Chapter Text
I'll be damned, here comes your ghost again,
but that's not unusual, it's just that the moon is full
and you happened to call"Diamonds and Rust" - Joan Baez
Sirius opened the door with his wand in his hand. If it was the media, transfiguration into pelicans could only be an improvement. If it was the Aurors, well, he could afford a lawyer now.It was neither. He could only gape rather inanely for a few seconds; it took a while for his mouth to remember words.
"You're dead." Ah, that wasn't what he wanted to say, even though it was the truth he had lived with for four years.
The wide, familiar lips quirked in a faintly amused smile. "Muggles are better at raising the dead than we are." Remus shrugged slightly. "I was only technically dead for a minute, two at the most. Just long enough to break the charm."
Sirius wanted to believe so hard that it was a physical pain on top of all his other physical pains. "One moment," he said, and force of habit got him through the spell-check. No Inferius, thank the gods, no Imperius, no trick with polyjuice, nothing but Remus Lupin. He lowered his wand, glad that he didn't need to defend himself. His hands were shaking.
"I was going to wait until morning," Remus was saying, his gaze trapped on Sirius' face. "I wasn't going to do this, but. Your lights were on. Have been on, all night."
"I fell asleep in front of the TV," Sirius said. "We mourned you."
Remus winced. His hands were deep in his pockets. "Another reason I'm here now. I wanted to give you a chance to yell at me now, instead of in front of Harry. Or," he said, and now his eyes fell, "if you think I shouldn't see Harry, then I'll go. Or if you think I shouldn't see you." He sighed. "It was cruel, and I knew it, and still I did it. I was your Secret-Keeper. Severus was mine. I just -- I had led Voldemort to your door, because I wasn't strong enough to stay away. And look at the disaster that came of that. The second time," he said fiercely, "I did it right."
"Yes, you did."
"So." Remus took his hands out of his pockets and shrugged. "I didn't mean to wake you up. I'll come by tomorrow. If you want."
"Come in." Sirius stepped back from the door. "I'm awake now."
He waited while Remus had second, third, fourth, and fifth thoughts. It took that long for Remus to move, to take the few steps necessary to be over the doorstep and in the living room. Sirius shut and locked the door firmly.
The wall behind the sofa was plastered with photos. Four years of Harry and Sirius: on boats, up mountains, in the water, eating picnics, at book signings. Sirius' hair brown and black, long, longer, short, short with facial hair; Harry inheriting this need for change with several idiosyncratic hairstyles of his own. Harry in his new glasses. The professional picture of Sirius for book jackets. Harry's school pictures. Two blurry pictures of Harry and Padfoot.
Remus looked greedily, not asking questions, simply staring at each picture in turn as if he were trying to absorb the story behind it by proximity. Sirius took refuge in the familiar.
"Are you hungry? Do you want some soup?"
Remus turned to stare at him, and then he burst out laughing so hard that he needed to brace himself on the pool table. Sirius smiled the way one does when confronted with sudden irrational hilarity and went to heat up the soup. He poured it into two mugs and set them on the table. Remus wiped away tears with the sleeve of his t-shirt and moved to sit down, hesitating only slightly.
"My soup amuses you?"
"It's so very… Zen of you," Remus said, blowing on the soup cursorily and drinking it down. "Sirius Black averts the end of the world and wants to know if I want soup. It's very good soup," he added. "It's something I love about you." He kept his eyes on Sirius with a curiously guarded expression. Pinioned hope, Sirius thought, or painful honesty.
"My soup?"
Remus drained his mug and wiped his mouth carefully. "That you found your centre. That you've made it through everything without losing what is essential. By becoming what is essential. I kept tabs on you," he said offhandedly. "I actually inveigled myself into a position where I do most of your translations into Portuguese. The telenovela about werewolves was… interesting."
"Are you my biggest fan?"
Remus grinned. "Might just be."
"Are you going to stay now? Now that Voldemort is gone?"
Remus looked into his cup as if onions and basil could be read like tealeaves. "I'm free," he said, echoing Sirius' earlier epiphany. "I can go anywhere. I came here." The onion-reading didn't seem to be helping much. He frowned, slightly. "I know it's been a long time, and a bad time, and I don't want to disturb your domestic arrangements in any way."
Sirius barked a laugh and waved grandly. "Domestically, the dishes are unwashed, the laundry is in a pile, and there are three entire bicycles in pieces on the floor of Harry's room. I doubt we can be any more disturbed."
Remus' head stayed still, but his eyes flicked up to settle restlessly on Sirius' face. "I meant a lover. Or a relationship. Something like that."
Sirius felt his face grow red and was glad for the dim light. "Oh. No. Nothing like that. The war, and… Harry, and all." He returned Remus' look. "You?"
Remus shook his head, keeping his eyes on Sirius. "No. I knew you were alive, after all. And I hoped, if you could ever find yourself able to forgive me, and if you were free... well." He moved his shoulders in a shrug so slight it might have been a sigh.
"What would you do then?" Sirius asked.
"Grovelling on my hands and knees was always a major part of what I envisioned."
Sirius reached out and touched Remus' hair, shorter and wavier and sun-bleached to nearly the same colour as his skin. "You don't need to grovel," he said, knowing that it was urgent Remus understood. "I forgive you. It's the dance we do most often, after all, we ought to be good at it." He moved his hand down to the curve of Remus' jaw. "Gods, have I missed you. I thought you were dead, you know."
"I know. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
"But we survived because you sacrificed everything you had to keep us alive." Somehow Remus' arms were around him, but he was definitely Not Crying all over Remus' shirt.
"There might have been a better way, Pads, there must have been, but I wasn't clever enough at the time to think of it."
"You were shot, and you died."
"Shh."
"I'm not crying," Sirius muttered, "but your shirt is rather soggy and disgusting."
"Loan me one of yours, then."
Sirius pulled back, just a bit. "My clothes are all in the bedroom."
"Oh," Remus said, with what sounded like a smile. "Then I suppose we ought to go there, then."
They didn't quite make it to the bedroom before Sirius had to kiss Remus properly. Gods, but he'd missed kissing almost more than anything. Kissing was a language of its own: a greeting, an apology, a promise, a tantalising hint of things to come, a thank you, a blessing. This kiss was all of these together, and Sirius burned with it, squirmed under it, found himself touching Remus with both hands and kissing him madly and overwhelmed by the joy of it. He broke the kiss off in reluctant stages and looked into Remus' eyes. He smiled.
"They've gone Sirius green, your eyes."
"They're always a bit green."
"They only turn this colour for me. Perfect clear green."
Remus suddenly looked far too self-conscious, so Sirius pulled him the last few steps into the bedroom, shut the door, and took off his shirt, which was a good enough distraction.
"Come here."
Remus took off his shoes and socks and went to sit on the bed next to Sirius, slipping in a kiss as he did so.
"I'm a bit of a wreck, Pads. I don't want to shock or disappoint you."
Sirius thought about forty-odd lunations, about bullets and hearts stopping. "I'm not a critic, you know. I'm your biggest fan. You had better show me now if you want any sympathy. In the heat of passion I'm likely to not even notice."
Remus shrugged and unbuttoned his shirt slowly. Slowly enough that Sirius had already pushed it off his shoulders and down his arms by the time he got to the last button, and while Remus was extracting his hands Sirius was pushing up his vest, so that it all came off in a terrible tangle. The scars from the bullets were hard under Sirius' fingers. Remus glanced down.
"It's not so bad from the front," he said, and touched two of the scars in succession. "These went out my back." Sirius looked and winced. "I hear it looks bad. I've never felt inclined to check."
"It looks bad enough." Sirius pushed Remus back, kissing each of the scars.
"It's like having a built-in rosary. Mea culpa. Mea culpa. Mea maxima culpa."
"None of that, now. All right? You should think of them as Mintaka, Alnitak, and Alnilam, which would mean that Sirius goes roughly here…. Still ticklish, I see."
"Ow! Roughly Sirius, indeed." Remus tugged him up by his hair and melted him with kisses.
It was slow and sweet and awkward between them, because memories turned over and over in the mind become polished of their sharp edges; and their human flesh was eager and unable and yearning and hungry, so much that in the middle of it all Remus started laughing again.
"You're not going to be able to get under my skin any more than you already are, love," he said, the wrinkles that cornered his eyes crinkling.
"I would if I could. I would stay with you like this forever."
"That would be… very awkward."
"What a dirty mind you have."
It was good to laugh and to make love, to tangle so closely with that gorgeous expanse of skin to lick clean, to smell the smell that was both of them together. It was good and better than good to hear Remus cry out with every move until his eyes widened and rolled back, his body fighting to loose itself from the mattress but only succeeding in driving him up into Sirius, which made him cry out again. It went on and on until Remus could only make small uncontrollable noises with every movement of Sirius', and only then did Sirius allow his own release. He watched Remus as he came, the hard force of it driving all the tension from him, and then collapsed bonelessly.
"I don't think I've ever made you so completely senseless before," he said, licking Remus' shoulder idly and chuckling as Remus' whole body jerked.
Remus looked at him, his mouth moving soundlessly around the words 'kiss me'. Sirius did, and felt warm arms and legs entangle him. It was the comfort he had dreamed of, in the vague way he had imagined when the war was over, and he said so, omitting the fact that in his imaginings he was always dead.
"It's not the end," Remus said sleepily. "There's so much that still needs to be done."
"And we have years and years to do it."
"Mmm. Missed you so much."
"Missed you more," Sirius said, and pinched Remus, who was falling asleep. Green eyes blinked at him, and Remus moved his arm over Sirius' chest and his head so close that Sirius could feel the flutter of his eyelashes on his cheek.
"Go to sleep, love, I'll protect you."
Sirius yawned and thought Remus looked as protective as Harry's old plush rabbit.
But he had kept them safe. All those lost years.
His own personal guardian angel.
He must have said something of the sort out loud. He felt the brush of Remus' eyelashes.
"Which reminds me, this tattoo of yours…."
"Tomorrow."
"Tomorrow," Remus agreed, and that was the last thing Sirius remembered.
He woke with his heart racing and a terrible sense of something being wrong and was at the bedroom door before he remembered the previous day's events. Remus was not in the bed; the house smelt of coffee; ergo…. Sirius pulled on a discarded pair of jeans and went out to the kitchen."You're up early," he said, squinting at the clock. Remus looked up from the mug he'd been staring into and smiled. He was immaculately dressed and his hair was still shower-damp.
"It's the time difference," Remus said, pushing himself up. "Coffee?"
"Why not?" said Sirius, who always and only drank tea. Remus filled a mug for him, set it on the table, and wrapped his arms around him, breathing softly into Sirius' hair.
"Love you," he said, muffled, and Sirius hugged him tightly. Remus took a deep breath, held it, and then stepped back. "I don't know where to start," he said apologetically. "I want to know everything that's happened. I want to know what's going to happen." He smiled, wryly. "Don't ask for much, do I?"
"There's time." Sirius sat and took a swallow of the coffee, which was, surprisingly, very good. "There is, isn't there?"
Remus leaned back against the counter. "There's lost time," he said, "and I want it back." He ran one hand through his hair, tugging through wet tangles, and then straightened abruptly, his eyes snapping to the doorway. "Harry," he said hoarsely, frozen where he stood. "My God, Harry."
Harry's jaw was slack as he stared, and then he was met halfway across the kitchen floor by Remus, who enfolded him in his arms and who was crying; Remus whom Sirius had seen cry perhaps twice in all the years they'd known each other. Harry's head was nearly to Remus' shoulder now, and Remus pressed his face into Harry's hair. He spoke quietly and urgently, falling in and out of Portuguese. Harry replied in a tangle of Spanish, and then the kitchen was overwhelmed by a flurry of language.
Harry was never one to avoid difficult questions, and in the space of time it took to make breakfast he had buffeted Remus from all sides. Sirius leaned back and listened, fully resolved not to feel guilty for letting Harry be in charge of the interrogation. Where had Remus been (Brazil, mostly). What he had been doing (teaching). Who had known he was alive ("Only my Secret-Keeper, Severus Snape"), at which Harry became wide-eyed.
"Is Severus all right?" he asked, forgetting to stir the vegetables in the pan. Remus reached for the spatula and took over deftly.
"Professor Snape, Harry. If you're going to Hogwarts, that's what you'll call him." Remus added the tofu. "He was fine when I saw him yesterday. Tired–everyone's tired–but he was alive and apoplectic about Dumbledore's decision to destroy the fifth Horcrux. Do you have turmeric?"
Harry added it himself, along with salt and pepper and chilli pepper. "Why?" he asked, taking the spatula back and pushing the vegetables around fiercely. He looked up at Remus. "Why did you come back?"
Sirius winced at that, but Remus merely looked pensive as he leant back against the counter. "I came here because I love you and Sirius more than anyone else in the world. I had to tell you how sorry I am that I hurt you. And I'm selfish, you know, I wanted to see you. I still think of you as my family."
Harry turned off the heat and carefully transferred the tofu scramble to three dishes. "You lied."
Remus set the dishes on the table, one in front of Sirius, and rummaged for flatware. He found the right drawer and laid out forks and knives.
"I did not," he said carefully, as they sat down, "plan to lie to you. I cast the Fidelius again, that was my goal, to keep you safe. For… quite a while after that, keeping the charm up and breathing were about all I could do. By the time I was recovered and was able to walk away, I realised that I had been officially dead for nearly a year. My carelessness as your Secret-Keeper contributed to the murders of your grandparents and your aunt's family, Harry, and for that I am most dreadfully sorry. Voldemort was that close to catching you. Should I have repaid Severus' bravery in saving me by risking your lives again?" He took up his chilled coffee and held the mug in his two hands like an anchor as he looked across the table at Harry. "I can't imagine how you must have felt. I would undo it if I could. I can't, so." He lifted his shoulders slightly. "I'll do as you wish, Harry. If you want me to go, I will."
Sirius looked at Remus in sharp panic–He's only eleven, don't let him make important decisions, damn it–and irrationally wished he were wearing a shirt. He could have put up a fight in a shirt.
Harry set his fork down and pointed at Sirius. "He's my dad, all right? You have to be nice to him. And I'm not going to call you dad."
"That," Remus agreed blandly, "would be confusing. Uncle Moony is fine by me. Or Remus. Just not Uncle Remus."
Harry smiled slightly. "Do you want to stay with us?"
"I would like that very much."
Harry moved a floret of broccoli in figure-eights on his plate. "I used to like it when you lived with us," he said, watching his fork intensely. "I don't want you to go away. I wouldn't know… if you would come back, or disappear. You said–you said you'd be home in two days. You said you'd bring me a lolly."
"Well," Remus said, "you're a bit old for lollies now. And I don't think anything I could bribe you with would earn your trust, anyway. I'll just have to prove myself to you. If you give me the chance."
Harry looked up and then nodded. "We could try." He turned to look at Sirius. "Do you mind?"
Sirius blinked. "Not at all."
"He's always sleepy in the morning," Harry said to Remus. "You're just lucky he's not naked. He had to charm the windows, you know -- one of the neighbours caught an eyeful and complained."
"Good to know," Remus said soberly.
"Well, you should, if we're going to be a family. What else does he need to know, Pads?"
Sirius gave up trying to fight down his blush. "That you take apart absolutely everything and can never get all the pieces in again. He dismantled my car, Moony, when I turned my back on him for a few hours."
"He still eats meat."
Remus blinked, wholly failing to look innocent of the sin of meat-eating. "Shocking."
Sirius recognised the line on Harry's forehead as the one impending a lecture. "Later, Vegan Crusader. Today I think we should just lie around and think familial thoughts." Harry opened his mouth to protest, and Sirius popped a chunk of tofu in. "Why don't you show Uncle Moony the photo album?"
"I'd like that," Remus said. "But first." He stood and crossed the kitchen to face the altar. "I don't know what the etiquette here is, Pads."
Sirius shoved back his chair and went to stand by Remus' side. "Neither do I." He looked at the sketches he'd drawn, the faces of the dead. The Potters. James and Lily. The Evans'. Tom Riddle. The Lupins. Regulus and the Blacks. Poor mad Peter. The Dursleys And Remus. He reached up one hand and carefully removed the drawing pins, taking the picture down. He held it for a moment and then handed it to Remus.
Remus ran a finger over the fading pencilled lines of his hair. "I'm so sorry," he said, his voice hoarse.
Sirius paused, and then thought the hell with it. He put his arms around Remus and held him tightly. Harry watched them, his eyes bright, and Sirius raised an inviting eyebrow. Harry launched himself at them, the force of his affection knocking them all backwards into the kitchen counter. Sirius' arm crossed Remus' around Harry's back and he held on tightly.
All the wealth in the world, right here, he thought, as Harry looked up thoughtfully.
"I don't mind if you kiss him, you know, Pads," he said, all innocence–ha! "I expect you'll be doing that a lot."
Remus met his eyes over Harry's head, and Sirius could see he was thinking the same thing. Sirius swept Harry up, his feet kicking helplessly in the air, and over his laughing protests of "Gerroff me! Gerroff me!" Sirius planted a very wet kiss on one cheek as Remus did the same on the other. Harry's arms went around their necks, and he braced his feet against the counter as he squirmed.
"He wasn't so heavy before," Remus said thoughtfully.
"Nor so cheeky."
"And who taught him that, I wonder."
"It's genetic," Sirius said, and used the momentum from Harry's wriggling to spin him around in a somersault and set him gently back on the floor again.
Outside, the sun was burning through the early morning mist; the sky was a brilliant blue. Inside, there was laughter and warmth and loving arms around him. Sirius smiled.
"Welcome home."
I would like to speculate
that god himself did make us into
corresponding shapes
like puzzle pieces from the clay
and true, it may seem like a stretch,
but it's thoughts like this that
catch my troubled head when you're away
and I am missing you to death
when you are out there on the road
for several weeks of shows and when
you scan the radio,
I hope this song will guide you home
they will see us waving from such great heights
"come down now," they'll say
but everything looks perfect from far away,
"come down now,"
but we'll stay…
("Such Great Heights" - The Postal Service)