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Minerva leant back against the door of her office, the note clutched in her hand, her free hand covering her mouth. Innocent. The Azkaban prisoner, dangerous, aggressive, homocidal maniac she spent twelve years of her life hating from her very core - the beautiful boy, wide-smiled, bright-eyed, talented and angry, always so angry. He was innocent. It might as well be somewhere between the best and the worst day of her life.
“I should have known.” She says, out loud, though to no one in particular, and her eyes fall on the framed picture hanging on her wall signed ‘the two biggest troublemakers you’ve ever known will miss you’. A young James and Sirius grinning at her, winking and blowing kisses and clutching each other so tightly it now seemed like a ridiculous idea they could even ever have considered betraying each other. “I should have known.” She repeated. She should’ve, but she didn’t, and one of her favourite students went through hell because of it. In that very moment, she made a decision, and it was only because of it that she managed to not burst out in tears.
She took a deep breath, tied up her hair and pinned it in its usual fashion, and she opted for her long Muggle coat instead of the cloak she usually preferred when she strode out of the door. She had some errands to run first.
She apparated in front of the Lupin house, where she was certain Sirius would be hiding out. She smiled as she let her eyes roam over the vine-covered front. Those boys thought they were unpredictable, but Minerva had a lifetime of experiences behind her, and she knew there was no way Sirius would want to spend another minute apart from his childhood friend. She walked up to the door, adjusted the bag on her arm, and gave two firm knocks.
It was Remus who opened the door, looking sleep-rumpled but face lighter than she’d seen in a long time. “Minerva.”
“I know he’s here.” She said, coming to the point immediately. His face paled slightly, and he started mumbling something incomprehensible, but she simply rolled her eyes and gently pushed against his shoulder, letting herself in.
He was there, as she’d expected, sitting at the kitchen table and stuffing biscuit after biscuit in his mouth. He looked up when he heard her enter the kitchen, and froze, cookie half-sticking out of his mouth. She smiled, and placed the bags on the table, before shrugging off her coat. A single orange rolled out of her plastic bag, and came to a stop in front of Sirius’ plate. He stared at it for a couple seconds, and then looked up again, a strange parody of the smile she’d been so familiar with finding its way to his face.
“You brought me an orange?” His voice was hoarse, as if he’d been eating gravel for a couple days, and without her own permission, her body moved towards him, not sure what she was hoping to accomplish. He jumped, chair falling back as he backed away, closer to the wall. His eyes were wide, and it wasn’t exactly fear, but a sort of weariness she knew all too well from all the other tortured souls she’d been confronted with ever since the Order had been instated. So she stopped dead in her tracks, and just looked him over. He was pale, paler than he’d ever been, skin stretched tight over his cheekbones, but the worst were his eyes. They were dull, the once startling grey more like a murky black, and she wanted to look away, but forced herself not to. After all, people had spend years avoiding his eyes, she didn’t want to be just one of them. So she smiled, and swallowed against the lump that seemed to be stuck in her throat. He looked so young, underneath the dirt that a single shower couldn’t wash off, but his eyes were older than a million nights. “I brought pie.”
Sirius blinked, confusion obvious on his face, and he glanced at Remus, who simply shrugged and passed them by. “I’ll put the kettle on.”
She was grateful for the privacy of his turned back.
“You came to see me.” Sirius said, back still pressed against the wall, exterior still defensive, but his voice was softer, more like she knew him, when he added, unsure of whether it was the right thing to say, “Professor?”
She darted forward then, wrapped her arms around his shoulders, pulled his head against her chest. He stiffened, but when she stroked his hair and held him close, he slowly relaxed into it, his hands very hesitantly moving around her waist. And then he hugged her back, the force of it almost overwhelming, and she felt a tear escape her eyes as she pressed a kiss on his head, gently rocked from side to side, and thought that this was probably the first time Sirius was glad he was of a shorter posture. “My boy,” She muttered, against his hair. It smelled of woods and bars of old fashioned soap, and so knotted it could have been an excellent bird’s nest, and the thought made her sniff out a laugh. “Stupid, stupid boy.”
She could feel the front of her dress growing damp as well, but she ignored it in favour of moving one hand to rub over his back. “You’ve been so foolishly brave, you little punk.”
There was a shaky laugh from Sirius. “I knew you’d eventually fall for me, professor. You always liked the bad boys, right?”
She didn’t answer, but held him as tightly as she could, hoping that would say everything she couldn’t put into words.