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leashy_bebesTitle: (I'm gonna love you) til the wheels come off
Rating: pg
Words: ~6500
Summary: Slightly au fic in which Sirius goes to Remus' for a short stay soon after the end of PoA to regain some strength before he goes into hiding. It's going towards a happy place, but it doesn't feel very happy.
Notes: Unbeta'd, unplanned fic. And long, much longer than I was expecting. Huge thanks to fullmoondreams and brighty18 at blacklupin.org for their help on a plot point that had me stalled. Title is from a tom waits song, picture in a frame.
Despite Dumbledore's letter in the early morning with its thinly cloaked warning that an old friend will be visiting today, the knock on the front door comes as a shock. Remus takes a deep breath and sets down a book he has not been taking in properly for the last half hour. Absently tugging at each of his fingers in turn, Remus stands and walks to the door. It takes far too little time - the cottage is actually a tiny bungalow dominated by a large lounge with a fireplace that Remus adores. The bedroom is tiny though, and the kitchen leaves barely enough room to turn around. To get from the small table at one end of the lounge to the front door is a matter of far too few steps for Remus' liking, and he is opening the door before he has even had time to wonder what if it isn't Sirius?
It is though, and as Remus opens the door Sirius falls forward as though he's been leaning against it. Remus stumbles against the sudden weight of his body before he realises just how little Sirius weighs and rights him easily. Bleary eyes blink up at him twice before they close, and Remus feels a moment of utter panic because what if Sirius has come back to him only to turn up dead on his doorstep? The panic fades as he carries Sirius a little clumsily through to the lounge. His heart beats strongly against Remus' shoulder, and although his breaths are a little ragged, they are deep and regular. Sirius stirs a little as Remus sets him down in front of the fire and when he returns a few seconds later with all the blankets and sheets from his bed, Sirius has curled onto the little hearth rug, facing the warmth of the flames.
That night, in the shack, there hadn't been enough time for Remus to take him in properly. There had been so much of his Sirius still there, visible beneath the years. He was angry and reckless and ruthless and loyal, above all things, he was loyal. Sirius has always been loyal, Remus thinks, his hands trembling as he tucks the blankets around Sirius' body. Unlike Remus himself, Sirius has never been faithless or fickle or untrue.
Yes, there must have been enough of the old Sirius in his walk and the quick leaps of his mind to distract Remus from the ravages of time and Azkaban. Remus would recognise Sirius anywhere, but he looks so different. He had always been slim, with a lanky, wiry strength to his elegant frame but now he is so thin, his cheeks hollow, his face carved with deep lines. His hair that once spilled like black silk to a strong jaw line is a matted heap that hangs lank and heavy down his back.
Remus can't bring himself to do anything but tuck the blankets a little tighter around Sirius' body and place a pillow under his head. Sirius cringes in his sleep when Remus gets too close so when he is sure Sirius is as warm as he can be, Remus retreats. He thinks of going to his room, lying on the stripped bed and spending the night staring at the ceiling. He can't quite bring himself to do it - he'll be gone, he won't be here in the morning, it'll be a dream - so he pulls the cushion from the armchair and settles it on the floor near Sirius, sitting down with his back to the wall, wand hanging loosely from his fingers, watching over his former lover as he sleeps.
%%%
Sirius sleeps all that night, and all the next day, so deeply that Remus starts to worry. Just as he resolves to contact Dumbledore if Sirius doesn't wake by the time true darkness falls, Sirius stirs in the nest of blankets. He flinches as he comes awake, shoves the tangled blankets away from himself and backs up so quickly that he almost retreats into the fire Remus has kept burning.
"Sirius," Remus says softly, and Sirius freezes instantly, an all-over body lock that Remus knows must have become an instinct over the years. "It's alright," Remus says as casually as he can manage. "It's me, Remus. Everything's alright."
"Right, right," he says in a voice that rasps through Remus' head and kills a little bit of hope, because that sounds nothing like Sirius. "I forgot, I - I was very tired when I got here."
"Yes, you slept for almost twenty four hours," Remus says, and his words sound inane even to himself. "Would you like a drink? Something to eat?"
"Yes," Sirius says instantly, covetously.
"Alright. I don't have much, I'm afraid. Soup, bread and tea?"
"Just the soup and some water, please?" Sirius requests and Remus nods.
The soup is beef and tomato, home made, and the bread is a rough home baked loaf studded with black olives. Remus would never claim to be an expert chef, but he finds that he quite enjoys cooking. Besides, it is often cheaper to make these things from scratch, and although that hasn't been such a concern for the last year, frugality is a hard habit to break.
In the tiny kitchen, Remus tries to ignore the way his hands shake as he slices the bread - more than enough for himself, in the hope that Sirius will try some - and heats the soup. In the lounge, he can hear Sirius coughing, and it is an unhealthy sound, as though the cough has been there so long it is part of the rhythm of his breathing.
%%%
"I smell awful, don't I?" Sirius asks suddenly and Remus shrugs diplomatically.
"I've a bath, if you'd like one," Remus suggests and Sirius nods a little uncertainly.
Remus pulls himself upright, collecting the empty soup dishes and drops them off in the kitchen before he heads into the tiny bathroom. He casts warming charms on the towels and fills the bath with hot water. Gathering his bathrobe from his room, Remus warms that too, before he leaves it hanging on the back of the door and goes back to the lounge.
Sirius is still curled in front of the fire, hugging his knees to his chest and staring into the flames with dull eyes.
"If you leave your clothes outside the door, I'll sort them out as best I can," Remus offers.
"They'd be better off burned," Sirius says ruefully.
"We can, if you want," Remus offers, and Sirius just shakes his head, looking mystified.
"What would I wear?"
"My clothes. I'm sure I have some that would fit you. And then I'll write to Dumbledore, get him to send some bits and pieces along."
"No, I - I'll keep these ones," Sirius says, shaking his head and climbing slowly to his feet.
"The bathroom's through here," Remus says, guiding Sirius to the tiled room which billows with steam when he opens the door. He registers the little look of pleasure on Sirius' face at walking into such enveloping warmth and smiles at it. "You just shout if you need anything, alright?"
Sirius nods and tries a smile, which Remus returns as encouragingly as he can. As he turns away, there is a lump in his throat like a stone. Sirius - mad, funny, passionate Sirius - is like a doddering old man.
"I'll be back in a minute for your clothes," Remus says around the lump. "Just drop them outside the door."
%%%
It is a good hour before Sirius emerges from the bathroom, wrapped in Remus' own dark blue robe.
"Better?" Remus asks, and Sirius nods. Remus points to the hearth-rug where Sirius' clothes - spelled clean - are warming.
"Thanks, I - Remus?"
"Yes?"
"Is - is it okay? For me to be here, I mean."
"Of course it is," Remus says instinctively, and up until that moment he hadn't been sure he'd known the answer to that question. However changed he may be, it is Sirius, and he has always been what Remus has alternately wanted and missed desperately. He would not want to imagine Sirius anywhere else.
Sirius nods and settles himself down in the pile of blankets again, wrapping one around his shoulders.
"I can't - " he says, tugging at the mass of his hair which is still matted despite being soaking wet. "I can't fix this."
"Would you like some help?"
"If - I don't know if I can - "
"I won't come too close," Remus assures him. "I'll be very careful."
"Alright," Sirius nods. "Thank you."
"That's alright. Let's go back to the bathroom."
%%%
Half an hour later, Remus has still not been able to work out any more than a few tangles. He has soaked and soaped, soaked and soaped the long black mass, but to no avail. Sirius is perched tensely on the edge of the bathtub, his head tipped back on his stiff neck.
"I think it's going to have to come off," Remus says eventually, teasing out hanks of hair.
"I - I'd really rather not," Sirius says, and Remus pauses for a long moment.
"I don't think it'll wash out."
"I - I - "
"It's alright. You don't need to be scared anymore, Padfoot - "
"Oh, oh, don't, please," he begs. "Don't, I'm not ready for that, please - "
Remus knows that the flare of irritation is totally irrational. He hadn't even meant for the old nickname to slip out, he knows it is far too soon. So Sirius' rejection of it should not sting at all, let alone as badly as it does.
"I'm going to have to cut it off, Sirius," Remus says quietly and Sirius nods.
"Alright. Alright, just - "
The irritation is gone in an instant, replaced by an almost painful wave of pity at the way Sirius keeps his eyes wide and closely focused as Remus shears off the matted mess of hair with his wand. Plainly aware of how uncomfortable the wand so close to his face is making Sirius, Remus makes a quick job of it before rolling his wand along the floor towards the doorway.
He takes up another jug of water.
"Back," he says gently, and Sirius leans back. Instead of closing his eyes tightly as he has been, Sirius watches as Remus pours the water through the shorter mess of hair before lathering it with soap and rinsing it through. "Better," Remus nods, taking up his comb and working it gently through the worst of the remaining tangles.
"I wasn't – I won't be here long. Just until I'm feeling a bit stronger. Dumbledore made me come, I wasn't going to."
"Oh," Remus says, unsure what else he should say.
"No," Sirius says, shaking his head a little too vigorously and causing a tug that Remus apologises for automatically. "I didn't mean like that," Sirius says. "It didn't seem fair to you. Still doesn't, really."
"Sirius - " Remus says, looking down at his wet fingers, at the black hair tangled around them.
"You - you have your house and your - soup-making and - now you have an escaped convict."
"It's not - I'm glad you're here."
"You must be mad, then," Sirius says a bit stiffly.
"Sirius - "
"That's enough," Sirius says, ducking out from under his hands. "That's fine."
%%%
Remus has to go to the shops for food a few days after Sirius arrived, and he spends the whole journey wondering whether Sirius will still be there when he returns.
He is, dressed in a fresh set of robes that Dumbledore had apparently delivered by hand. He has even made a pot of tea and he smiles almost warily at Remus when he walks in the door.
Remus puts away the shopping and Sirius pours tea for them both. Remus doesn't comment when Sirius fails to take a single sip of his drink, just soaking the warmth from the cup into his fingers.
%%%
"This isn't how it should be," he says haltingly one night. "Not between us."
It is the first time that Sirius has referred, however tangentially, to the past, and Remus stiffens in his chair.
"How do you mean?"
"This - I feel like I don't know how to talk to you. I always knew how to talk to you except - except at the very end."
Remus holds his breath. He has been alternately dreading and hoping for the explosion and guilt and self-loathing. It will be painful for both of them but it will show that Sirius is still there, that under the years and the scars and the fear he is still the same mad, reckless boy that Remus loved so much.
The explosion doesn't come that night. Sirius settles down by the fire instead, basking in the warmth the way he does now, staring into the flames. He has never liked heat before and Remus thinks queasily of all those nights that the cold of Azkaban seeped into his bones, wonders how deep it goes.
%%%
"Can we have a cup of tea?" Sirius asks the next night, and Remus gets up to make it.
After the first mouthful, Sirius swigs his cup down even though it must be hot enough to burn his mouth.
"Good?" Remus asks, smiling lightly.
"Really good," Sirius nods. "I forgot - can we have fish and chips?" he asks suddenly, interrupting himself in his eagerness.
"I - " Remus feels himself blushing because what kind of fool, what kind of adult cannot afford to buy fish and chips on impulse?
"Dumbledore left some money," Sirius says bluntly. "What? I recognise that face, Remus."
"I - well - "
"Sorry," Sirius says, suddenly contrite. "I don't know where that came from."
Remus wants to tell Sirius that he used to say that sort of thing all the time, that he used to end arguments with that tone of voice.
Instead he says, "It's alright. Fish and chips tomorrow night. Curry sauce and a pickled egg?"
"And so much salt and vinegar it stings," Sirius nods, plucking Remus' mug from his hand and going through to the kitchen.
%%%
"Will you tell me about Harry?" he asks one day. "I only really – for a few minutes."
"He's a brilliant kid," Remus says once they are seated with tea and chocolate biscuits. "Not that I'm completely impartial, of course," Remus admits. "God, all year, I just wanted to – I don't know. I wanted to talk to him yes, but I just wanted to see him, I – "
"I know," Sirius nods. "Believe me, I know."
"There was an article," Remus says gingerly, unsure whether he should be saying this. "When Harry started school, The Prophet did a little piece."
"I didn't – I forgot," Sirius mumbles tightly. "I didn't think to – I couldn't believe it when I saw the date on that paper, never mind everything else. I thought it was years earlier than that."
"Oh, Sirius..."
"Don't, just – let's not. Tell me about Harry."
"Right," Remus nods. "The article – it was nothing really, just going over old – " facts, he almost says facts but catches himself just in time, " – news, and saying he'd been sorted into Gryffindor – "
"Obviously," Sirius scoffs, and Remus has to hide a smile because he remembers that, that word and that exact tone, when Harry was just a baby and they were wondering about his future.
"I must have read that thing a hundred times just to see his name."
"Always were a soft git," Sirius says weakly.
"Of course. Not that you'd have had framed copies in every room or anything." Instead of talking about how things should have been, Remus forges on. "And then there are some things that didn't make the press," Remus says. "He – Dumbledore told me some things, things that aren't generally known."
"Like what?" Sirius asks eagerly.
"Do you know about the philosopher's stone?" Remus asks.
"Heard of it," Sirius nods.
"Harry stopped what's left of Voldemort getting hold of it."
"You're joking," Sirius says flatly.
"No."
"When was this?"
"In his first year."
"I - how did - Wow."
"And last year - Sirius, last year - he's saved lives, Sirius. Honest-to-God, saved peoples' lives. And it's not just that type of thing, either," Remus says. "You should see him fly properly, Sirius, from up in the stands. He'd make James sick with envy. He's clever, too, when he applies himself." Remus winces at how teacherish that last comment sounded and continues. "I know he looks like James, but there's so much of Lily in him too. When I was teaching him how to do the patronus charm he would do this thing with his chin, it was so like Lily. I almost expected him to stamp his foot at me."
Sirius almost laughs, and Remus smiles gladly.
"And a corporeal patronus is no mean feat for any wizard of any age, let alone one so young and with such a past. He's lucky in his friends, too, as I'm sure you saw at Hogwarts. They - Sirius?"
Sirius has his face in his hands and his breathing is unsteady.
"What - oh, Merlin, what did I do to that poor boy?"
"Oh, Sirius, you didn't - "
"I did, and you said it yourself, he's suffered so much because - because I - "
"No," Remus says flatly.
"Fuck. Fuck," Sirius groans, his fingers twisting in his hair, squeezing painfully. "I k - kill - "
"Sirius, don't."
"I killed them. Fuck, as though I held the wand myself, I killed them both and I - I should - and Harry, I - I ruined - "
Remus is desperate to reach out and touch Sirius, to grip his shoulder and pull him into a hug, to cradle him close through the pain. He knows well enough though that Sirius is still jumpy about touch and personal space even at the best of times, so he just touches the sleeve of Sirius' robe where it hangs in a loose fold.
"It's not your fault," he says quietly and intently, although he knows it won't get through, won't make a tiny bit of difference.
"Oh, fuck, I - I - "
"Don't, please, please don't do this, Sirius."
"But I - "
"It wasn't your fault, it was Peter, that weasely little prick, it was him and - "
Remus hasn't realised how angry he is about the whole situation until he starts speaking and it is only the tiny sobbing hitch of Sirius' breath that stops him in his tracks.
"I hate - hate mys - self," he garbles and Remus closes his eyes, aching in the reflection of Sirius' pain, his fingers clutching tight.
%%%
They both know that this is not forever, and Remus wonders if that is why they are so careful with each other. Sirius will, occasionally, say things that cut Remus deeply, but they are never meant, the hurt behind them is never intended, and often not understood until after the fact. When he does understand he will apologise, so earnestly and so nervously that it makes Remus' breath catch.
Remus finds himself measuring his every word, scanning the sentences ahead before he speaks them, in case he says something that will hurt Sirius, that will set him back, or demand too much of him. It is easy, faced with this broken man, to forget the boy, to forget the beating, loving heart beneath the shell.
%%%
"Stupid fucking dementors," Sirius grouses one night, when he has practically leapt out of his skin at a sudden rush of sparks from the fire, and Remus freezes. Sirius has never spoke about Azkaban, and Remus has never dared to mention it.
"Remus, will you help me with the patronus charm?"
"I don't know, Sirius, I – "
"Come on, you taught Harry."
"Yes, with a boggart to practice the spell on. Even if you could generate a patronus now, there's no way of telling whether you could do it in...a crisis."
"Right, but if I can't do it now, then I definitely won't be able to do it in a crisis," Sirius points out, but Remus has been smiling wryly since the first word. Sirius seems to swing between being so close to his old self Remus can hardly breathe, and being so different that it breaks his heart.
"Alright," he concedes. "But we'll need you get you a wand."
"How are we supposed to – Your wand always worked well enough for me in the past. Can't we start now?"
Knowing that Sirius must be pushing this for a reason, even if it's one only he understands, Remus hands over his wand. Sirius holds it loosely between his thumb and forefinger, looking at it carefully.
"Right," Remus says. "Now, I don't know much about wand theory, but just because it worked for you when we were kids, it won't necessarily work now we're both adults and not so – in tune with each other. You should try something basic first."
Sirius nods, but just stares at the wand for another moment.
"I don't know if I even want to try," he says in a flat voice.
"You don't have to," Remus offers.
"No, I – This is stupid. Lumos!"
The light is unsteady and a bit water, but it is there.
"Good, Remus nods. "And again."
"Nox. Lumos."
The light is bright and steady this time, and Remus can't help a broad smile. He's been reading – as secretively as possible – books about Dementors and their effects. A sapping of magical ability is a common effect of sustained proximity, and God, it feels like a betrayal to think of what Sirius has been through in such abstract terms as sustained proximity. But to think about it in real, concrete terms is to think of Sirius huddled in terror in the corner of a filthy cell, and Remus can't, just can't imagine that.
"Try something else," he suggests, dragging his mind away from that debilitating image.
Sirius concentrates for a moment, and his lips form half-words as though he's trying to remember something. A tiny glance up and a half smile is Remus' only clue before,
"Aguamenti!"
A jet of water hits him in the face and he splutters.
"Ugh! You fiend," he mutters, wiping his face on his sleeve and looking up to see that Sirius is smiling at him. This is good, this must be progress. They are almost laughing together, they are almost normal.
"Sorry," Sirius says, and for once it sounds like Sirius' apology – he's not scared and he's only a tiny bit sincere, and Remus wants to shout for joy.
"Of course you are," he says instead. "Give me that back, I need to dry off."
"Wait," Sirius says, his fingers curling a little tighter around the wand. "One more?"
"Go on, then."
"Singulus Rosa," Sirius says, and a perfect white rose springs from the end of Remus' wand.
Remus' throat tightens under the onslaught of memories – just because you're not a girl, I can still romance you, just take the fucking rose – oh yes, very romantic, Padfoot – shut up idiot, you ruined it. Granted, the rose was usually red rather than white and usually presented to Remus with some grand over-the-top gesture rather than handed to him absent mindedly with his wand.
He keeps it though, places it in a cup full of water away from the heat of the fire, and has to stop himself casting a preservation charm on it when it starts to wilt. This is not forever. This is not his.
%%%
One day Remus realizes that Sirius is – not better, not quite yet – on the mend. Yes, Sirius is getting there, Sirius is regaining, if not his old self, then more of the adult he should have been. He is still quiet, and still prone to go Padfoot for hours on end when something bothers him, but he jokes with Remus now, jokes properly. That scratchy cough is fading too, and he is stronger in all ways – his body, his mind, his magic.
Dumbledore had written with a time and a date, and Remus had unblocked the floo connection. Following a brief conference on the progress Sirius had made using Remus' wand, during which Dumbledore had nodded and asked questions about the magic they had tried and Remus' wand, they had heard nothing from the headmaster for a week. Then a wand arrived by owl, only Dumbledore's initials on a scrap of parchment giving them any clue.
The wand had worked remarkably well for Sirius, but he had never repeated that early wish to conjure a patronus. Instead, they spend part of every day practicing fairly basic spells, and Remus secretly delights in every tiny step forward that makes Sirius' face light up with joy and pride.
%%%
Remus hadn't really expected that Sirius would be around for the full moon, and nor had he expected Snape to follow through on Dumbledore's promise of a continued Wolfsbane supply. Nonetheless, he supposes that it wouldn't do to underestimate the strength of either Dumbledore's hold over Snape, or Snape's grudge against Sirius.
"Listen, you better go Padfoot for a few hours," he says as they eat a breakfast of toast and porridge.
"Oh?"
"Snape might be coming."
"Here? He's coming here?"
"I don't know - Sirius, calm down, it's alright. Dumbledore said Snape would continue making the Wolfsbane, but I doubt it myself. Don't worry."
"Greasy bastard'll probably poison it," Sirius mutters mutinously.
"He could have done that at any time in the last year, Sirius," Remus points out gently.
"But now he thinks - "
"It's alright," Remus assures him. "He's not going to poison me, and he'll only be here for a few minutes."
"Are you sure?"
"Positive. You can hide in the bedroom."
"He won't go in there?" Sirius checks.
"No, Snape will not be going into my bedroom," Remus points out heavily.
"Well - I should hope not," Sirius says, with a sudden grin. He slugs down the last of his tea and stands, stretching briefly before turning into Padfoot and trotting off towards the bedroom.
The thought of Sirius' cheeky smile keeps Remus going through the palaver of making sure that the house looks like it has a single occupant, and also helps him ignore Snape's vicious digs. It has been so many years that Remus has almost forgotten the power of Sirius Black's deliberately charming smile.
%%%
Wolfsbane is a strange potion, and because its brings out the higher mind as well as suppressing the baser emotions, it produces something almost akin to a high. Normally, Moony would just curl up and sleep, but tonight, Padfoot slips into the lounge moments after moonrise. It would be far too risky to go outside, but they still don't go to sleep for a long time. Padfoot noses over Moony's shoulder, snuffing against fur and skin.
Oh, this is dangerous, just to have this one night of uninhibited closeness, not to wonder if Sirius will spring away from him, trembling under his touch... One night is not enough to get used to this again, but Remus knows that it will be long enough to miss it fiercely once it is gone.
%%%
Remus wakes up in bed, covers pulled up to his chin, a mug of tea steaming on the small bedside table. Remus blinks muzzily at the tea and drifts off back to sleep. When he wakes again, some unknown period of time later, he pushes himself upright and attends to the tea. A few minutes later, Sirius peeks in.
"Hungry?" he asks, and Remus nods gratefully.
Sirius is back seconds later bearing a plate piled high with toast, a fresh pot of tea, and a cup clutched by the handle between his teeth. He does that sometimes, almost seems to forget that he has a wand of his own now, and can do all this by magic. He drops the cup onto the bed and passes the toast to Remus, setting the teapot down on the table. Then he pours tea for them both and perches on the edge of Remus' bed, swiping a piece of toast from the plate and demolishing it in a few bites. He looks down at Remus through the steam rising from his cup and clears his throat significantly in the silence.
"How are you feeling this morning, Moony?" he asks deliberately, and Remus is just too tired and achy - nothing the Wolfsbane can do about that - to smile on the outside.
"Not too bad, Padfoot," he says instead, and Sirius smiles happily, lifting Remus' spirits beyond the tea, or the food, or the feeling of waking up relatively unscathed.
"Well, good," Sirius says, and his eyes are bright, his smile small but genuine.
"Thank you for all this," Remus says, because he has to say something.
Sirius' smile grows.
"I think we needed this. Last night, I mean. Didn't we?"
"So it seems," Remus smiles
"Alright," Sirius nods and actually reaches out, squeezing Remus' shoulder. "I'm going to have a wash, I'll see you when you're feeling more awake."
%%%
They are getting closer. Closer to each other and closer to some indefinable thing that Remus can't think too deeply about in case the hope overwhelms him. Remus had transfigured the armchair into a small sofa soon after Sirius arrived, but it took a long time for him to be comfortable enough to sit there next to Remus.
Now though, they sit on the sofa in the mornings and do The Prophet's crossword, and Sirius leans into Remus a little when he's craning over his shoulder to see the clues. Sometimes he pulls the pen from Remus' fingers and fills in the boxes himself, steadying himself with a hand on Remus' knee.
It is like the first time, almost, like the first time he fell for Sirius, for the constant press of his closeness and the lulling rumble of his voice.
"We'll talk about it, one day," Sirius says as he fills in 12 across.
"Hmm?"
"About us."
"Oh. Oh, I see."
"We'll have to," Sirius adds.
"I suppose we will," Remus nods.
%%%
"What did you do?" Sirius asks. "While I was - away?"
"I was allowed to leave the country after they dosed me with veritaserum a few times."
"Wouldn't once have been enough?" Sirius frowns.
"I suppose they thought a werewolf might react differently," Remus shrugs. "I got through all the red tape about a year after - it happened. And then I just left."
"Where did you go?"
"All over Europe."
"Sounds good," Sirius says dryly.
"It really wasn't," Remus says softly. "I hardly even remember the first year or so. I did - " he says tentatively. "I did try to find out about Harry, but I couldn't - no one would tell me anything and I - I was in pieces."
There is a long silence and Remus' guilt pounds in his head. A cautious glance shows him that Sirius is staring at the floor, his knuckles white where his hands are clenched into fists on his thighs.
"I'm so sorry," they both say.
"Let me," Remus begs. "Just let me. When I heard what had supposedly happened, I just thought, no, I don't believe it. I wish I had never let go of that thought. I wish I had never let them take you away and lock you up."
"Oh, Moony. If wishes were broomsticks, muggles would fly. I wish I'd never suggested the switch, I wish I'd brought Harry to you instead of going after Peter."
"I should - I should never have believed - "
"No, I didn't - "
"I shouldn't even have suspected you for a second."
"I thought it was you," Sirius says baldly. "I thought I was being so clever – thought I could persuade Prongs to switch if I just presented it as one big joke, one more double bluff on the rest of the world, and that would give me time to – to fix things with you. Shit – why do I always think I can do everything?"
"Because you usually can," Remus says honestly. "That was always you, Sirius, a dozen and one schemes on the go at once."
"But – I – looking back, it's just...it's so obvious. I can't believe I thought – "
"Sirius," Remus sighs heavily. "It was a war. We both made some bad decisions, but we tried to make them for good reasons, didn't we? You can't change the past, Padfoot, not even you can do that."
"Oh, the things we did to each other," Sirius sighs. "The ways I hurt you..."
"I'm not innocent in all of this," Remus points out, and Sirius just shrugs.
"I loved you," he says after a while. "I may not always have loved you as well as I should have, but I did love you. Very, very much."
%%%
With every day that goes by, Sirius is more healthy and less jumpy. He is more and more able to look after himself, and Remus supposes that Sirius will be leaving soon. He tries to ignore that thought, and tries too to ignore the way his stomach plummets when it does manage to intrude.
%%%
It happens quite unexpectedly, and utterly without fanfare or drama. Remus is in what he laughingly refers to as his garden – it is a tiny patch of land behind the cottage, just big enough to grow a few plants that are good for minor injuries and muscular pains.
He is on his knees, digging in the stony earth when Sirius emerges from the cottage with two cups of tea. He sets one down in the grass next to Remus and gingerly folds himself down, kneeling at Remus' side and scowling at the loud cracking noises coming from his knees.
"We're both getting old, Padfoot," Remus reminds him.
"But I - I'm not - I just grew up and then everything stopped and now I'm some decaying, toothless old man."
"You're still vain, still a drama queen," Remus points out. "The important things haven't changed. And your teeth are fine now, that's what we have magic for."
"Moony?" Sirius asks, and Remus drops his trowel, dusts off his hands and turns to face Sirius. This sounds important.
"Mmm?"
"Would you?" Sirius asks, and Remus doesn't register the question at first, because he has almost given up hoping. "Would you still, with me?" Sirius asks, blushing at the question and looking down.
"I would," Remus says without hesitation, and Sirius looks up through his eyelashes.
"Well. Well, that's good," he says, reaching forward and twining his fingers around Remus', flicking bits of dirt away.
"It is," Remus agrees, bringing their hands up to kiss the back of Sirius' fingers, smelling clean earth.
Sirius leans against his side, a soft warm presence.
%%%
It seems that after that day, Sirius goes backwards for a little while. He is clingy - not that Remus can bring himself to object. They spend hours at a time on the sofa, curled close together, Sirius with the fingers of one hand tight in Remus' collar. He doesn't seem to want to talk in those hours, just to press his face close to Remus' neck and steal quick kisses.
"Nice and warm," Sirius mumbles sleepily one day, wriggling closer and draping his legs across Remus' lap.
"Good," Remus smiles, pressing a kiss to Sirius' hair.
"I like it here."
Stay, Remus thinks.
%%%
One night, they are curled together in the armchair, kissing softly and Remus knows by the tentative exploration of Sirius' fingertips and the rising warmth of his kisses that he is not the only one who wants more. Sirius can't though. Just - can't. He is furious with himself and storms out into the living room, transforming into Padfoot and curling up in front of the glowing coals in the grate.
Remus waits as long as he can, but eventually he retreats to bed and comes awake hours later at a small noise by his bed. In the darkness he can barely make Sirius out, merely a dark smudge huddled on the floor next to the bed.
"I hate this," Sirius says quietly, passionately. "I hate - " he waves a hand towards himself, " - all of this. I can't - "
"Oh, Sirius," Remus sighs, and he reaches out to tangle their fingers together. "Oh, I missed you so much."
"But I - I - "
"Please come up here."
Eventually he does, and Remus holds him gently, all too aware of the press of his bones.
"I did," Remus says. "I meant it. I missed you every day."
"No you didn't," Sirius says, an odd note of pleading to his voice. "You hated me, you must have hated me."
"I – "
"Don't lie to me. Tell me you hated me."
"Maybe. For a while. And then – I just felt angry. And then guilty. And – I still missed you, though, however I felt. I got so used to hearing your voice in my head that I almost convinced myself it was just part of me."
After a silence in which Remus wonders more than once if Sirius has dozed off, he speaks, his voice gentle in the night.
"You were the last good thing I kept," he says. "The last good memory."
%%%
"I could stay here all day," Sirius says, his fingers trickling over Remus' chest like water. He kisses a scar, one of the many Remus has gained in the years they've been apart.
Remus closes his hand around Sirius' hair, pulling it into a ponytail and letting it fall down again. He twines a strand around his finger, pulls it down over Sirius' eyes before letting it spring loose again.
"That sounds appealing," Remus acknowledges.
Sirius explores Remus' body every chance he gets, skating his fingertips over Remus' ribs, and trailing his tongue across Remus' skin.
"I want to learn you," he says. "All over again."
"That also sounds appealing," Remus grins, nudging Sirius' head up to kiss him. "I was thinking," he says tentatively.
"Mmm?"
"I don't think we can actually stay in bed all day - "
"Spoilsport," Sirius interrupts.
"But you could stay," Remus says. "Here. For the foreseeable future. If you wanted."
He feels Sirius tense against him and for a moment he fiercely wants to call the words back. He can't stop himself pressing his fingers to the small of Sirius' back, savouring the warm glow of his skin in case it is stolen away again.
"I would really like that," Sirius says quietly, relaxing into Remus' arms.
Rating: pg
Words: ~6500
Summary: Slightly au fic in which Sirius goes to Remus' for a short stay soon after the end of PoA to regain some strength before he goes into hiding. It's going towards a happy place, but it doesn't feel very happy.
Notes: Unbeta'd, unplanned fic. And long, much longer than I was expecting. Huge thanks to fullmoondreams and brighty18 at blacklupin.org for their help on a plot point that had me stalled. Title is from a tom waits song, picture in a frame.
Despite Dumbledore's letter in the early morning with its thinly cloaked warning that an old friend will be visiting today, the knock on the front door comes as a shock. Remus takes a deep breath and sets down a book he has not been taking in properly for the last half hour. Absently tugging at each of his fingers in turn, Remus stands and walks to the door. It takes far too little time - the cottage is actually a tiny bungalow dominated by a large lounge with a fireplace that Remus adores. The bedroom is tiny though, and the kitchen leaves barely enough room to turn around. To get from the small table at one end of the lounge to the front door is a matter of far too few steps for Remus' liking, and he is opening the door before he has even had time to wonder what if it isn't Sirius?
It is though, and as Remus opens the door Sirius falls forward as though he's been leaning against it. Remus stumbles against the sudden weight of his body before he realises just how little Sirius weighs and rights him easily. Bleary eyes blink up at him twice before they close, and Remus feels a moment of utter panic because what if Sirius has come back to him only to turn up dead on his doorstep? The panic fades as he carries Sirius a little clumsily through to the lounge. His heart beats strongly against Remus' shoulder, and although his breaths are a little ragged, they are deep and regular. Sirius stirs a little as Remus sets him down in front of the fire and when he returns a few seconds later with all the blankets and sheets from his bed, Sirius has curled onto the little hearth rug, facing the warmth of the flames.
That night, in the shack, there hadn't been enough time for Remus to take him in properly. There had been so much of his Sirius still there, visible beneath the years. He was angry and reckless and ruthless and loyal, above all things, he was loyal. Sirius has always been loyal, Remus thinks, his hands trembling as he tucks the blankets around Sirius' body. Unlike Remus himself, Sirius has never been faithless or fickle or untrue.
Yes, there must have been enough of the old Sirius in his walk and the quick leaps of his mind to distract Remus from the ravages of time and Azkaban. Remus would recognise Sirius anywhere, but he looks so different. He had always been slim, with a lanky, wiry strength to his elegant frame but now he is so thin, his cheeks hollow, his face carved with deep lines. His hair that once spilled like black silk to a strong jaw line is a matted heap that hangs lank and heavy down his back.
Remus can't bring himself to do anything but tuck the blankets a little tighter around Sirius' body and place a pillow under his head. Sirius cringes in his sleep when Remus gets too close so when he is sure Sirius is as warm as he can be, Remus retreats. He thinks of going to his room, lying on the stripped bed and spending the night staring at the ceiling. He can't quite bring himself to do it - he'll be gone, he won't be here in the morning, it'll be a dream - so he pulls the cushion from the armchair and settles it on the floor near Sirius, sitting down with his back to the wall, wand hanging loosely from his fingers, watching over his former lover as he sleeps.
%%%
Sirius sleeps all that night, and all the next day, so deeply that Remus starts to worry. Just as he resolves to contact Dumbledore if Sirius doesn't wake by the time true darkness falls, Sirius stirs in the nest of blankets. He flinches as he comes awake, shoves the tangled blankets away from himself and backs up so quickly that he almost retreats into the fire Remus has kept burning.
"Sirius," Remus says softly, and Sirius freezes instantly, an all-over body lock that Remus knows must have become an instinct over the years. "It's alright," Remus says as casually as he can manage. "It's me, Remus. Everything's alright."
"Right, right," he says in a voice that rasps through Remus' head and kills a little bit of hope, because that sounds nothing like Sirius. "I forgot, I - I was very tired when I got here."
"Yes, you slept for almost twenty four hours," Remus says, and his words sound inane even to himself. "Would you like a drink? Something to eat?"
"Yes," Sirius says instantly, covetously.
"Alright. I don't have much, I'm afraid. Soup, bread and tea?"
"Just the soup and some water, please?" Sirius requests and Remus nods.
The soup is beef and tomato, home made, and the bread is a rough home baked loaf studded with black olives. Remus would never claim to be an expert chef, but he finds that he quite enjoys cooking. Besides, it is often cheaper to make these things from scratch, and although that hasn't been such a concern for the last year, frugality is a hard habit to break.
In the tiny kitchen, Remus tries to ignore the way his hands shake as he slices the bread - more than enough for himself, in the hope that Sirius will try some - and heats the soup. In the lounge, he can hear Sirius coughing, and it is an unhealthy sound, as though the cough has been there so long it is part of the rhythm of his breathing.
%%%
"I smell awful, don't I?" Sirius asks suddenly and Remus shrugs diplomatically.
"I've a bath, if you'd like one," Remus suggests and Sirius nods a little uncertainly.
Remus pulls himself upright, collecting the empty soup dishes and drops them off in the kitchen before he heads into the tiny bathroom. He casts warming charms on the towels and fills the bath with hot water. Gathering his bathrobe from his room, Remus warms that too, before he leaves it hanging on the back of the door and goes back to the lounge.
Sirius is still curled in front of the fire, hugging his knees to his chest and staring into the flames with dull eyes.
"If you leave your clothes outside the door, I'll sort them out as best I can," Remus offers.
"They'd be better off burned," Sirius says ruefully.
"We can, if you want," Remus offers, and Sirius just shakes his head, looking mystified.
"What would I wear?"
"My clothes. I'm sure I have some that would fit you. And then I'll write to Dumbledore, get him to send some bits and pieces along."
"No, I - I'll keep these ones," Sirius says, shaking his head and climbing slowly to his feet.
"The bathroom's through here," Remus says, guiding Sirius to the tiled room which billows with steam when he opens the door. He registers the little look of pleasure on Sirius' face at walking into such enveloping warmth and smiles at it. "You just shout if you need anything, alright?"
Sirius nods and tries a smile, which Remus returns as encouragingly as he can. As he turns away, there is a lump in his throat like a stone. Sirius - mad, funny, passionate Sirius - is like a doddering old man.
"I'll be back in a minute for your clothes," Remus says around the lump. "Just drop them outside the door."
%%%
It is a good hour before Sirius emerges from the bathroom, wrapped in Remus' own dark blue robe.
"Better?" Remus asks, and Sirius nods. Remus points to the hearth-rug where Sirius' clothes - spelled clean - are warming.
"Thanks, I - Remus?"
"Yes?"
"Is - is it okay? For me to be here, I mean."
"Of course it is," Remus says instinctively, and up until that moment he hadn't been sure he'd known the answer to that question. However changed he may be, it is Sirius, and he has always been what Remus has alternately wanted and missed desperately. He would not want to imagine Sirius anywhere else.
Sirius nods and settles himself down in the pile of blankets again, wrapping one around his shoulders.
"I can't - " he says, tugging at the mass of his hair which is still matted despite being soaking wet. "I can't fix this."
"Would you like some help?"
"If - I don't know if I can - "
"I won't come too close," Remus assures him. "I'll be very careful."
"Alright," Sirius nods. "Thank you."
"That's alright. Let's go back to the bathroom."
%%%
Half an hour later, Remus has still not been able to work out any more than a few tangles. He has soaked and soaped, soaked and soaped the long black mass, but to no avail. Sirius is perched tensely on the edge of the bathtub, his head tipped back on his stiff neck.
"I think it's going to have to come off," Remus says eventually, teasing out hanks of hair.
"I - I'd really rather not," Sirius says, and Remus pauses for a long moment.
"I don't think it'll wash out."
"I - I - "
"It's alright. You don't need to be scared anymore, Padfoot - "
"Oh, oh, don't, please," he begs. "Don't, I'm not ready for that, please - "
Remus knows that the flare of irritation is totally irrational. He hadn't even meant for the old nickname to slip out, he knows it is far too soon. So Sirius' rejection of it should not sting at all, let alone as badly as it does.
"I'm going to have to cut it off, Sirius," Remus says quietly and Sirius nods.
"Alright. Alright, just - "
The irritation is gone in an instant, replaced by an almost painful wave of pity at the way Sirius keeps his eyes wide and closely focused as Remus shears off the matted mess of hair with his wand. Plainly aware of how uncomfortable the wand so close to his face is making Sirius, Remus makes a quick job of it before rolling his wand along the floor towards the doorway.
He takes up another jug of water.
"Back," he says gently, and Sirius leans back. Instead of closing his eyes tightly as he has been, Sirius watches as Remus pours the water through the shorter mess of hair before lathering it with soap and rinsing it through. "Better," Remus nods, taking up his comb and working it gently through the worst of the remaining tangles.
"I wasn't – I won't be here long. Just until I'm feeling a bit stronger. Dumbledore made me come, I wasn't going to."
"Oh," Remus says, unsure what else he should say.
"No," Sirius says, shaking his head a little too vigorously and causing a tug that Remus apologises for automatically. "I didn't mean like that," Sirius says. "It didn't seem fair to you. Still doesn't, really."
"Sirius - " Remus says, looking down at his wet fingers, at the black hair tangled around them.
"You - you have your house and your - soup-making and - now you have an escaped convict."
"It's not - I'm glad you're here."
"You must be mad, then," Sirius says a bit stiffly.
"Sirius - "
"That's enough," Sirius says, ducking out from under his hands. "That's fine."
%%%
Remus has to go to the shops for food a few days after Sirius arrived, and he spends the whole journey wondering whether Sirius will still be there when he returns.
He is, dressed in a fresh set of robes that Dumbledore had apparently delivered by hand. He has even made a pot of tea and he smiles almost warily at Remus when he walks in the door.
Remus puts away the shopping and Sirius pours tea for them both. Remus doesn't comment when Sirius fails to take a single sip of his drink, just soaking the warmth from the cup into his fingers.
%%%
"This isn't how it should be," he says haltingly one night. "Not between us."
It is the first time that Sirius has referred, however tangentially, to the past, and Remus stiffens in his chair.
"How do you mean?"
"This - I feel like I don't know how to talk to you. I always knew how to talk to you except - except at the very end."
Remus holds his breath. He has been alternately dreading and hoping for the explosion and guilt and self-loathing. It will be painful for both of them but it will show that Sirius is still there, that under the years and the scars and the fear he is still the same mad, reckless boy that Remus loved so much.
The explosion doesn't come that night. Sirius settles down by the fire instead, basking in the warmth the way he does now, staring into the flames. He has never liked heat before and Remus thinks queasily of all those nights that the cold of Azkaban seeped into his bones, wonders how deep it goes.
%%%
"Can we have a cup of tea?" Sirius asks the next night, and Remus gets up to make it.
After the first mouthful, Sirius swigs his cup down even though it must be hot enough to burn his mouth.
"Good?" Remus asks, smiling lightly.
"Really good," Sirius nods. "I forgot - can we have fish and chips?" he asks suddenly, interrupting himself in his eagerness.
"I - " Remus feels himself blushing because what kind of fool, what kind of adult cannot afford to buy fish and chips on impulse?
"Dumbledore left some money," Sirius says bluntly. "What? I recognise that face, Remus."
"I - well - "
"Sorry," Sirius says, suddenly contrite. "I don't know where that came from."
Remus wants to tell Sirius that he used to say that sort of thing all the time, that he used to end arguments with that tone of voice.
Instead he says, "It's alright. Fish and chips tomorrow night. Curry sauce and a pickled egg?"
"And so much salt and vinegar it stings," Sirius nods, plucking Remus' mug from his hand and going through to the kitchen.
%%%
"Will you tell me about Harry?" he asks one day. "I only really – for a few minutes."
"He's a brilliant kid," Remus says once they are seated with tea and chocolate biscuits. "Not that I'm completely impartial, of course," Remus admits. "God, all year, I just wanted to – I don't know. I wanted to talk to him yes, but I just wanted to see him, I – "
"I know," Sirius nods. "Believe me, I know."
"There was an article," Remus says gingerly, unsure whether he should be saying this. "When Harry started school, The Prophet did a little piece."
"I didn't – I forgot," Sirius mumbles tightly. "I didn't think to – I couldn't believe it when I saw the date on that paper, never mind everything else. I thought it was years earlier than that."
"Oh, Sirius..."
"Don't, just – let's not. Tell me about Harry."
"Right," Remus nods. "The article – it was nothing really, just going over old – " facts, he almost says facts but catches himself just in time, " – news, and saying he'd been sorted into Gryffindor – "
"Obviously," Sirius scoffs, and Remus has to hide a smile because he remembers that, that word and that exact tone, when Harry was just a baby and they were wondering about his future.
"I must have read that thing a hundred times just to see his name."
"Always were a soft git," Sirius says weakly.
"Of course. Not that you'd have had framed copies in every room or anything." Instead of talking about how things should have been, Remus forges on. "And then there are some things that didn't make the press," Remus says. "He – Dumbledore told me some things, things that aren't generally known."
"Like what?" Sirius asks eagerly.
"Do you know about the philosopher's stone?" Remus asks.
"Heard of it," Sirius nods.
"Harry stopped what's left of Voldemort getting hold of it."
"You're joking," Sirius says flatly.
"No."
"When was this?"
"In his first year."
"I - how did - Wow."
"And last year - Sirius, last year - he's saved lives, Sirius. Honest-to-God, saved peoples' lives. And it's not just that type of thing, either," Remus says. "You should see him fly properly, Sirius, from up in the stands. He'd make James sick with envy. He's clever, too, when he applies himself." Remus winces at how teacherish that last comment sounded and continues. "I know he looks like James, but there's so much of Lily in him too. When I was teaching him how to do the patronus charm he would do this thing with his chin, it was so like Lily. I almost expected him to stamp his foot at me."
Sirius almost laughs, and Remus smiles gladly.
"And a corporeal patronus is no mean feat for any wizard of any age, let alone one so young and with such a past. He's lucky in his friends, too, as I'm sure you saw at Hogwarts. They - Sirius?"
Sirius has his face in his hands and his breathing is unsteady.
"What - oh, Merlin, what did I do to that poor boy?"
"Oh, Sirius, you didn't - "
"I did, and you said it yourself, he's suffered so much because - because I - "
"No," Remus says flatly.
"Fuck. Fuck," Sirius groans, his fingers twisting in his hair, squeezing painfully. "I k - kill - "
"Sirius, don't."
"I killed them. Fuck, as though I held the wand myself, I killed them both and I - I should - and Harry, I - I ruined - "
Remus is desperate to reach out and touch Sirius, to grip his shoulder and pull him into a hug, to cradle him close through the pain. He knows well enough though that Sirius is still jumpy about touch and personal space even at the best of times, so he just touches the sleeve of Sirius' robe where it hangs in a loose fold.
"It's not your fault," he says quietly and intently, although he knows it won't get through, won't make a tiny bit of difference.
"Oh, fuck, I - I - "
"Don't, please, please don't do this, Sirius."
"But I - "
"It wasn't your fault, it was Peter, that weasely little prick, it was him and - "
Remus hasn't realised how angry he is about the whole situation until he starts speaking and it is only the tiny sobbing hitch of Sirius' breath that stops him in his tracks.
"I hate - hate mys - self," he garbles and Remus closes his eyes, aching in the reflection of Sirius' pain, his fingers clutching tight.
%%%
They both know that this is not forever, and Remus wonders if that is why they are so careful with each other. Sirius will, occasionally, say things that cut Remus deeply, but they are never meant, the hurt behind them is never intended, and often not understood until after the fact. When he does understand he will apologise, so earnestly and so nervously that it makes Remus' breath catch.
Remus finds himself measuring his every word, scanning the sentences ahead before he speaks them, in case he says something that will hurt Sirius, that will set him back, or demand too much of him. It is easy, faced with this broken man, to forget the boy, to forget the beating, loving heart beneath the shell.
%%%
"Stupid fucking dementors," Sirius grouses one night, when he has practically leapt out of his skin at a sudden rush of sparks from the fire, and Remus freezes. Sirius has never spoke about Azkaban, and Remus has never dared to mention it.
"Remus, will you help me with the patronus charm?"
"I don't know, Sirius, I – "
"Come on, you taught Harry."
"Yes, with a boggart to practice the spell on. Even if you could generate a patronus now, there's no way of telling whether you could do it in...a crisis."
"Right, but if I can't do it now, then I definitely won't be able to do it in a crisis," Sirius points out, but Remus has been smiling wryly since the first word. Sirius seems to swing between being so close to his old self Remus can hardly breathe, and being so different that it breaks his heart.
"Alright," he concedes. "But we'll need you get you a wand."
"How are we supposed to – Your wand always worked well enough for me in the past. Can't we start now?"
Knowing that Sirius must be pushing this for a reason, even if it's one only he understands, Remus hands over his wand. Sirius holds it loosely between his thumb and forefinger, looking at it carefully.
"Right," Remus says. "Now, I don't know much about wand theory, but just because it worked for you when we were kids, it won't necessarily work now we're both adults and not so – in tune with each other. You should try something basic first."
Sirius nods, but just stares at the wand for another moment.
"I don't know if I even want to try," he says in a flat voice.
"You don't have to," Remus offers.
"No, I – This is stupid. Lumos!"
The light is unsteady and a bit water, but it is there.
"Good, Remus nods. "And again."
"Nox. Lumos."
The light is bright and steady this time, and Remus can't help a broad smile. He's been reading – as secretively as possible – books about Dementors and their effects. A sapping of magical ability is a common effect of sustained proximity, and God, it feels like a betrayal to think of what Sirius has been through in such abstract terms as sustained proximity. But to think about it in real, concrete terms is to think of Sirius huddled in terror in the corner of a filthy cell, and Remus can't, just can't imagine that.
"Try something else," he suggests, dragging his mind away from that debilitating image.
Sirius concentrates for a moment, and his lips form half-words as though he's trying to remember something. A tiny glance up and a half smile is Remus' only clue before,
"Aguamenti!"
A jet of water hits him in the face and he splutters.
"Ugh! You fiend," he mutters, wiping his face on his sleeve and looking up to see that Sirius is smiling at him. This is good, this must be progress. They are almost laughing together, they are almost normal.
"Sorry," Sirius says, and for once it sounds like Sirius' apology – he's not scared and he's only a tiny bit sincere, and Remus wants to shout for joy.
"Of course you are," he says instead. "Give me that back, I need to dry off."
"Wait," Sirius says, his fingers curling a little tighter around the wand. "One more?"
"Go on, then."
"Singulus Rosa," Sirius says, and a perfect white rose springs from the end of Remus' wand.
Remus' throat tightens under the onslaught of memories – just because you're not a girl, I can still romance you, just take the fucking rose – oh yes, very romantic, Padfoot – shut up idiot, you ruined it. Granted, the rose was usually red rather than white and usually presented to Remus with some grand over-the-top gesture rather than handed to him absent mindedly with his wand.
He keeps it though, places it in a cup full of water away from the heat of the fire, and has to stop himself casting a preservation charm on it when it starts to wilt. This is not forever. This is not his.
%%%
One day Remus realizes that Sirius is – not better, not quite yet – on the mend. Yes, Sirius is getting there, Sirius is regaining, if not his old self, then more of the adult he should have been. He is still quiet, and still prone to go Padfoot for hours on end when something bothers him, but he jokes with Remus now, jokes properly. That scratchy cough is fading too, and he is stronger in all ways – his body, his mind, his magic.
Dumbledore had written with a time and a date, and Remus had unblocked the floo connection. Following a brief conference on the progress Sirius had made using Remus' wand, during which Dumbledore had nodded and asked questions about the magic they had tried and Remus' wand, they had heard nothing from the headmaster for a week. Then a wand arrived by owl, only Dumbledore's initials on a scrap of parchment giving them any clue.
The wand had worked remarkably well for Sirius, but he had never repeated that early wish to conjure a patronus. Instead, they spend part of every day practicing fairly basic spells, and Remus secretly delights in every tiny step forward that makes Sirius' face light up with joy and pride.
%%%
Remus hadn't really expected that Sirius would be around for the full moon, and nor had he expected Snape to follow through on Dumbledore's promise of a continued Wolfsbane supply. Nonetheless, he supposes that it wouldn't do to underestimate the strength of either Dumbledore's hold over Snape, or Snape's grudge against Sirius.
"Listen, you better go Padfoot for a few hours," he says as they eat a breakfast of toast and porridge.
"Oh?"
"Snape might be coming."
"Here? He's coming here?"
"I don't know - Sirius, calm down, it's alright. Dumbledore said Snape would continue making the Wolfsbane, but I doubt it myself. Don't worry."
"Greasy bastard'll probably poison it," Sirius mutters mutinously.
"He could have done that at any time in the last year, Sirius," Remus points out gently.
"But now he thinks - "
"It's alright," Remus assures him. "He's not going to poison me, and he'll only be here for a few minutes."
"Are you sure?"
"Positive. You can hide in the bedroom."
"He won't go in there?" Sirius checks.
"No, Snape will not be going into my bedroom," Remus points out heavily.
"Well - I should hope not," Sirius says, with a sudden grin. He slugs down the last of his tea and stands, stretching briefly before turning into Padfoot and trotting off towards the bedroom.
The thought of Sirius' cheeky smile keeps Remus going through the palaver of making sure that the house looks like it has a single occupant, and also helps him ignore Snape's vicious digs. It has been so many years that Remus has almost forgotten the power of Sirius Black's deliberately charming smile.
%%%
Wolfsbane is a strange potion, and because its brings out the higher mind as well as suppressing the baser emotions, it produces something almost akin to a high. Normally, Moony would just curl up and sleep, but tonight, Padfoot slips into the lounge moments after moonrise. It would be far too risky to go outside, but they still don't go to sleep for a long time. Padfoot noses over Moony's shoulder, snuffing against fur and skin.
Oh, this is dangerous, just to have this one night of uninhibited closeness, not to wonder if Sirius will spring away from him, trembling under his touch... One night is not enough to get used to this again, but Remus knows that it will be long enough to miss it fiercely once it is gone.
%%%
Remus wakes up in bed, covers pulled up to his chin, a mug of tea steaming on the small bedside table. Remus blinks muzzily at the tea and drifts off back to sleep. When he wakes again, some unknown period of time later, he pushes himself upright and attends to the tea. A few minutes later, Sirius peeks in.
"Hungry?" he asks, and Remus nods gratefully.
Sirius is back seconds later bearing a plate piled high with toast, a fresh pot of tea, and a cup clutched by the handle between his teeth. He does that sometimes, almost seems to forget that he has a wand of his own now, and can do all this by magic. He drops the cup onto the bed and passes the toast to Remus, setting the teapot down on the table. Then he pours tea for them both and perches on the edge of Remus' bed, swiping a piece of toast from the plate and demolishing it in a few bites. He looks down at Remus through the steam rising from his cup and clears his throat significantly in the silence.
"How are you feeling this morning, Moony?" he asks deliberately, and Remus is just too tired and achy - nothing the Wolfsbane can do about that - to smile on the outside.
"Not too bad, Padfoot," he says instead, and Sirius smiles happily, lifting Remus' spirits beyond the tea, or the food, or the feeling of waking up relatively unscathed.
"Well, good," Sirius says, and his eyes are bright, his smile small but genuine.
"Thank you for all this," Remus says, because he has to say something.
Sirius' smile grows.
"I think we needed this. Last night, I mean. Didn't we?"
"So it seems," Remus smiles
"Alright," Sirius nods and actually reaches out, squeezing Remus' shoulder. "I'm going to have a wash, I'll see you when you're feeling more awake."
%%%
They are getting closer. Closer to each other and closer to some indefinable thing that Remus can't think too deeply about in case the hope overwhelms him. Remus had transfigured the armchair into a small sofa soon after Sirius arrived, but it took a long time for him to be comfortable enough to sit there next to Remus.
Now though, they sit on the sofa in the mornings and do The Prophet's crossword, and Sirius leans into Remus a little when he's craning over his shoulder to see the clues. Sometimes he pulls the pen from Remus' fingers and fills in the boxes himself, steadying himself with a hand on Remus' knee.
It is like the first time, almost, like the first time he fell for Sirius, for the constant press of his closeness and the lulling rumble of his voice.
"We'll talk about it, one day," Sirius says as he fills in 12 across.
"Hmm?"
"About us."
"Oh. Oh, I see."
"We'll have to," Sirius adds.
"I suppose we will," Remus nods.
%%%
"What did you do?" Sirius asks. "While I was - away?"
"I was allowed to leave the country after they dosed me with veritaserum a few times."
"Wouldn't once have been enough?" Sirius frowns.
"I suppose they thought a werewolf might react differently," Remus shrugs. "I got through all the red tape about a year after - it happened. And then I just left."
"Where did you go?"
"All over Europe."
"Sounds good," Sirius says dryly.
"It really wasn't," Remus says softly. "I hardly even remember the first year or so. I did - " he says tentatively. "I did try to find out about Harry, but I couldn't - no one would tell me anything and I - I was in pieces."
There is a long silence and Remus' guilt pounds in his head. A cautious glance shows him that Sirius is staring at the floor, his knuckles white where his hands are clenched into fists on his thighs.
"I'm so sorry," they both say.
"Let me," Remus begs. "Just let me. When I heard what had supposedly happened, I just thought, no, I don't believe it. I wish I had never let go of that thought. I wish I had never let them take you away and lock you up."
"Oh, Moony. If wishes were broomsticks, muggles would fly. I wish I'd never suggested the switch, I wish I'd brought Harry to you instead of going after Peter."
"I should - I should never have believed - "
"No, I didn't - "
"I shouldn't even have suspected you for a second."
"I thought it was you," Sirius says baldly. "I thought I was being so clever – thought I could persuade Prongs to switch if I just presented it as one big joke, one more double bluff on the rest of the world, and that would give me time to – to fix things with you. Shit – why do I always think I can do everything?"
"Because you usually can," Remus says honestly. "That was always you, Sirius, a dozen and one schemes on the go at once."
"But – I – looking back, it's just...it's so obvious. I can't believe I thought – "
"Sirius," Remus sighs heavily. "It was a war. We both made some bad decisions, but we tried to make them for good reasons, didn't we? You can't change the past, Padfoot, not even you can do that."
"Oh, the things we did to each other," Sirius sighs. "The ways I hurt you..."
"I'm not innocent in all of this," Remus points out, and Sirius just shrugs.
"I loved you," he says after a while. "I may not always have loved you as well as I should have, but I did love you. Very, very much."
%%%
With every day that goes by, Sirius is more healthy and less jumpy. He is more and more able to look after himself, and Remus supposes that Sirius will be leaving soon. He tries to ignore that thought, and tries too to ignore the way his stomach plummets when it does manage to intrude.
%%%
It happens quite unexpectedly, and utterly without fanfare or drama. Remus is in what he laughingly refers to as his garden – it is a tiny patch of land behind the cottage, just big enough to grow a few plants that are good for minor injuries and muscular pains.
He is on his knees, digging in the stony earth when Sirius emerges from the cottage with two cups of tea. He sets one down in the grass next to Remus and gingerly folds himself down, kneeling at Remus' side and scowling at the loud cracking noises coming from his knees.
"We're both getting old, Padfoot," Remus reminds him.
"But I - I'm not - I just grew up and then everything stopped and now I'm some decaying, toothless old man."
"You're still vain, still a drama queen," Remus points out. "The important things haven't changed. And your teeth are fine now, that's what we have magic for."
"Moony?" Sirius asks, and Remus drops his trowel, dusts off his hands and turns to face Sirius. This sounds important.
"Mmm?"
"Would you?" Sirius asks, and Remus doesn't register the question at first, because he has almost given up hoping. "Would you still, with me?" Sirius asks, blushing at the question and looking down.
"I would," Remus says without hesitation, and Sirius looks up through his eyelashes.
"Well. Well, that's good," he says, reaching forward and twining his fingers around Remus', flicking bits of dirt away.
"It is," Remus agrees, bringing their hands up to kiss the back of Sirius' fingers, smelling clean earth.
Sirius leans against his side, a soft warm presence.
%%%
It seems that after that day, Sirius goes backwards for a little while. He is clingy - not that Remus can bring himself to object. They spend hours at a time on the sofa, curled close together, Sirius with the fingers of one hand tight in Remus' collar. He doesn't seem to want to talk in those hours, just to press his face close to Remus' neck and steal quick kisses.
"Nice and warm," Sirius mumbles sleepily one day, wriggling closer and draping his legs across Remus' lap.
"Good," Remus smiles, pressing a kiss to Sirius' hair.
"I like it here."
Stay, Remus thinks.
%%%
One night, they are curled together in the armchair, kissing softly and Remus knows by the tentative exploration of Sirius' fingertips and the rising warmth of his kisses that he is not the only one who wants more. Sirius can't though. Just - can't. He is furious with himself and storms out into the living room, transforming into Padfoot and curling up in front of the glowing coals in the grate.
Remus waits as long as he can, but eventually he retreats to bed and comes awake hours later at a small noise by his bed. In the darkness he can barely make Sirius out, merely a dark smudge huddled on the floor next to the bed.
"I hate this," Sirius says quietly, passionately. "I hate - " he waves a hand towards himself, " - all of this. I can't - "
"Oh, Sirius," Remus sighs, and he reaches out to tangle their fingers together. "Oh, I missed you so much."
"But I - I - "
"Please come up here."
Eventually he does, and Remus holds him gently, all too aware of the press of his bones.
"I did," Remus says. "I meant it. I missed you every day."
"No you didn't," Sirius says, an odd note of pleading to his voice. "You hated me, you must have hated me."
"I – "
"Don't lie to me. Tell me you hated me."
"Maybe. For a while. And then – I just felt angry. And then guilty. And – I still missed you, though, however I felt. I got so used to hearing your voice in my head that I almost convinced myself it was just part of me."
After a silence in which Remus wonders more than once if Sirius has dozed off, he speaks, his voice gentle in the night.
"You were the last good thing I kept," he says. "The last good memory."
%%%
"I could stay here all day," Sirius says, his fingers trickling over Remus' chest like water. He kisses a scar, one of the many Remus has gained in the years they've been apart.
Remus closes his hand around Sirius' hair, pulling it into a ponytail and letting it fall down again. He twines a strand around his finger, pulls it down over Sirius' eyes before letting it spring loose again.
"That sounds appealing," Remus acknowledges.
Sirius explores Remus' body every chance he gets, skating his fingertips over Remus' ribs, and trailing his tongue across Remus' skin.
"I want to learn you," he says. "All over again."
"That also sounds appealing," Remus grins, nudging Sirius' head up to kiss him. "I was thinking," he says tentatively.
"Mmm?"
"I don't think we can actually stay in bed all day - "
"Spoilsport," Sirius interrupts.
"But you could stay," Remus says. "Here. For the foreseeable future. If you wanted."
He feels Sirius tense against him and for a moment he fiercely wants to call the words back. He can't stop himself pressing his fingers to the small of Sirius' back, savouring the warm glow of his skin in case it is stolen away again.
"I would really like that," Sirius says quietly, relaxing into Remus' arms.