Work Text:
Twelve years. Sirius Black, the uninherited heir of the noble house of Black, prankster extraordinaire, co-creator of the Marauder's Map, Godfather to Harry Potter, best friends to James, Remus, and Peter, had been in Azkaban for twelve years.
He had been so full of life, Remus thinks. If James was their beacon during the war, all soft light and promises of safety, then Sirius was their star. They threw their wishes on him, trying not to get burned as they attempted to hold him in their hands. Hopes had been riding on the four of them, the Marauders, young and shining and untouchable. Surely some of the most promising students would finally bring in the new perspective, experience, and ideas that the Order had been looking for to finally defeat the Dark Lord.
But Sirius could never quite get out of the shadow of his last name. It draped across his shoulders, constricted around his throat like a cloak he couldn’t shake off. Whispers and doubts began to spring up in everyone’s minds—it had been a dark time, not even Remus trusted him as he used to. Mistrust was more common than not, in those days.
The year before it had happened, their relationship had been strained beyond anything they had gone through before. It was mostly Remus’s fault, looking back. Sirius’s pride certainly hadn’t helped, but it was Remus who wasn’t able to say what he had been up to after coming home bruised and bloody and cranky after no results of three weeks’ hard work for months on end. Some rubbish about being discreet and letting no one know besides those who had to. And Sirius wasn’t privy to that information.
As a result, Sirius had been cold, distant. Whether waiting for when Remus could apologize or explain himself, he never really knew. They had always shared secrets in the past. The ones that mattered, anyway. When both of them happened to find each other in their small apartment at the same time, it was more forced and awkward civility than anything else, all stiff smiles and cordial words. It was war, after all. Neither wanted to leave on a wrong note and regret it if the other didn’t come home at night.
Maybe, if Remus had told Sirius, they would have trusted each other more, shared what needed to be discussed instead of dodging around it. Then he could have told Sirius how making Peter the secretkeeper was a barmy idea—Remus knew Sirius would rather die than betray his best friend. Peter, on the other hand, had always been susceptible to breaking under harsh interrogation.
It hadn’t really mattered, in the end. Sirius had still gone to Azkaban and left Remus all alone, thinking his best friend—his boyfriend—had a hand in the killing of multiple of his friends. Maybe Remus could have kept all his heartbreak from happening if he and Sirius had trusted the other more. There was no use speculating about it when the man himself was standing before Remus in the dark entryway of Grimmald Place.
“‘Lo, Moony.” His voice had changed, scratched and rough like Remus’ after a difficult moon. Even though they had made up in the shack, Sirius watched him wearily, not unlike a stray dog would do after being run off with rocks one time too many but would return in hope anyway.
Remus folded his ratty overcoat gently, running his fingers along the collar as he draped it over his arm. “Hey, Sirius. How’re you?”
After Sirius had finished his stakeout in Hogsmead for Harry while he competed in the Triwizard tournament and Remus finally admitted defeat in finding job prospects at the moment, they had reconvened to Grimmauld Place to begin making a suitable base for the Order. Remus still wasn’t sure exactly where they stood just yet.
Sirius shrugged, eyes flatter than Remus was used to. His shoulders were much too thin for Remus’ liking. Sirius had always been on the lean side, all graceful lines and hard angles, but now he just looked gaunt. Where had his exuberant, fearless boy gone? Who had replaced him with this ghost, stripped him of his too-bright smile, and taken a nail file to his lion claws?
“I’ve been okay.” He said. “Loads better now that I’ve been having regular meals and a bed to sleep in.”
“Anything must be better than a cave floor.” Remus joked softly, watching Sirius’ reaction closely as he stepped further into the decrepit house and followed him to the kitchen. Everything smelled strongly of stagnancy and dust, a scent that made the air heavy without the added tension between the two wizards. But it was true, Sirius looked much better than when Remus had seen him last, although his normally curly hair was a bit limp and there were still dark bruises under his eyes—when was the last time he had slept?
All he got was a tight-lipped smile. “Tea?”
Remus nodded as he pulled out one of the two hard, wooden chairs from a small, circular table shoved up against a corner in the dim kitchen and sat, feeling a bit foolish until a new detail caught his attention. The table could never fit more than four. They’d have to get a larger table for the Order for everyone to fit. “Black, if you have it, with-”
“One cube of sugar and a splash of milk?” Sirius finished.
Blinking, Remus said, “Yeah.” He watched Sirius while his back was turned. His shoulders were a little tighter, and he didn’t hold himself in that proud way he always had before, chin up. Twelve years in Azkaban could seriously change a man—it was a miracle that Sirius had made it out even slightly sane. But here he was, with Remus’ tea preferences memorized after all this time.
Sirius placed down the chipped teacup silently and took the seat across from Remus. His eyes were fixed on his own plain cup of black tea, also cracked.
“It seems we have a bit of redecorating to do,” Remus said, blowing on his tea to let it cool. The steam billowed, smelling earthy and strong.
Always impatient and in a rush, Sirius downed a scalding gulp with a grimace. “That’s an understatement. This place is teeming with all sorts of dark magic that’s unsafe and needs to be carted out, and that’s not even touching on general repairs and cleaning from the past ten years that we need to do. That house elf is bloody useless, doing nothing while I was gone.”
“Kreacher might have been busy, but I’m sure we can knock it out in a few weeks.” He assured. Ah, there’s the Sirius he knew, with his biting anger that tore with vicious fangs. He surveyed the kitchen, trying to envision a younger Sirius with his parents and their daily life, but that only made his stomach turn.
Remus took a steadying sip of his tea—just as he liked it, if a little stale—as Sirius finished the rest of his and began to pace. With just a few long strides, he crossed the kitchen, then started over again, like a dog circling the perimeter of its kennel.
The man before him was different, harsher, a wild light caught in his eyes sometimes. It was as if the lines had been blurred between human and animal when he had been in Azkaban—eyes too dark, smiles too sharp, and something wild and wounded in the way he carried himself.
Sure, Remus might have been left alone after the death and imprisonment of nearly everyone who was dear to him, but Sirius had been the one accused of murdering his best friends. Accused of being a turncoat and going to the Dark Lord with vital information, turning his back on all of them, thrown into a place devoid of any hope without a trial for twelve years, all the while knowing of his innocence. Maybe Sirius wasn’t completely sane. Merlin knows Remus would have broken sooner than Sirius ever did in that place.
But it was still Sirius, even after all this time. He might have grown, changed deeply in permanent ways, but it was still the man he had fallen in love with. Sirius never lost his spirit. He had been holding on for all of that time, enduring more suffering than anyone should deserve. It was time for better communication, to tear down the feeble walls they had put up.
Remus gets up, grabs Sirius’ shoulders, stops his near-manic pacing.“You know you can come talk to me whenever, yeah?” He asks, trying to keep the Teacher out of his voice but failing. “About anything.”
Something in Sirius’ eyes softened, and that old grin Remus knew so well crept up his face. It was still a bit tight around the edges, as if relearning the motion. “Okay, Moony.”
He vowed at that moment to keep that smile there. To do anything in his power to frame it, bottle it, create a thousand patronuses with it. Sirius deserved all the happiness he could get after what was done to him. They both did.
Remus wasn’t sure what was going to happen next, but they were together again after everything. A prison sentence couldn’t separate them, a war couldn’t kill them, and time couldn’t tear apart their love with decay. Maybe they could make a home here, in Grimmauld Place. Wash away the old, bitter memories and replace them with new ones.
Maybe they would finally get their happy ending.