”
I wish you hadn’t assumed we’d ruin everything. I wish you had, even once, risked James’ reaction because you loved me as loudly as he loved Lily. I wish I had been good news and not a shameful secret. “You didn’t think we were worth the risk then, but we are now that James can’t cast you out?”
“Merlin, Remus—what do you want me to say? I’m sorry. I regret it. I’d go back and change it if I could, but I bloody well can’t, can I?” Sirius exhaled sharply, running his hands through his long hair. “I should’ve told him. I should’ve told everyone. I’m trying to do that now—unless you’re the one who doesn’t want anyone knowing?”
The challenge made Remus bristle. He set down the second plate he’d picked up, afraid he’d grip it too hard. “What’s to know, Sirius? Two sad old men who used to love each other are fucking at night because they can’t have anyone else?”
Sirius’ mouth dropped open in a rare display of speechlessness, and Remus felt sickeningly pleased with the reaction. He hadn’t meant to be so honest, but he couldn’t argue with the result. And better Sirius know now that Remus wasn’t interested in being a placeholder—better they both stop this now if it was doomed to end like last time—
“If that’s how you feel,” Sirius said coldly, “then we’ll stop. And I won’t tell anyone about all the good days we had. But if this is you letting your ridiculous brain get in the way of your own happiness again—don’t look at me like that, you do it all the time—then let me tell you, Moony, that I didn’t used to love you. I love you. Don’t you put words in my fucking mouth and then tell me I’m the reason this can’t work.”
And just like that, the fight fled Remus. “Love… me?”
Sirius rolled his eyes. “For nearly twenty years now, yeah.”
“You never told me that. I mean—not since before Azkaban.” Remus remembered all the unreturned I love yous that had left him empty.
Sirius’ gaze softened at that. “‘M telling you now, Moony. Never stopped, not even when I stopped showing you. If…” Here, Sirius faltered. “If you moved on after twelve years, I’d understand.”
Slowly, Remus shook his head. “There were days I wish I had,” he admitted hoarsely, “but it never stuck.”
Sirius didn’t even bother trying to smother his pleased grin. “Think you can continue loving an ex-convict?”
Yes. “Promise me, Padfoot, that you’re not passing the time with me until you’re freed. I couldn’t bear that.”
“Oi!” Sirius set down the towel he was using and crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Give me a little more credit. Believe it or not, Moons, you have more appeal than being a willing warm body.”
That was true when he was sixteen. It was true when he was twenty, even. But after 1981, grief had diminished Remus into a shell of the man he’d been.
Sirius’ lips thinned. “More of the ‘not the man you fell in love with’ shit?”
Wordlessly, Remus nodded. Sirius exhaled heavily.
“All right. Lucky you, Moony, that I’m a man who jumps to meet every challenge and has unlimited time on his hands.”
“It’s not a challenge. I’m asking you—”
Warm hands were suddenly cupping either side of Remus’ face. Sirius’ face was centimeters away; Remus could almost see his reflection in those obsidian pupils. “This isn’t boredom, Remus. I’ll prove it to you no matter how long it takes.”
Remus picked up the plate he’d discarded as gracefully as he could with his face still caught in Sirius’ hands. “If you say so.”
Sirius pressed a quick kiss to the tip of Remus’ nose. “I do.”
…
“Do you think he needs another broom?”
Remus looked up from the research he was doing for the Order to frown at Sirius. “What? Who?”
Sirius, dressed in the ugliest Christmas sweater Remus had been able to find (at Sirius’ own request), shot him the most unimpressed look Remus had ever seen. “Harry, Moony. Keep up.”
If Sirius’ dedication to being a good godfather wasn’t so endearing, Remus would have bitten his head off from the constant nagging about Christmas preparations. “You’ve already bought him the best broom there is. What would he do with another?”
Watching Sirius deflate almost made Remus feel guilty, but really—Harry didn’t need another fucking broomstick. “You’re right,” Sirius sighed. “Aw, Moons. What am I supposed to get him for Christmas? I can’t take him anywhere because I’m stuck in this house. I’ve already bought him the best Quidditch supplies available. I don’t know him well enough to know what other hobbies he has, because I’m stuck in this house, and there is no way I’m getting that kid clothes for the holidays. That’s probably all he’s gotten his whole life.”
Remus reluctantly set down his book. “He likes Defense,” he offered up. “He’d appreciate something related to that, I think—defensive objects or such. Actually, there’s a new set of books that present some fascinating theories on new applications for defensive spells that he might enjoy—”
“Are you pulling my leg, or did he inherit more from Lily than I thought? Textbooks for Christmas?”
“Not textbooks,” Remus argued, slightly offended. “They’re a good read. They align with his interests. You know he wants to be an Auror?”
Sirius paused in his frantic pacing. “He’d be good at that. All right, all right—purchase those with my gold, yeah? But there’s gotta be another thing. I refuse to only give my godson books.”
Remus shrugged. “Honeydukes, Zonkos, or something more sentimental—is there something of James and Lily’s you could give him? Something meaningful?”
Sirius looked thoughtful. “Wouldn’t want to give him something that’s sitting in his vault…”
“I have a few things, I think,” Remus mused. “I could find the boxes and bring them over tomorrow. Don’t have many more photographs, I’m afraid—I sent them all to Hagrid in Harry’s first year. He put together an album for him.”
Sirius crossed the room and sat down at Remus’ feet. He looked up at Remus with his head tilted to the side, so reminiscent of Padfoot that Remus almost laughed. “He’d like something sentimental, wouldn’t he? But… maybe not of James’.”
Remus was surprised. “Who, then?”
Sirius ignored him. “Do you still have your coming of age watch?”
That old thing? It was a dented, shabby thing that had been with the Lupins for a few generations. Definitely not the caliber of gift Harry would be used to receiving from his godfather, and why would he want anything from his old professor? “What—he’s not turning seventeen.”
Sirius shot him a look that said keep up. “No, I want to give him James’ watch when he turns seventeen. You never wear yours, though.”
No, he didn’t. He’d taken it off after a particularly bad fight with his father and hadn’t put it back on. “Not much of a watch person, I suppose.”
“Lyall tainted it with too many bad memories?”
Ah, right. No fooling Sirius Black. “Something like that.”
Sirius leaned forward. “If you’re open to it, I’d like to make it into something new. I’d be gutting mine as well.”
That was a surprise—Euphemia and Fleamont Potter had gifted Sirius his watch on his seventeenth birthday, and Remus knew he considered it a true treasure. “You are? Well—you can have mine, of course. I have it in a drawer somewhere.”
“Brilliant. So, we’ll get him the Defense books and we’ll cook up something with those watches. It’ll be a good project, Moons—like working on the Map. Been a while, eh?”
Sirius was watching him expectantly, but Remus’ brain had snagged on that little word we. “From—from both of us, you mean? Joint gifts?”
“Well, that’s the idea,” Sirius said slowly. “What’s the matter with that?”
“Well, he’ll—he’ll know about the two of us then, Padfoot. Or he’ll suspect.”
Sirius stared at him. “I told you, I’m not keeping this a secret anymore. This isn’t going away any time soon—or at all, if I have a say—so Harry might as well know now.”
Remus looked down at his lap. Sirius wanted to present them as a unit. Publicly, and to Harry, of all people. It was everything Remus had dreamed of fifteen years ago. “Are you sure?”
Sirius scrambled onto his knees so he could stick his face between Remus and his lap. “Yes. I should’ve told James. Now I have the chance to tell Harry I’m in love, and I’m going to take it. S’not like you’re a stranger. He loves you!”
Remus was warmed by Sirius’ words (and, if he was honest, excited by them), but he still gave Sirius a flat look. “Would you have been thrilled to learn your godfather was dating your former teacher?”
Sirius grinned. “If I’d had a teacher like you, I’d have congratulated my godfather.”
Remus let out a startled laugh, then clapped a hand over his mouth. “Let’s hope Harry feels the same.”
Sirius smiled at him so softly that Remus couldn’t find a trace of Azkaban haunting his features. Remus couldn’t help himself; he pressed a quick, chaste kiss to Sirius’ lips.
“So, the watches?” he asked when he pulled away, not giving Sirius the chance to deepen the kiss.
“Yeah…” Sirius intertwined his fingers with Remus’ scarred ones. “The Weasleys have a clock that shows the family’s whereabouts. Thought Harry might like something like that—something to show him where his family is, no matter how far apart we are.”
Tears sprung to Remus’ eyes, simply at the joy of being included in that family. Embarrassed, he ducked his head. Sirius didn’t let him hide.
“Hey, Moons. What’s—”
“Nothing, Merlin—just been a long time. Since we’ve called ourselves a family.”
Sirius nodded slowly. “Hope you intend on sticking around. Harry and I”—Sirius broke off into a whisper, like his next words were going to be shocking—”are sort of messes on our own. Probably shouldn’t be left to our own whims.”
Remus snorted. “I’m staying,” he promised, and he meant it.
“Good.” Sirius paused. “Just so you know, far as I’m concerned, we’ve been married for twelve years at least.”
Remus really did laugh, then. “What, you just decided that?”
Sirius looked affronted. “I’ve loved you just as deeply and much, much longer than any other married couple I’ve known.”
Remus hummed. “That’s true.” He leaned forward and stole another kiss. “I can live with that.”