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The Ancient and Most Noble House of Black at 12 Grimmauld place stood tall and proud against the grey skies of London. Dulling brick and un-shingled roof struck a peculiar outline to the once proud building. The flourishing garden, seen only to those who knew of the unplotted space, reached, tangled with yearning, towards the sky as if to beckon its owners back home. The stately walls, however, hid a sickness that was also unplottable. Only once, in the year of 1995, its calls answered with apprehensive agreement.
As soon as Sirius Black took his first indignant step through the threshold the whole house seemed to come alive. It hummed as if taking its first shaky breath after being underwater for too long. There was life in a magical house, and even though Kreacher had given him the most poisonous look he’d near ever seen, the glimmer in his eyes had also been undeniable. A hint of something satisfied. Something cruel.
The wallpaper thrummed in his veins and Sirius wanted nothing more than to rip it out of himself.
“He’s been up there for days.”
The words drifted up through the cracks in the floor of the attic where Sirius found himself spending most of his time. It reminded him of that cave in Buenos Aires, which in turn reminded him of those beaches in Rio. His hand absently ran over the floorboards, sullied from their previous shine and glamour to be now dull and cracked. Nothing like volcanic stone or soft sand. If he closed his eyes he could not hear the ocean. Just the grumblings of one disgruntled house elf from several rooms off.
He should be grateful. He knows he should be grateful.
Buckbeak huffed behind him, gnawing on some bones of a poor decimated squirrel. Sirius couldn’t agree more.
At this point in his captivity knew the voices of the guests that now frequented this childhood torture chamber by heart. Who else would be once again expressing her displeasure other than Molly Weasley over Sirius’ living arrangements.
It was like this around the clock, the proclamations and the whispers. As if this house wasn’t founded on the shouts and secrets of madmen. There was a presence in the House of Black that no one but a member of the family, no matter how obliterated from the tapestry, could understand. Every draft held meaning. Every crackle from the hearth was a potential story, threatening to leak over.
The walls had ears and unfortunately for Mrs. Molly Weasley, in spite of what anybody said, Sirius could listen when needed.
“It can’t be healthy.”
Some days, more often than most, Sirius wanted to scream back down through the cracks that he could hear her. Or regretted that they had gotten rid of the vast majority of cursed items he could have casually displaced that would have kept her mouth frozen shut for at least a week.
His stomach churned at the thought. Somewhere he could practically hear his Mother joining Kreacher in pacing the rooms beneath him.
The heavy sigh that followed could only have belonged to the pilly sweater embodied of one Remus J. Lupin. Sirius could imagine him now; staring at his tea cup, black and one sugar, picking at the ends of his sleeves as he thought. A slight winkle would appear between his brows when he was thinking over something hard. It had been there since they were children, earning his friend the title of World’s Youngest Old Man.
“Molly, I really think-”
Sirius perked up when he heard the words, wincing as his hair was pulled from where it cascaded over his shoulder and gotten trapped between him and the floor. Here it comes. A sharp and scathing comeback. Or a wise and calm return to his defense. A shutdown by Moony was always a delight, when not directed at your person.
But the words never continued.
The thickness of the silence was peppered with the clinking of teacups. His mother’s teacups, found buried in the dusty cabinets. Arthur had had to scrub the thick residue that had accumulated at their bottoms by hand, as magic didn’t seem to affect it in any way. They hadn’t been sure what they had been used before, but the way Kreacher’s bug-eyes had lit up the first time they had been used, and his disappointment thereafter, couldn't have been anything good.
“He’s adjusting.”
The words from his best friend were almost a sigh, and Sirius found his ear once again pressed against the floor. Winding stairs carried every syllable up step by creaking step.
He gnawed on the peeling cuticle of his thumb.
“Mooney gets it.” He mumbled, as his friend’s gruff voice continued.
Buckbeak huffed again.
“This house ...even as kids it wasn’t a place he had ever wanted to be. To return to. The nightmares before Summer break…”
Sirius felt heat tingle into his cheeks.
“Honestly, Molly. It’s barely a step up from Azkaban for him.”
“But the attic? Really, Remus?” She scoffed. He could practically hear her waving the wooden spoon around the kitchen, gesturing up to the high ceilings with it like a second wand. “Why not...I don’t know ... Anywhere but there! And with that animal--”
“He trusts Buckbeak.”
“Yes, well.” There was a clink. A collection of used cups. The turning on of a faucet. “Perhaps he should start thinking about trusting humans. Maybe he could start smelling like one again, too. A bad example. What will the children think? What would Harry think?”
“Molly….”
“ Remus.”
There was silence for a long while.
Sirius didn’t know how long he had stayed like that, laid out on the floor. Buckbeak laid with him, head on his lower back, making occasional cawing noises. He groaned, rolling onto his back and staring at the vaulted ceiling. Buckbeak, to his credit, didn’t startle. Instead he adjusted as well, laying his head on the floor next to Sirius’. Occasionally prodding his shoulder with his beak.
The telltale sounds of dinner being prepared hours later was the only hint at how much time the unkempt man spent there, willing the walls to fall away. If his eyes and cheeks still burned there was no one around to notice.
The walls had ears and he refused to let them ever hear his voice break again.
---
“It smells like sawdust in here!” Peter crowed, wiping his hands nervously down the front of his shirt. The Marauders, like the four horsemen of the apocalypse, tumbled into the glorified hole in the wall that would be their home for the next year. “How long was this empty for?”
“Ages,” James practically cooed, giving the space the ol’ look around. It wasn’t pretty. Not by any measure. Certainly not worth the four flights of stairs it took to grace its door, but Sirius couldn’t take his eyes off of how Remus’s face lit up at the prospect of living in muggle Manchester with the three of them. The sights, the smells, the familial disappointment and Remus’s smile. Nothing could dissuade them that this way anything but an exceptional choice.
The roof needed fixing. There was a bizarre smell permeating from the sink in the kitchen. The wallpaper has begun to peel away from the wall leaving bubbles just begging to be popped. The stench of sawdust and mildew practically wafted out of every angle, avoiding Peter’s feeble attempts to conquer it with a wave of his wand and several freshening spells.
James turned to Remus, threading his arm through the crook of his gangly elbow. “It’s spectacular. Don’t you think so, Mooney?”
The other man sighed. “Absolutely.”
As if there were any other answer when the four of them were side-by-side-by-side-by-side.
Sirius grinned that grin, the one the girls at school would go gaga for. It was almost lazy in the way it spread across his face, as if he had all the time in the world to get to the punchline of a joke you knew nothing about. He stepped over boxes and suitcases to smack Remus on the shoulder opposite from where Prongs had laid his unruly head.
“Well men, this is it!" James proclaimed, "Adulthood! Our own kingdom! I wonder if Lily has settled in with McKinnon yet... Do you think it would be too early to floo her? We saw each other just this morning but she’ll be busy the next few days…”
Whatever was said after that was quite the blur, as Remus looked towards Sirius, wrinkling his nose as if to say “ Save me from this madman in love !” Sirius took note and nodded in mournful agreement, watching as the other man’s eyes lit up. They sparkled with mirth. His eyes drifted lower to his neck, his collar, and couldn’t help but notice the tear that had formed on Remus' cream colored sweater. His new one. That would need to be patched to match the sheepskin elbow patch further down. He caught his eye again, Remus raising an eyebrow in question which was answered with a shrug. There were dark circles that permanently clung under those bright eyes. Forever looking haggard beyond his years, even more-so with James’s lamentations weighing him down. He looked ragged. Shaggy.
Perfect.
To Sirius, nothing could be more satisfying in this moment than to thread his fingers through that golden-brown hair. He longed to push the fringe back from that face and see how deep those brown eyes were.
Up close.
Personally.
He wanted to touch the hallows of Remus' cheeks and rub the pads of his thumb over the stubble that formed over that jawline.
“Is there a kettle!?” Peter called, stumbling over some wayward boxes on his way to the kitchen, which was an absolute hoot. The appliances had been recently replaced but at the expense of them being painted a beautifully vomitous seafoam. The floor tiles were false, peeling up at the edges and dancing between the ‘grout’ was a brownish stain that curled under the lamination. Sirius’s face split into a wide grin as he followed dear Wormtail in search of tea, breaking the curse Remus had unknowingly put on him.
But oh, if he didn’t feel those brown eyes burning into his neck.
“It's in one of the boxes!” James called. Before dear Wormy could ask for somewhat of an elaboration i there was a swishing noise and an exclamation of “Accio Kettle!”
That was when all Hell broke loose.
The box in question, as it were, had seemed to be lodged under a few other, heavier, boxes. This, along with the powerful Accio one James Potter had perfected after years of running from Gryffindor tower without one thing (homework) or another (quills) or another another (books), caused a few things to happen. One, the kettle that was rattling in its cardboard cage could not escape, instead catapulting itself along with two larger boxes to come crashing towards James and Remus at an atrocious speed.
There were exclamations, an "OOF" and a "COR!", along with several crashing noises as Peter and Sirius scrambled back into the living room, Sirius catapulting himself off of his shorter friend’s back ready to launch himself into the frey. They found James, clutching a box to his chest and Remus with his legs up over his head, nearly split in two.
“Found it.” The bespectacled boy grinned, wiggling his fingers over the crease where the box had been taped several times over.
Sirius bounded, jumping into the air to squirm between the two of them. He threw his legs over Remus’s lap as he tried to right himself. Peter tiptoed around them, nudging one of the larger boxes with his foot to try and get through. It toppled, splitting and spilling its contents over the too-rough carpet of the living room.
“Aw Wormtail those were my vinyls!!!” James exclaimed, scrambling to his knees to try and scoop them from the floor.
“Oh NOW you care!” Peter huffed, but moved to help collect them.
“Good sport!” Sirius hooted as Remus called an “Alright Wormy..”
Sirius rolled, kicking a copy of Carole King’s ‘Tapestry’ towards the gaping and only slightly crushed mouth of the box. He tucked his head under Remus’s arm and there he found the gentle thrum of a heartbeat under that cardigan.
They watched James plugin the player, and Peter, engrossed in the enthusiasm of their Prongs, became distracted from the prospect of tea. He joined James in picking through his new tracks to find the perfect one to christen their home with.
“Important stuff, very important to set the tone!” James proclaimed, as Peter nodded enthusiastically and Remus rolled his eyes. He didn't move from their throne of boxes as the first few riffs from ‘Some Girls’ by the Stones began to flitter about the room.
“ I've been holdin' out so long
I've been sleepin' all alone
Lord, I miss you”
The beers would come out later. The spliffs after that. Remus would get so stoned he would cry and Sirius would have to take him to bed, holding his forearms and stealing kisses.
James would move in with Lily not six months later. Peter after that, until it was just the two of them.
There was a dark cloud forming somewhere in the distance, but for now even the horizon had no clue.
Sirius drew a breath and he felt Remus shift closer to him, watching Peter and James arguing over who got music control. That all was no matter to him. Nothing but the beautiful heartbeat of Remus in his head ear could register as any importance at this exact moment. Alone with its cadence his heart also matched.
He was home. He was home. He was home.
---
By all means life at Grimmauld had been getting a little better.
Over the next few months Sirius gravitated downwards, settling into one of the massive guest rooms instead of the drafty attic. He had to beg Buckbeak for forgiveness who had huffed and ignored him for leaving him alone for substantially lengthier amounts of time, until he was brought several raccoon carcasses. Then, all was forgiven. Perhaps it was the stubborn calling to prove his naysayers wrong that had pricked at his heel and lured him out of hiding. Maybe it was the looming threat of the appearance of his Godson that made showering steadily a viable option. Who is to say why he started to eat three small meals a day, filling himself out into the frame of a human being again? Or why he started sitting in at more meetings than he avoided, holding his breath and catching the gazes of the ones who were there to help, ginger hair sprinkled throughout.
There was still something to be desired on the prospect of human communication.
It wasn’t as if Sirius wanted to be left alone. He was never one to brush aside affection. Most of his life had been spent chasing the high of a supportive hand on his shoulder; a smile that reached someone’s eyes.
In wartime those small gestures had always seemed stale.
So he focused on the cleaning. The organizing. Skulking through the shadows of the house that opened up to him as soon as they heard his footsteps. Those sorts of things he could manage, as sick at the sight of locked doors and hidden passages made him. It was busy work, in its most basic incarnation.
As the house was cleaned up it seemed so was he in turn. As he brushed the tangles from his hair, the high bookcases were dusted. He shaved his unkempt beard and Remus gingerly covered the silver door knobs with leather casing. The thrum of his heart seemed to match the swept hallways. Pulsing with an excitable vigor. Though the thought of being connected to this cursed building filled him with dread, it was no match for his vanity as he stopped and checked himself out in a fresh polished mirror. He looked ...old. Older. Distinguished.
And unfortunately so much like his father.
The thought ripped through his mind so quickly he didn’t have time to think. There was a crack as the mirror split down the middle, the tinkling of small pieces of glass raining onto the newly swept floor. His face split in two. Wand at the ready, the hex still on his lips and his hand began to shake.
Perhaps he’d grow a moustache.
His father had always been averse to facial hair. A good man, a strong man, had nothing to hide behind a big bushy beard. He could hear him now, breathing in his ear as he would before grabbing at his hair and wrenching his head back. Could hear him talking about how long hair was for pompous twits and idiots. Make it short. Make it succinct. Keep it close. A man didn’t have to hide if he was smart, if he was strong. Why are you hiding, Sirius?
“Be a man”
"Sirius."
His own name ripped him from his thoughts. Dropping his arm quickly to his side he snapped his head to the side, inclined towards the doorway and into the dining room. He could hear it now, Kingsley’s low, even voice interjected with Arthur’s excitable patter. Neither of them stood there at this moment, leaning against the door frame.
“Sirius?” The woman repeated. She took a step towards him, dragon hyde boots echoing off the walls, leather jacket riding low on her shoulders. His cousin.
Somewhere in the many books that adorned his father’s study or toppled over in the room Remus now occupied or floated lazily in the library at Hogwarts, there was a text on ancient wizard bloodlines. Sirius had most likely never cracked the spine of such a book, though Regulus would have known its verses by heart. Sirius would not know its words, but in this moment he knew what its paragraphs would try to convey, as his steely grey eyes met with her overcast blue.
There was a connection between them that was forged in smoke and fire. In dirty money and torn silk. Something he could feel in his bones. Something powerful.
There was a moment where he wondered if he gave the house to her, would she take it? If it would open its creaking foundation to her as it had to him. In her he saw what he had once longed to be.
Herself. Free.
“Alright?” She asked, hand on her hip. She cocked her head to the side. Her hair was pink that day, something so wickedly individualistic Sirius couldn’t help but grin. It clashed horribly with her dark green lips and chartreuse fingernails.
“Never better.” He replied, “Nymphadora.” Her chuckle was cut off with a scoff and for the first time in days he felt the beginnings of a smile grace his face.
It felt sore.
“To what do I owe the pleasure, dearest cousin?”
“Heard a noise.” She shrugged, taking a step towards him and jumping back as bits of wayward glass crunched under her boot. “Oi!” She shook her leg, causing Sirius to cover his face as the glass went streaming across the room. “The bloody actual hell happened in here?”
“Accident.” He mumbled, traces of the smile now long gone from his face as he waved his wand.he mirror sealing itself smooth again. Tonks hummed, raising an eyebrow as she crossed her arms again.
“Saw your face and got scared?”
“Something like that.”
She smiled at him, crooked and wide, tapping her foot twice with her wand. The scattered remains of the mirror lifted, before disappearing with a tiny crackling noise, like muggle popping candies.
You know…” He started, leaning back against one of the ornamental couches. Staples from its red upholstery dug into his hip. “The last time that I saw you you were knee-high to a hinkypunk.”
She laughed, loud and unabashed, the sound reverberating and seeming to light up the dreary hall. “I wish I could remember.” She replied, sheepishly, her cheeks tinged as pink as her hair. “Ma talks about you, well, now more than ever.”
“Andromeda and I have always bonded, being the toastiest of Blacks on the family tapestry.” He reveled in her laugh again, pushing himself off of the couch and walking to one of the high cabinets that were adorned around the main room. Most of them were empty, Kreacher having scavenged what he could after his mother’s passing. Still if he knew his family, and he did, there would still be some interesting bits left behind.
“What are you doing?” Tonks laughed watching as he clamoured around the wall, scaling it like an excitable child. “You’re going to hurt yourself.”
“Oh come now, cousin. Have some sense of adventure!” He stuck his hand into one of the small cherry doors, pulling out a bottle of amber liquid. If cleaning out the expanse of his parents old house was a Sisyphean task, his father’s old liqueur stash was a boulder. Whiskey older than he was, older than the dirt laid in the foundation he stood on, stared back at him from behind the bottle. “Here we are!” He called, hopping back down to the ground. He handed the bottle to her, flicking his wand as two dusty glasses followed them.
“Now. Let's toast, hm?” He smiled, and Tonks raised an eyebrow.
“Technically I am working…” She hesitated as Sirius poured a hefty amount into her glass. “...but perhaps just a nip?”
“Oh, don’t be such a spoilsport!” He clinked their glasses, “To being the best disappointments we can be.” She returned the smile sheepishly, a look that seemed almost foreign on her impish face, bringing the rim to her lips as he shot his own drink back, the telltale burn of his father’s shame on his tongue.
“Is this where they congregate?” A voice broke through the comfortable silence like a whip-crack, shrill and high, “The stains of my womb... The charred husks of the ancient and most noble house of Black!”
Whether it was the clamoring around that had woken his mother from her slumber or the feeling that genuine connection was being made between two of her most hated relations Sirius was not sure. Across the room her tapestry opened, like the raising of her curtain at the beginning of a play, exposing her impressive and imposing figure in all her painted glory.
Mrs. Walburga Black always had a penchant for dramatics.
His cousin sighed, turning a well-charcoaled eye to him. “Does she ever shut up?” She hissed, crossing her arms over her chest, still-full glass clinking on the belts of her jacket. Sirius huffed.
“The day she stops mumbling abuse under her breath is the day this house burns to the ground.” He poured himself another glass, drinking deeply.
“Filth! Disgusting, heathonous dirt !”
“Oh shut it, you old bat!” Sirius snapped back, gesturing his glass to her. “No one is listening to you! No one cares about your incessant rambling you racist bore !”
“And you !!” His mothers eyes, a vivid and piercing a gold. They locked on his and he felt his stomach drop. His jaw clenched and he could see the minuscule shadow of a smile on her painted lips. “My largest shame. The heir of a most treacherous fortune.”
Blood pulsed through his ears so loud it felt as if he were underwater. His cousin said something, but he couldn’t tell anything aside from the lilt of her voice. Concern or unsettled, something of the sort. She touched his wrist, but he shook free.
“Say it, then.” He took a step towards the formidable manifestation of his mother. “Say what you mean for once, you complete bat .”
Her eyes did not soften, as they never had in life. The glimmer of circumstance within them was something he had seen too many times before. A predators opportunity. She looked to the ceiling, to the side, as if she were to cry. Though he knew a mother like that shed no real tears. She took in a false breath, wailing.
“Oh, if only it were you !” She gestured towards him. “Why couldn’t it have been you! You filthy creature. Instead of my son, oh my sweetest son!!” There was a crashing noise, a splintering of glass for the second time today, as he lunged for the framed homage, his brothers name leaving her lips.
“Regulus! Why him?!”
He felt fire from his fingertips, sparks from where his nails dragged across the too-taught skin of his Mother’s face. And she laughed, throwing her dark hair back, stacked high on her head, as if the animosity, the sheer hatred that her flesh-and-blood showed fueled her. Made her younger. Made her alive again.
The yelling from behind him registered as a dull throbbing. Sirius paid it no mind--tearing into the charmed canvas with his bare hands. It did not tear, but he felt a wetness. His fingers bled, streaking red across his mother's face.
She smiled. Toothy and wild.
It wasn’t until he felt hands, calloused and scarred with too-long fingers, grab onto his and pull them back that he even started to realize the reason couldn’t hear the other man’s words because of his own yelling. Remus was in his ear, arms around his middle as Tonks moved quickly, maneuvering to the side of the portrait to try and find the rope to pull the tapestry tight.
He took a breath, his own hands still in too-thin claws
“Where is the bloody thing ??” His cousin shouted, finally seeing the glistening silver chord tucked into the side of the frame. She pulled it, grunting.
The portrait let out a heavy sob, “My son . My sweetest child!” It called, and then went silent as the tapestry fell down around it.
The silence rang through the room like a gong. No one moved for quite some time, everything living in slow motion. Tonks looked at him with an unreadable expression that made his cheeks hot. She said nothing, stomping over to the shattered tumbler and waving her wand in a clumsy attempt to restore order. The ornate glass fixed itself back together, but the liquid laid as it had been. Puddled at the base of a bust of a prehistoric relation. The harsh smell of alcohol finally made its way to his senses, making his eyes water.
He head spun. His chest heaved with unsaid curses but Remus’s arms held him tight, steadying him from taking the few steps forward and wrenching the tapestry aside. Screaming at his mother just exactly what he thought of her most precious boy.
Remus had always had a way of keeping him in place.
Tonks turned and for a moment thought she was going to say something. Her lips parted, then closed. Then opened. She looked above his eyeline, to where he knew Remus must be staring back. Her cheeks flushed and Sirius hated it, craning his neck between the two of them as if he could eavesdrop into their conversation without words. Pressing her lips together she spun on her heel and left the room quickly, banging into a side table as she rounded the corner back towards the well-lit kitchen.
Sirius watched her go before trying to wrench out of Remus’s grip, turning his whole body so that he could see him. Remus’s face was stone, mouth set in a line. For some reason that made Sirius just as angry as if it had been pity. “What?” He snapped, jerking his arm from where Remus curled his fingers into the fabric like a vice until he finally let go. “What the fuck was that about?”
Remus didn’t reply, instead he took a cloth from his pocket, letting it fall onto the whiskey that had begun to seep into the floor. He stepped on it, wiping it around with his foot.
“Let it go, Sirius.”
“Let what go, Lupin ?” He shot back, moving to stand in front of the spill, his own foot kicking Remus’s worn heel. “If you have something to say you can just say it to my face. No need to be such a gentleman about it.”
It was an obvious bait but Remus didn’t rise to it, ignoring him and committing to his task until Sirius stomped his foot on the rag and made him stumble. “Out with it, then! What’s going on in that bookish brain of yours, hm? Want to cuss me out now? Angry with me?”
“I was just thinking ‘ Same old Padfoot’ .” Remus snapped back, leaving Sirius reeling for a moment. “Tear everything to pieces and leave others to clean it up. Like a dog when its owners leave it behind for a day.”
To Sirius’ credit he tried to bite his tongue, truly he did. He knew, even before he opened his mouth that this wasn’t right. This anger was, as James would have said, pointed in the entirely wrong direction. He didn’t care. He needed it out. Needed someone to feel what he had been settled within all these weeks. This poison that the house constantly fed him leaking through every pore and out of his mouth.
“Oh now is the time you decide to open your mouth and state an opinion! I had almost forgotten there was a spine under all of that corduroy.”
He stepped towards Remus which gave the other man a chance to stoop down and retrieve his handkerchief. “If you would call your drunken rantings opinions then yes I suppose--”
“Don’t START with DRUNK or I’ll bend that finger backwards!” He moved with a manic jerk of his body, grabbing Remus’s arm hard, too hard than he meant, as Remus flinched under his grip. As if he hadn’t seen him stealing drinks in the night. Stumbling back to his room at all hours not even weeks ago. His eyebrows furrowed as he took a steadying breath.
Merlin, it made his blood boil.
“We can having this conversation later. It’s getting late. The meeting just ended and--”
“As if I care!! Anything I have to say my bitch of a mother was ten times louder!” He got up close, chest to chest with the other man. “And as if I give an absolute piss what Molly bloody Weasley has to say.”
That shocked him, to say the least. Remus’s facade crumbling just a little. The hurt in his eyes showing through as he again tried to pry Sirius’s vice-like fingers from his arm. “I do not know your vendetta against Molly is.”
“Then maybe you should talk to me!” Sirius’s voice cracked and it sounded desperate, even to his own ear. There was a flutter somewhere near the kitchen, but neither of them moved. Remus just looked at him, he was always just looking at him. Never talking. Never touching. Those sad brown eyes should know every new part of his face by now but still he caught him doing it all the time. At meetings, in the halls If he wasn’t staring he was avoiding staring and it was all so much. Too much.
He was already supposed to know him.
“You used to...” He finally let his grip free, moving the palm of his hand to slide up the front of Remus’s fraying sweater. “...All the time. Sneak into my bed after lights out and whisper like schoolboys. Carry conversations. You used to tell me things.”
He looked up at Remus, eyes wide and wild and saw them reflected back to him. His hands shook. He wanted to cut them off. “When did that end?” There was still something between them, he knew. A remnant from the first war. A weight that both of them carried so heavily that it threatened to suffocate them both under the heel of its heft.
“It wasn’t me who stopped, Padfoot.” The answer was almost so quiet that he had to strain to hear even at such close quarters. Sirius flinched as if he’d been struck.
It would have been better if he had been.
He moved to turn, to find a place in this house that words couldn’t find. Where he could sit and wallow. Perhaps to numb his embarrassment and rejection before Harry arrived. He could pretend. For a while. Until he could leave.
There was a hand on his wrist before he could go far. He turned as Remus stepped forward. His free hand went to Sirius’s cheek, thumb grazing over the fine cut of his cheekbone.
When he leaned in further Sirius met him desperately halfway.
---
The faint popping noise of apparition rang through the too-calm, too-quiet apartment. At this time it would be filled with the sounds of a late-night game of exploding snap, or a vinyl record being played on repeat, usually with several voices ricocheting loudly off of each other. Now the the silence was cut through by giggles. Two grown men in dress robes, one set a well-worn black and one set a fashionable navy, stumbling around in the dark, clutching at each other.
“Mooney? Mooney?! This is ridiculous... Lumos !” The flat lit up in a dull light from Sirius’s wand as he struggled to find the light switch. He stumbled, but not very far. Gentle, rough hands grabbed at his waist, righting him as he turned around to catch Remus’s shoulders with his arms.
The apartment still had a sort of rustic appeal, some stains can’t be removed no matter how much work is put into the process, but it looked fuller. With a couch and a radio and a bedroom filled with books. There was a feeling of domesticity that reached every corner. In the middle of a wave of people celebrating what Sirius was sure was true love, he still would have rather been here.
“Do you think anyone will notice?” Remus asked. He leaned in, nuzzling at the top of Sirius’s neck, pulling a soft ‘Oh’ from his lips.
“Not even James could notice and I’m his best man.” Sirius clutched at Remus’s shoulders, pulling him in. “May I have this dance?”
“You’re a child.” Sirius laughed at the response, shaking his hair to it hung in his face. His bright, grey eyes sparkling in the wandlight. “And exactly what would you like us to dance to, hm? We left the band.”
“Unfortunately. That horn player was giving you quite the stare-down.” It was Remus’s turn to scoff, pulling at his friend’s waist.
“I think everyone was just trying to get a look at how awful my dancing was.”
“Nonsense. You looked fantastic.”
“Next to you.” Sirius felt his face flush and his wand light died. He was grateful for the momentary coverage. He still felt Remus lean in, kissing his forehead and for a moment Sirius could pretend. They were sweethearts. They were in love.
Something like a split had been felt between the two of them lately. Even if they shared the same bed more nights than not, even the smallest space between their pillows felt like a chasm. Sometimes when he touched Remus he could swear there was only air. He was a man made of glass, barely there, Gone more often than not.
This night was a welcome respite.
Sirius waved his wand once before tossing it in the general vicinity of the couch. The record player clicked, guitar drifting into the air around them.
” I'll never be your beast of burden
My back is broad but it’s a hurtin'
All I want is you to make love to me”
Sirius sang the lyrics quietly under his breath. Remus smiled, and despite his protests that he had no rhythm, swayed them both in place.
God, how he adored him.
Perhaps it was because he was drunk. Punch drunk. Love drunk. Champagne drunk. He felt large, rough hands run up his sides, pulling apart the previously skewed clasps of his robes and he fell apart with him. It felt like the first time, fumbling with each other, the apprehension palpable as he pressed his lips against Remus’s. He tilted his head, not waiting to adjust before deepening the kiss, running his tongue over his friend’s bottom lip and causing him to gasp. He took advantage of the situation, kissing him sloppily until his lungs burned, pulling back and knocking his head against the wall.
“Mooney…” he whispered.
“I know. Pads…” Remus’s voice was rough, and low, like the morning after his time of the month. As if he’d been howling all night at a moon that would never come down. Sirius’s legs shook beneath him and Remus pressed his hips against the wall to keep him steady. He leaned in, kissing roughly up his neck, that perpetual 5 o’clock shadow dragging against the expanse of his sensitive skin.
Then he was being pulled roughly, tossed towards the couch like his wand had been. Remus followed, descending on top of him and Sirius’s heart thrilled. He pulled him in, gladly accepting his fate as he felt teeth on his neck, his shoulder. He moaned, arching his hips and trying in vain to kick his pants to the end of his legs at the very least. Remus grunted, reaching a hand between them to help.
It was all so rushed. So bizarre it left his head spinning. Or perhaps that had been the wine.
They clutched at each other, ripping clothes that cost more than their rent. Remus pulled his hair so hard he almost came on the spot, yet pressed such a sweet kiss to his throat he thought he might die as well.
The moon was the only thing that peeked in through the windows, who saw the love between the two men. Remus guided himself with a fluid knowledge between Sirius’s legs, dipping his mouth into the crook of his naked thighs and kissing a bruise there until Sirius was shaking in anticipation.
He cried out as Remus mouthed a trail up until he was close enough to run his tongue on the underside of his cock. That mouth, those lips. Something he could never have imagined in a lifetime. No, as they both slowed, breathing in each other’s air as Remus slid between Sirius’s thighs, the shorter man keening and arching under him. He was reminded that he wasn’t dreaming.
There was only them.
Sirius felt truly unhinged, shoving his hand in Remus’s shaggy hair and wrapping those sandy strands around his fingers. He felt Remus moan around him more than he heard him, making him echo the sentiments as Mick Jagger crooned in the background. He wouldn’t last, not like this. He pulled back, forcing Remus’s mouth off of him with a wet noise so obscene he almost blushed.
“What do you want?” He breathed. He watched as Remus’s eyes refocused. His lips were puffy, kiss-bruised. There was a new scar painted across his left cheek, pink criss-crossing over lines of silver.
When had that even happened.
“I want…” He began, and Sirius leaned in to nibble at his ear. He keened. “Oh, Sirius…”
“I’m here.”
“You.” Remus moved up his body, clutching at his hips so hard there would be bruises later.”I want you.”
Sirius wished he knew what that actually meant.
They had done this what seemed like thousands of times since their 7th year. Whether it be behind drawn curtains or in the privacy of their own apartment. Sneaking kisses behind greenhouse three and in the kitchen while Peter and James bickered about the proper use of an egg beater.
He never get used to the look in Remus’s eyes as he fucks into him from the first time, whispering spells and filthy words into his mouth to relax him, coaxing sounds so embarrassing from his chest he’s sure the neighbors would complain if they didn’t have a slew of silencing charms in place.
Remus didn’t hold anything back, thrusting into him so hard Sirius thought he could fall off of the couch. As if sensing this Remus adjusted them, grabbing Sirius from behind his thigh and falling backwards so that Sirius was on top of him. He cried out, having little to no time to adjust, not wanting any, as he pushed back against Remus. He met him with every thrust, riding his lap and tilting his hips to find relief, any relief.
The air thrummed with the energy between them, the lamp in the other room flickering on and off enough that Sirius could almost see even as his eyes rolled back in his head. He scraped his nails hard over Remus’s shoulders, practically yelling as his friend dipped his head, biting bruising marks into his chest.
“So good--ah please, Mooney-”
“What do you want?” Remus near growled in earnest, looking at him with such heat in his eyes Sirius felt his stomach churn. He wanted this closeness. He didn’t want this to end. He didn’t want to untangle their limbs and feel like he’s never come back. He He wanted. He wanted. He wanted.
Instead he came with a shout between them, holding on to Remus’s face as he pressed their foreheads together. He prayed, to whoever might be listening, that Remus understood what he was trying to convey. Remus moaned beneath him, stopping his movements as they stayed pressed together, so close that SIrius could almost hear Remus’s heartbeat in his ears.
The moon said nothing to acknowledge it had heard anything at all.
They were left alone.
---
It had started raining sometime between when Remus had kissed him in the parlor and when he now rolled over to one side of the bed, sighing and looking like the cat that got the cream. It pattered on the window in a wonderfully distracting display of white noise. He turned, latching onto Remus’s neck once more to suck a dark mark into the base. The other man grunted, swatting at his messy hair like it was a particularly annoying fly but unable to hide his smile.
For a few moments there was silence but for the rain. Both men languid, relaxed against each other as they pressed together under the blankets of Sirius’s old childhood room. The spell was broken as Remus muttered a low ‘accio’ and suddenly there was Sirius’s old, silver cigarette case, dingy as anything in this house was, but still stuffed to the brim with pre-rolled cigarettes.
“You’re not, really. Those are over a decade old.” He scoffed, but Remus just gave him a playful eyeroll. With a snap of his (long, talented, agile) fingers the fire lit between them, lighting the cigarette as be took a deep breath in. He passed it to Sirius who complied, taking it as an acceptable alternative to his previous fumblings. Picking at the blankets.
“How did you even know it was in here?” He propped his arm up on Remus’s chest, taking another slow drag of the, albeit awful but there, smoke.
Remus shrugged. “You complained for weeks after you left home. Saying you abandoned it. It was half a guess.”
He blew the smoke out to the side, holding the very clearly stale cigarette back to his friend and stalling. Those brown eyes were on him now, looking over his collarbone and the tattoos that adorned his chest and neck. “Sickle for your thoughts?” He mumbled, but Remus just shook his head and took the cigarette back.
“Just remembering.” Remus admitted, knocking some of the ash onto the fancy, beautiful side table. It sent a thrill through Sirius to see the desecration of the artifacts in this house. Even something as miniscule as the bed-table in his old bedroom. The muggle girls stared unblinkingly from their posters down at them, bits of charmed red and gold still trying to give off the faintest of glimmers.
“In particular?”
“The old apartment. James and Lily’s wedding…Do you remember that awful band they booked? I do.”He laughed out through his nose and Sirius nodded, without the heart in him to admit he could barely remember any good times through the haze that Azkaban had left him with.
Mostly he remembered the bits in between. The fights. Remus not talking to him for almost two months after he had led Snape to the Whomping Willow. James and him getting into blows over what seemed like trivial reasons now. He could perfectly remember every bad word his parents had said, the look Regulus gave him passing by in the halls with the likes of Barty Crouch at his side.
The heartbreak in Remus’s eyes as he’d drifted further and further away, guided by Peter’s words. The scratch of a record player as he heard the news. His echo of his own boots over autumn cobblestones and a voice in his head that said, “Of course. Of course. Of course.”
His fingertips traced over the soft, older abdomen of someone that used to be so skinny, too skinny. He leaned in close, kissing Remus’s cheek. It was an action that seemed to take him by surprise, eyebrows shooting up comically, but he didn’t move. Instead in return he wrapped his arm around Sirius’ shoulder as they readjusted themselves, Sirius nuzzling into his scarred chest.
They finished the smoke. The rain got worse. And then better. And then stopped completely.
“After this ...after all of this…” Sirius started, looking up at the man he was in bed with. He looked tired, older, but not uninterested in what he might have to say. He let his fingertips drift over a particularly nasty scar that disappeared over his rip. He traced it over a few times and Remus stayed dutifully silent. Coaxing Sirius to finish his thought without saying a word.
“I want to make new ones.” His friend tilted his head just a bit, as if trying to follow the line of thought he had jumped on and Sirius huffed, pulling back just enough to look up at his eyes. The movement made his hair fall down over his shoulder in what he supposed was a coquettish fashion, as Remus became distracted with following the movement with his eyes. He leaned in, taking Remus’s chin in his own hand and making his gaze turn back on his face. “Memories. I want to make them. Ones just as good. Or better. Please.”
When Remus leaned in to kiss him again it tasted like smoke. He sighed, wrapping his arms over those broad shoulders and pulling them so they were chest to chest. He could feel a flutter in the bottom of his stomach. Apprehension or excitement, he wasn’t sure. It wasn’t a promise, or even an answer. But for now, he’d take it.
Once it was all over.
That was a start.