Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Sirius slips out of bed at the sound of his alarm, charmed silent to everyone but him. The other side of the bed is empty, as it has been for the last week; Remus has a tight deadline sneaking up for the new Hogwarts Headmaster’s official portrait, but the only project that’s been cooperating is a surrealist painting of the moon. It mimics the phases, the full made of hundreds of sleeping fey nestled together with limbs entangled. As it wanes, more and more fairies escape their lunar prison to throw a raucous party in the forest below, culminating in a massive orgy on the night of the new moon. Then, spent and sated, they return, one by one, to their serene nest to sleep it off and do it all again the next month. 

It’s bloody brilliant, and Sirius could look at it for hours.

It’s also much more engaging than painting the stern face of Minerva McGonagall, which means Remus has to force himself through repeated all-nighters to fill in the crackling fire and heavy bookshelves the Room of Requirement chose as Minnie’s portrait scenery before September first. 

Sirius pulls on some muggle joggers and shuffles into the kitchen with a loud yawn and joint-cracking stretch. He drinks a large glass of water and makes a cuppa for Remus—the muggle way, as he prefers—and carries it into Remus’s studio. 

“Morning, sweetheart.” He slides the mug onto the side table next to the door, close enough for Remus to reach but far enough from his easel that he won’t accidentally mix up his tea and his brush cleaning mug…again. Sirius got him a set of brush cups with a self-scourgify function for his birthday a few years ago, but he still prefers his mother’s old I Hate Mondays mug. ‘Tradition,’ he says.

“Good morning, love.” Remus puckers his lips and offers his cheek for Sirius to kiss, eyes never straying from his canvas. 

Sirius obliges him with a peck to his jaw, then studies the painting. “You know, this might be your best one yet. I feel like I’m about to get detention.”

“Well, Mister Black, if you ever spent half as much energy on your studies as you did planning hare-brained pranks, you might feel otherwise,” painting-Minnie tuts. 

“Oh, hush, you, or I’m only giving you Thomas Hardy novels on the shelves,” Remus scolds the canvas. “Honestly, I should have saved your mouth for last. Most of my subjects sleep while I finish up, you know.”

Sirius huffs a laugh. “You should have known better than to give Minnie her eyes and mouth if you didn’t want a scolding, Moons. That’s on you.” Remus wrinkles his nose and flicks his paint-filled brush in Sirius’ direction. “Hey! I was gonna wear that!”

Remus smirks. “Too bad. Looks like you’ll have to take it off.”

“Moony!” Sirius gasps. “Not in front of Minerva!”

“Serves you right.” Remus chuckles and pulls him in for a quick kiss. “What do you have planned for the day?”

“Run, go to work, come up with a design idea for Rosier’s new chateau, see if I can fix James’s two way mirror so we can talk to the prick when he’s on road trips, come home and shag my loving husband senseless.”

“So a standard Thursday, then.” 

“Pretty much, yes,” Sirius agrees. “Love you, darling.” 

“Have a good run, love you too, bye!” The sound of Remus’s kissing noises follows Sirius out of the room. 

Sirius apparates a few miles outside Cardiff to a little copse of trees at foot of Garth Hill and follows his favourite trail to the summit. He has a tiny, brand new muggle music player—a Zoon, Sirius thinks it’s called—that holds a thousand songs, as well a state-of-the art pair of headphones and a truly impressive collection of seventies rock, but Sirius prefers to run in silence. The pounding rhythm of his shoes on the dirt path, the pounding pulse in his ears, the breath he trained so hard to be steady and even. It all leads to his body acting automatically without any thought, and for some reason, the motion of his body frees up his mind to whir along more clearly than at any other time. 

He decides to pitch the Rosiers invisible walls to optimise their views from every room in the chateau—the funniest prank he ever pulled was convincing purebloods it’s fashionable to own a building that barely functions—before he’s out of his warm-up pace, so he moves onto planning his and Remus’s holiday trip to Majorca. James’s quidditch team is on another road trip that week, Effie and Monty are visiting Effie’s sister from Diwali into the New Year, and Lyall brought Hope along on an extended creature hunt on the continent with no firm return date, so he and Remus will be on their own.

Sirius finishes the four kilometre loop twice and ends with holiday plans and gift ideas he can easily stash in his trunk; not bad for a thirty minute run. He apparates home still wiping sweat from his eyes. The neighbours’ children must be visiting; he, Remus, and James are the youngest people on their block by about two decades, and Sirius can hear a baby crying nearby. Odd.

Sirius trudges up the steps and nearly trips over something on the welcome mat.

“Oh, fuck,” he mutters, his heart racing like he’s once again cresting Garth Hill, and calls out for his husband. “Hey, Moons? Moony? Remus!”

“Yeah, love?” Remus opens the door and a wall of music pours out. Well, that explains why Remus hadn’t heard him call.

Or anything else, for that matter.

Sirius glances down at his feet and back at Remus’s face. “Darling, do you happen to know why there’s an infant on our doorstep?”

Remus looks down at the welcome mat and jumps back like it’s a blast-ended skrewt poised to strike. “Jesus fuck!” All the colour drains from his face, and Sirius doesn’t think he’s seen Remus look this panicked since James sent him fake N.E.W.T. results where he got all Ts. “Sirius, that’s a baby!”

“I know it’s a baby!” Sirius squawks. “I asked if you know why there’s a baby!”

Remus’s eyes keep flicking down to the stoop and back to Sirius’s face, like if he’s afraid the infant will attack if he doesn’t keep an eye on it. His voice comes out squeaky but hopeful. “Erm. Prank?”

Sirius rolls his eyes. “Moonshine, people don’t just loan out their babies for pranking purposes.” 

“Right.” Remus agrees, then twitches his wand to shut off the music. “Right, of course they don’t, that would be crazy! No, you’re absolutely correct, it makes a lot more sense that someone just abandoned it here!” He giggles, edging toward hysteria. “Why wouldn’t someone just drop off a baby to be cared for by two blokes who’ve never planned to have children and their professional quidditch player best mate who lives in the second bedroom when he’s not on the road? Of course we’re the most qualified people for this job!”

Remus tends to be the visibly steadier of the pair, and his dithering pushes Sirius toward terror. If this is too big of a problem for Moony to handle, how is Sirius expected to cope? “Well, fuck, Moony, I’m with you, but I don’t know what to say! I got up, I made your tea, I went for a run, I got back, there’s a baby here! I didn’t bring it! It’s not like we can just take the thing down to Diagon Alley and exchange it for a kneazle at Magical Menagerie! I just thought, as the person who was actually home, you might have a bit more information than I do!”

Remus opens his mouth and Sirius can tell he wants to snap back, but then his eyes catch on the baby’s basket and it pulls his focus. “I think there’s a letter.” He bends to pick up the slip of parchment tucked into the side of the bassinet and reads aloud.  “Dear James—”

“That fucker,” Sirius seethes. 

“That indeed seems to be the problem, yes,” Remus laughs, high-pitched and manic, then clears his throat. “Dear James—”

Sirius scoffs again, and Remus arches a chastising brow at him. Sirius crosses his arms over his chest, but he does shut up.

“This is your son, Harry. I’m sorry to leave him here this way, it breaks my heart, but my magizoology degree requires I spend the next three years studying acromantula colonies in Borneo, and it’s not a safe environment for a child. I’m sorry I never told you about him; I didn’t want to burden you when we said from the outset our relationship would only last as long as the Krakens’ spring training. We didn’t spend much time together, but you were so kind and affectionate, I’m sure you’ll make a wonderful father. Please, take good care of our baby. Hate me if you have to, but please understand, I’m doing my best. Yours, Jennifer.” Remus lowers the parchment and stares at Sirius with wide eyes. “Well, fuck. We should have known this would happen eventually.”

The baby hasn’t stopped crying, and it’s starting to put Sirius on edge. What are they supposed to do? They can’t just leave it sitting out here; it’s a baby, for Merlin’s sake. But neither he nor Moony know anything about babies; Regulus and Kingsley lived in Paris when their twins were young so they only met the girls in person twice before they started primary school, and most of their other friends are single gays who don’t want long-term relationships, much less children. 

Sirius picks up the bassinet and carries it inside with shaking hands. “We’re going to need some supplies, so you stay here with him and I’ll go get him some baby food.” 

Remus shakes his head. “You stay and I’ll go shopping.” 

“Do you even know what a baby needs?”

“Do you?”

They glare at each other, stuck in a stalemate, and then Sirius sighs and holds his hand out in a fist. “On cast, ready? Snake, cock, pussy, cast!” He undulates his arm in a slithering motion, while Remus extends his index finger and pinkie. “Ha! Basilisk petrifies cat. I’ll be back soon, Moonshine. Maybe pick him up or something?” 

“That’s very helpful, thank you,” Remus grumbles. He bumps his lips against Sirius’s jaw in a resentful approximation of a kiss. “Hurry back, please, love.”

“I will.”

<3

Remus watches Sirius leave with ringing ears and a racing heart. He looks into the basket on their sofa; Harry’s little fists wave and his face is screwed up in an unending, angry wail. Well, he’s definitely James’s. If the wild hair and smooth umber skin didn’t seal it, the noise sure does; James Potter has always been one loud motherfucker. 

Remus sighs.

“Well, buddy, looks like we’re on our own.” 

Remus kneels on the floor—Christ that hurts; bloody lycanthropy—and tries to scoop the baby up from his basket. Remus has to shuffle him around, the blankets shift all over the place, and the little blighter is so wriggly, Remus is afraid he’s going to drop him even after he gets his hands under his back. Finally, he takes Harry by the wee little armpits and lifts him straight up so his legs dangle. The baby looks at him with wide green eyes, an expression of surprise on his face. 

Is it surprise?

Can a baby this age even experience surprise?

Remus doesn’t fucking know, but he stopped crying, so apparently whatever Harry’s feeling now is better than it was ten seconds ago.

Then Harry screams, bawls his bloody eyes out, and Remus jumps a mile. 

“Well, shit, okay, this clearly isn’t working, so what do you need? What does a baby need? Think like a baby, Remus, put yourself in his onesie.” Remus’s arms are getting tired from holding Harry straight out like this, but he really seemed to hate that bloody basket, so Remus isn’t going to put him back in there. He pulls Harry against his chest and hauls himself to his feet, and every joint in his body cracks as he straightens up, but Harry’s cries seem a little quieter, so that’s progress.

“Alright, mini Prongs, let’s try to figure this out. A baby is basically just a tiny pissed person, right? Or, well, maybe a pissed person is just an overgrown baby. So what do we do after a night out? What do we do?” He bounces on each word, which seems to startle Harry into temporary silence, but he starts back up again as soon as Remus stands still. Remus starts pacing the living room. 

“We eat, but we don’t have any baby food, so we’re going to have to wait for Sirius to come back to try that. We…well, we”—Remus drops his voice to a near-silent whisper—“shag, but obviously that doesn’t apply to you. Play, maybe? Did your mummy pack you any toys?” He glances in the basket to find a tangle of soft blankets and nothing else. “No, no she did not, I’m sorry, buddy. I don’t have any toys. Okay. Next. We sick up, but that doesn’t seem premeditated, if you had to do that, you just would.” He fixes Harry with a stern glare. “That was not a challenge, sir. What else? What else, what else, what else…Sirius pisses like a thestrel if he’s been drinking pints, I guess, but…” Just then, Harry lets out a loud, wet fart. Remus looks into his chubby, tear-streaked little face and begs. “Oh no. Oh no, Harry, please, no.”

Harry giggles, and a smell with the power of a thousand dungbombs sweeps over Remus, and he curses his elevated sense of smell. The little chaos demon looks so proud of himself, too. Once again, he’s definitely his father’s son.

“Well, I guess there’s nothing else for it,” Remus sighs and carries him into the bathroom.

<3

Sirius has been gone for far longer than he intended, and he’s terrified of what he’s going to find when he walks through the door. He hurried, he really had, but first he had to try and figure out what age this kid is—about eight months, if he was the result of last year’s torrid spring training affair—and then figure out what food an eight-month-old eats. Then he had to find bloody bottles, and while he wandered the bottle aisle he found nappies, and then he realised the kid was going to need somewhere to sleep, and after that, it all just spiralled out of control really quickly. Before he knew it, he’d been to seven stores and shrunk twenty packages small enough so he could stuff them into his pockets.  

He pauses at the front step the scene of the crime, his hand frozen on the doorknob in trepidation. They have the one-way silencing charms to they can play their music (and fuck) as loudly as they like without disturbing their muggle neighbours, but it means right now, Sirius has no idea what he’s about to walk into. He takes a deep, shuddering breath, and turns the handle.

The sound of crying assaults him as soon as the door opens. He rushes toward the noise, following it toward the kitchen, to find Harry sitting up to his chest in bubbles in the sink. Remus holds him steady and wipes him down with a soft flannel, breath coming in jagged gasps as fat tears roll down his own cheeks. “I’m sorry,” Remus mumbles. “I’m sorry, Harry, I just don’t know what you want. I know I’m not your mummy; I’m sorry she’s not here. I don’t know what to do. I’m so, so sorry.” 

“Oh, sweetheart,” Sirius breathes, feeling like his chest cracked open and his heart is lying on the kitchen floor. Why did he take so long? He’s a bloody wizard, isn’t he? He could have conjured some nappies to get them by for a few days; he could have transfigured James’s chair into a crib; hell, he could have summoned bloody Kreacher and asked him to pick up supplies if it came to that. He never should have left Remus here alone this long.

Sirius crosses the room in two long strides and wraps his arms around his husband’s waist. Remus jumps in surprise and points his wand at his ears, wincing when the muffliato spell he’d cast on himself falls. He sniffs and wipes his tears away with one freckled forearm, while the other stays in the sink-bath to hold Harry up.

Sirius buries his face in the crook of Remus’s neck and murmurs an apology into his skin. “I’m sorry, my love. I took much too long. I’m so sorry.”

“Where were you?” Remus’s voice is wobbly and scratchy, and Sirius wonders how Harry hasn’t cried himself to sleep if Remus has been in tears long enough to sound like that. 

“Baby shopping. I started with formula, and there’s so many types, it took me ages to figure out. And then I had to find bottles, and he’s going to need clothes, and then I realised we didn’t have a crib, and…it all snowballed. I’m sorry, Moonshine. Some of it could have waited. I didn’t mean to throw you to the wolves.” Sirius rubs his hands up and down Remus’s back, trying to soothe his distraught husband. 

Remus sniffs again and gives Sirius a wan smile. “Threw Harry to the wolves, more like.”

“No, Moonbeam, I think you’re the one being eaten alive here.” Sirius kisses his cheek and nudges him aside. “Do you want to tell me what I missed?”

“Well, he was crying, and then he pooped, and it got everywhere, Padfoot. Up his back, on his clothes, on my clothes, everywhere, but he did stop crying. For a bit.” Remus casts a sidelong look at a pile of clothes and towels in the corner of the kitchen. 

“So he’s been in the kitchen sink for the last two hours?” Sirius clarifies. He summons a clean towel from the bathroom and casts a warming charm over it, pulling Harry out of the water and wrapping him in the soft terry cloth. 

Remus shakes his head. “No, I scourgified his clothes and cleaned him up. We’re down a hand towel, by the way. That time was the worst one.”

“The worst?” Sirius asks, alarmed. He picks up the now-dry Harry off the countertop and cradles him against his chest. Harry nuzzles in close, and his sobs quiet to hiccups into Sirius’s collar bone. 

Remus looks at Sirius with an odd combination of gratitude and resentment as Harry pops his thumb into his mouth and begins to suck. “We didn’t have any nappies, Sirius, so I had to make one. I tried to use a dish towel, but it wasn’t absorbent enough, and he pissed through it immediately. So I tried to clean his old one, see if I could salvage it for a few hours, and that was a disaster. I’ll never be the same. Then he sicked up on both of us, and it just seemed easier to bathe him at that point.”

“Why didn’t you try to conjure some?” Sirius asks, and Remus blinks at him like he doesn’t understand what that means, and oh. Well, now Sirius feels like a right prat. He should have known.

This happens sometimes with his Moony. Hope homeschooled him until he started Hogwarts while his father worked, and Remus didn’t have much access to magic with his muggle mother. When he’s overwhelmed, his instincts take over, and an entire childhood of muggle training doesn’t disappear just like that. 

Sirius rushes to salvage the situation before Remus cries again. He hates when Remus cries, and he’d rather die than be the cause of it. “Of course, you never know if a conjured one would have been okay anyway, what if something went wrong and it gave him hives or something? You’re right, this way is better. Can I ask why the kitchen?” 

Remus shrugs, lip wobbling despite Sirius’s efforts. “Bathtub was too big and I was worried he’d drown. Bathroom sink was too shallow, he didn’t really fit. This was the best way.”

Even panicked, muggle-brain Remus is logical, at least. Sirius thinks he probably would have scourgified him, and he actually has no idea if that would hurt a baby. 

“Great job, love. That sounds really awful, and you handled it so well.” Remus’s mouth tugs down, and Sirius suspects he wants to tell him to fuck off and stop being so patronising, but Sirius is being sincere. Instead of giving Remus a chance to build up steam, he changes the subject. “You haven’t slept yet, have you?” Remus shakes his head. “You have a kip. I’ll see if I can get this one down.”

Remus looks so relieved, a fresh wave of guilt crashes over Sirius for letting him get to this level of desperation. Then a deep wrinkle forms between his brows. “Don’t you have to go to work?”

Sirius huffs a laugh. “Sweetheart, I think this is a little more important, don’t you? They’ll get by without me. Go lie down.” 

“Thank you,” Remus says, sliding a hand onto the small of Sirius’s back and kissing his cheek. “I love you.” 

“Love you, too.” Sirius gives Remus a peck on the jaw and shoos him out of the room.

Sirius watches Remus walk down the hall, then casts a silencing charm over the living room once the bedroom door closes. “You really gave our Moony a run for his money, didn’t you? Let’s get you dressed, little Prongs; this shirt is dry clean only.”

SIrius lays Harry on the floor, where he starts to sniffle and hiccup again. “Oh I’m sorry, buddy. I’ll hurry as much as I can, I promise.”

He turns out his pockets and expands all his purchases to their natural state, taken aback by how much space all the boxes take up. He summons the nappies and pulls one out. He eyes up the size he thinks Harry is and drapes it over the top of him, then picks him up and folds it between his legs and up his back. Sirius lays him back down and tugs at the tabs to close it. One of the shoddy little blighters tears off, so he uses a sticking charm on that side, but overall, Sirius thinks he does a good job. He manages to get Harry changed before he starts crying again, at least.

“There we go! That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Sirius slips his hands under Harry’s armpits and picks him up, and the nappy slides down his chubby little legs and onto the floor. “Bollocks.”

Sirius purses his lips and sighs. He grabs a smaller box of nappies and repeats the process, this time treating the tape gently so he doesn’t even have to resort to magic. He dresses Harry in a purple and black onesie that he magicked a Krakens logo onto and tiny black joggers. “Look at you, you handsome little thing. You’ll be playing quidditch just like your daddy in no time, won’t you?” 

Harry giggles up at him, and Sirius’s chest feels warm. He even sounds like James already, somehow. Do babies have inborn laughs? Isn’t that a learned behaviour? He’s a little clone of Jamie in a lot of ways, there’s not a single doubt in Sirius’s mind this is a tiny little Prongslet, but his laugh? James hasn’t even met him yet.

Oh fuck.

James hasn’t even met him yet.

James doesn’t even know.

Well, shit. Next order of business, then.

Sirius mixes up a bottle to the exact specifications on the formula can. He scourgifies every piece of it his wand can reach and sterilises the water thrice over, hoping that’s enough to keep him safe. Harry sucks greedily at the nipple, and Sirius again feels a crushing wave of guilt that he took so long coming home to his boys. Harry finishes quickly and his eyes start to droop, and he’s so cute Sirius thinks he might die.

He holds Harry to his chest and walks him in circles around the living room, the baby’s breath snuffling into his neck. In a matter of minutes, his breathing is slow and even, and Sirius looks down to see him fast asleep with his thumb in his mouth. He looks longingly at the cradle he bought, but that’s not a project for his Moony, and he can’t very well assemble baby furniture while holding said baby. Sirius sighs, puts Harry back in the basket he arrived in, and backs silently away. 

He owls off a quick note to the architecture firm where he works saying he’s sorry for the short notice, but he won’t be in today, and probably not tomorrow, either. Then he digs his two-way mirror out of a pocket with a sigh.

The mirrors were a lifesaver when they were in school, the only shred of privacy Sirius got when he was home in the summer and a way to make detentions fly by when McGonagall caught on to the need to separate him and James.

But they were an old Potter family heirloom, and none of them had ever been able to work out how they were made. Sirius attempted to geminio his between sixth and seventh year, when he’d been desperate to hide his relationship with Moony from his parents but didn’t want to go the entire summer without speaking to his boyfriend. The duplicated mirror just functioned as a normal compact would, with the added bonus of letting out a skin-crawling, nails-on-a-chalkboard sound without cause or warning.

Sirius spent the entire summer trying to pick his failure apart, see where he’d gone wrong so he could make another, but he never worked it out, and then school started back up, they finished Hogwarts, and the three of them moved in together immediately after seventh year and it became a bit of a moot point. 

And then James had to go and break his ploughing himself doing a Wronski Feint, and now they have to play floo tag with him when he’s on road trips.

Sirius checks the schedule stuck to the cooling cabinet, tosses a pinch of floo powder into the flames, and kneels at the edge of the hearth. “The Leshy Lie-in, Varna, Bulgaria!”

Being a disembodied head spinning through emerald flames has always been Sirius’s least favourite method of travel, and it’s especially irksome when his head pops into a fireplace and the person he’s looking for is nowhere to be found. Apparently the Krakens checked out a couple hours prior, and James’ schedule doesn’t have a hotel listed for his series in Kosovo. Sirius really, really doesn’t want to deliver this news by owl.

He pulls his head back through the floo network, feeling a bit queasy when all is said and done, and checks on Harry. Still sleeping, much to Sirius’s surprise and joy. He looks around his cluttered living room with a sigh.

First priority: Harry needs a better place to sleep.

Sirius levitates the parcels from Harrods up the stairs to the house’s third bedroom, conveniently next to James’s room. After everything is neatly stacked in the corner, Sirius fetches Harry from downstairs so he can keep an eye on him while he works.

Sirius vanishes the box around the pieces of the soulless, minimalist beechwood cot. Isn’t this a little dull for a baby? Aren’t bright colours and moving toys good for their developing little brains? Sirius is going to have to paint the entire room vibrant Gryffindor red to make up for Harrods’s shit selection in nursery furniture.

The solid wood spindles clatter to the floor, and Sirius cringes. He takes three deep breaths, and Harry isn’t crying by the time he’s done, so he casts another silencing charm and carries on with his crib assembly. He’d vanished the instructions along with the box, but Sirius has a knack for this type of work. Between the monotonous design of the set and a few permanent sticking charms where pieces went missing, it only takes him an hour and a half to get the thing set up.

Then Harry wakes up with a shout, and Sirius brings him downstairs to play with his new toys. He fusses and cries, attaching himself to Sirius like his little life depends on it. Sirius tries to soothe him, and he does manage to distract him with toys for a bit. The kid has an arm on him already; he throws a block that bangs Sirius in the forehead hard enough to make his eyes water. They eat a few more times and Sirius is treated to the very gross show of spit up that Remus saw earlier, and Sirius understands why bathtime seemed like the best option. Overall, it’s a long and tough day. Sirius doesn’t really know what to do with a baby, and Harry is looking for his mummy and she’s nowhere to be found.

<3

Remus wakes in the late afternoon to wide slats of golden sunlight running across their bed. It took him ages to fall asleep, despite how tired he was. His brain swirled with worries—if he was being a bad partner to Sirius by leaving him alone with Harry; if their house was even safe for a baby to live in, what with the studio full of paint fumes and all; how James would react to the news. Finally, though, exhaustion won the battle, and he wakes up feeling much less helpless. He yawns, then pulls on his favourite pair of worn jeans and an argyle sweater and shoves his wand in his back pocket. He wanders into the kitchen where Sirius is staring at his travel drafting board, his reading glasses perched on his nose.

Fuck, Remus loves him so much. Sirius hates the little signs of ageing—the silver threads popping up in his hair, the black plastic frames he refuses to wear unless he’s reading or working, the laugh lines around his eyes that speak to their many happy years together. To Remus, though, he gets a little more beautiful every day, and Remus is just as happy to throw himself at Sirius’s feet now as he was at seventeen. Sometimes, it makes his chest ache with how full his heart is.

He stalks into the silent kitchen and kisses Sirius on the cheek. “How are you? Do you need help?”

Sirius cocks his head and listens. “No, we’re good. Just got the little monster to sleep. How are you feeling?”

Remus wobbles his hand from side to side. “Stressed. A little pissed off with Prongs, if I’m honest. Not nearly as likely to burst into tears after some sleep, though.” 

“Good.” Sirius pulls him into his lap, and Remus snuggles into his arms. “You look like you’re going somewhere. I haven’t seen you in jeans at home in years.”

“If you and Harry are good for a bit, I was going to pop down to the library. You’re going to need these, love.” He presses on the temple tip of Sirius’s reading glasses so they bounce up and down on his nose.

“Oh, is Professor Moony back in business? I don’t think I’ve seen you crack a book since N.E.W.T.s,” Sirius teases. 

Remus scrunches up his nose. “I read all the time!”

“For pleasure only, darling. If I have to read, too, that means research.”

“Yes, well. Neither of us knows what to do with a baby, do we?” Just thinking about it makes Remus feel twitchy again. “Is he crawling? We have cleaning potions under the sink; what happens if he gets into those? We should lock them up, right? There are so many sharp corners in this house, Sirius! I just feel like we need a list or something. Some illusion of control. I don’t know.”

Sirius squeezes him, and the gentle pressure grounds Remus. “Yes, I agree. Probably the muggle and wix libraries if you can sneak it in; wix aren’t overly concerned with safety, and muggles won’t have any advice for accidental magic. We’re going to need both.”

“Good idea. Thanks, love.” Remus breathes a sigh of relief and heads toward the door. Sirius knows him so well and understands exactly what he needs to keep his panic at bay, and he doesn’t begrudge him the time to make it possible. The man overflows with consideration and love. If there’s anyone in the world who Remus would trust to stumble through parenting on sheer instinct, it’s Sirius Black.

Or maybe James Potter. 

“Hey, baby?”

Sirius looks up from his work, where he’s sketching out a series of three dimensional boxes. “Yes, Moonflower?”

“We probably need to floo Prongs. And maybe Effie and Monty. Possibly Reg and Kingsley? They’d have advice, at least.”

Sirius sighs. “Let’s talk about it when you get home, yeah?

Remus frowns but nods. If he wants to get to the library before they close, he needs to get moving.

He apparates to the alley behind Cardiff Central Library and strolls to the front like he didn’t just scare the ever-living shit out of some feral cats. He pulls seven books off the shelf and confunds the librarian to let him take them all home, then slips out the back and apparates to the Wix Archive of Percipience. He has less than thirty minutes to select his books before the W.A.P. closes, and eventually he just takes one of the books from the parenting section’s shelf labelled ‘Recommended!’ like some kind of neanderthal. 

What to Expect with the Unexpected felt a little too on-the-nose for their current situation, but the entire book was about how to prepare for and minimise the danger of accidental magic, and Remus knew it was a topic where he and Sirius were woefully unprepared. Remus’s mother could only react to his childhood outbursts, never prepare in advance, and Sirius’s family saw the danger as a feature instead of a flaw. The more danger a baby’s accidental magic causes, the more accidental magic they’ll do, of course. He’s ushered out of the door by a sonorus charm in a cool, firm voice telling him the library closed in five minutes.

Remus apparates to Diagon Alley and picks up some hand pies for supper, then heads home with his cache of books. Sirius is feeding Harry; he’s perched in the middle of the table and boxed in by cushions fixed with sticking charms. “Come on, Prongslet! Just try the pumpkin, please? You’ll love pumpkin juice by the time you start Hogwarts, I promise. Might as well get a head start now,” he wheedles.

Harry wrinkles his little button nose and sticks out his tongue. Bright orange pumpkin purée oozes down his chin, and Sirius tries to scoop it up and sneak it into his mouth. Harry spits it right back out, and Sirius hangs his head in defeat. “Moony, this is not going well. Please give me some good news.”

“Erm. I brought dinner?” Remus holds up the white paper bag with grease marks seeping through.

Sirius sighs wistfully. “Oh my Moony, what would I do without you? Come over here, give us a kiss.”

Remus obliges him, setting the bag down on the dining table as he passes by. Sirius cradles his face in his hands and kisses him with a dramatic mwah! Remus wraps his arms around his waist and they sway together, Sirius with one hand steadying Harry. Remus feels the tension that’s been ratcheting up all day melt away in Sirius’s arms. This is unexpected, yes. Hard, undoubtedly. But Remus knows Sirius will love any piece of James Potter with his entire being, and the only person who loves harder than Sirius is James himself. Harry is part of their lives now; Remus just needs to trust Sirius’s heart the same way he has for the last twenty-odd years. It’s where all the best things in Remus’s life have come from, and he has no reason to suspect this will be any different.

Remus takes over trying to feed Harry—unsuccessfully—and eats his hand pie standing up, while Sirius sits down for what must be the first time in several hours. Finally, once both adults have finished their food and Harry’s stomach is still stubbornly empty, they give up. Sirius makes a bottle while Remus cleans Harry’s face, and they flip a knut for who feeds him versus who gets his pyjamas. They both think they’re the winner when Sirius settles into the chair with the baby and a bottle, and Remus goes upstairs to gather the bag of supplies Sirius bought earlier. His foot is on the bottom step when Sirius barks a loud laugh. “Buddy, you can dig in there all you want, but I promise you’ll be disappointed.”

Remus turns to see Harry has ripped open the buttons on Sirius’s henley and is shoving his head inside his shirt. Remus snickers and shakes his head; he hopes for Sirius’s sake Harry takes the bottle before he finds Sirius’s nipple piercings.

When he comes back down a few minutes later, Sirius has transfigured their chaise into a glider rocking chair. He’s babbling at the baby, and Harry is staring back at him, transfixed. Every so often, he’ll burst into a giggle, and Sirius will laugh back like it’s the funniest joke he’s ever heard. 

Fuck, Remus loves him. 

He hides around the corner and watches Sirius play, and it feels like his stomach is filled with warm, gooey honey. They’d talked about children before they got married; of course they did. It would be foolish not to discuss something so huge with the person you intended to spend your life with. 

But that conversation was short; perfunctory. 

Remus eyed the pram at the park sceptically, watching as the baby inside threw his toy out for the fourth consecutive time. “What do you think? Would you want to have a baby?

“Like, physically? I don’t think that’s in the cards for me, Moons.”

Remus rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean, you knob.”

“No, I don’t think so.” Sirius bit his lip and a cold shadow passed over his face. It was his House of Black look. “Don’t know if I’m much cut out for it, if I’m honest. What about you?”

Remus shook his head. “So I can give my condition to a kid before I head to an early grave? Hard pass.”

Sirius frowned, the same expression he made whenever he was faced with the brutal reality of Remus’s lycanthropy, but he let the moment go. He squeezed Remus’s hand and patted him twice on the thigh. “Come on, Moons. I hear one of those muggle ice cream trucks. You know I can’t pass up a Coronetto.”

It all seemed sincere in the moment, and Remus had been an expert in sniffing out the Sirius Black bluff for ages. But watching him now, Remus wonders.

He shakes the thought loose and heads into the living room with an armful of nappies, creams, lotions, powders, and pyjamas. “Got the supplies.”

“Ah, Moony, you’re a lifesaver. We didn’t eat much because his eyes were getting droopy, and I didn’t want to wake him up to get ready for bed.” Sirius turns to look down at Harry with a bright smile and a silly, doting voice. “Isn’t that right, sweetheart? We don’t want you to fall asleep and turn into a little Hungarian horntail when we have to wake you. No, we don’t.”

The little catch in Remus’s throat is back, so he busies himself laying out a changing pad and all the supplies in a heap in the middle. “Why do they make these bloody things snow-fucking-white? Isn’t the point that you’re going to clean up shit on it? Why isn’t it black? Or, brown, maybe?”

“Well, I don’t know, Moony! This one had stickers that said ‘organic, unbleached cotton,’ and I didn’t know if it mattered and I just panicked.”

“It was the most expensive, wasn’t it?” Sirius doesn’t answer, and Remus snorts. “I love how, after all these years, your base instinct is still to be an unconscionable snob.”

“Hey, I’m not a snob!” Sirius digs his foot into the meat of Remus’s arse. “I’m just cautious.”

Remus wants to argue because who in their right mind would ever call pranking, impulsive, flying-motorbike-building Sirius Black cautious? But then he thinks about the soft hands that tend to his body in the days around the moon, and the loving way he scolds Remus when he pulls too many all-nighters painting, and the changes he designed for Hogwarts to make it more accessible to students who couldn’t handle the (stupid fucking moving) staircases. Actually, Remus has spent most of his adult life wishing Sirius would be as careful with himself as he is with everyone else. 

He stands to take the baby from Sirius’s arms—still a bit of an awkward transfer, but easier than it was first thing this morning—and kisses his husband on the forehead. “I know you are, love, and I adore that about you.”

He lays Harry out on the mat and sits back on his heels with a heavy breath that puffs out his cheeks. “Alright, buddy. What do we do with you now?”

Sirius kneels beside him and cocks his head. “Strip him?”

That goes well enough; Remus just unsnaps his little onesie and peels it off over his head. “Okay, now what? One of the stripes on his nappy is blue and the other is yellow, what does that mean?”

Sirius picks up the package to check. “Means he’s wet, so I guess we change him. Makes sense to put a fresh one on him for bed anyway, right?” 

So Remus pulls the tabs on the nappy and sure enough, it’s soggy. They wipe him clean and Sirius slips a new one behind his back. “I bought this cream thing that says it’s for nappy rash. Does he have that?” Sirius’s eyebrows draw together. They look all around Harry’s bottom and legs and don’t see any sign of it. Then Sirius shrugs. “Still, it says prevention. So probably use it?”

They coat his bottom in a thick layer of Sudocrem and cover him in powder. Neither of them know what the powder is for, but it just seems like the right thing to do, even if it gets in Remus’s nose and makes him sneeze. Then they close the sides and don’t even need to cheat with a sticking charm to get it to stay. 

Sirius grabs the baby lotion and slathers Harry in it from the base of his neck to the tips of his brown little toes, and Remus opens his pyjamas. Sirius lifts Harry upright while Remus lays them out, and the hardest fight of Remus’s life begins.

It’s like trying to force the giant squid into a pixie net. Remus could swear the kid suddenly has at least eight limbs, and as soon as he gets one arm in and moves onto the next, the first one has worked itself free again. 

“It has to be accidental magic, right?” Remus grunts. “There’s no way a baby could undo so much hard work that quickly?”

“I just trapped him with the snaps, so hopefully that’ll keep the little ball of gillyweed in.”

“He’s all greasy, Padfoot, his jimjams look like our takeaway bag!” 

Remus is sweaty and his heart is racing in his frustration, but finally they get him dressed and he’s sucking contentedly on a bottle while Sirius rocks him to sleep.

Remus disappears to clean up the mess in the kitchen—there is pumpkin purée fucking everywhere—and soon hears Sirius disappearing up the stairs. A few minutes later, large hands slide around his stomach and Sirius presses himself against his back. Remus tips his head back and presses their cheeks together. “What a day, huh?” 

“I was absolutely not expecting this when I went for my run this morning.” Sirius plants a kiss on Remus’s neck. “You did great today.”

Remus blows a raspberry. “Yeah, totally. What about the uncontrolled sobbing screamed ‘I have this under control’?” 

“It’s not like I did much better, Moonshine.” 

“Please.” Remus rolls his eyes. “I barely lasted a few hours on my own. You’re a natural with him. He’s absolutely enthralled by you, and you knew what we needed to take care of him.”

“If sweeping everything in the row into a trolley counts as knowing, sure.” 

Remus smiles, grateful as always for the way his husband thinks he’s more than he deserves. It’s overwhelming, sometimes, how much Sirius loves him. 

They stand in silence for a few moments, melting into each other and soaking up all the support they can get. Then, Sirius murmurs into his shoulder. “I tried to call Prongs earlier. Missed him at the hotel, and I have no idea where they’re staying next.”

Remus sighs. “We really need to fix those bloody mirrors.” 

“I know,” Sirius grumbles. “Not sure why a reparo didn’t do it, but I’ll work it out.”

Remus flips around and wraps his arms around Sirius’s neck. “All I have left for Minnie is filling her library and casting the animation charms over her background. I’ll make the mirrors my next priority.”

“Thank you, sweetheart. I hate not being able to talk to Jamie in general, but this is a really hard thing to keep from him.” Sirius grimaces.

“Well, it’s not like you’re hiding it; we just can’t reach him.” Remus hesitates. “Is there anyone we should tell? Effie and Monty, maybe?”

Sirius shakes his head. “It’s not our news to deliver. I really think they need to hear it from James.” 

Remus knew that was coming, but he had been holding out a sliver of hope they could recruit some help from Harry’s Dadi. Sirius is right, of course, but a small, spiteful part of Remus wants to tell them anyway. Yes, okay, James doesn’t know Harry exists so it’s not like he could have warned them this day might come. Still, it feels profoundly unfair to have their lives turned completely upside down in a matter of minutes when their only contribution is being friends with James Potter.

“What about Reg and King? Not as any kind of announcement, but just for advice. We both know they can keep a secret.” Remus is grasping at straws and he knows it, but the only way to be sure is to ask.

“Moony. I know you’re scared, but we can do this. It’s only ten days, and then James will be home.” Sirius cradles his face with his hands and looks deeply into Remus’s eyes. “I trust you. You’re smart, competent, and loving, and we can take care of this baby together until his dad gets back. Okay? We don’t need to recruit my brother.”

“Fine.” Remus presses his forehead to Sirus’s and closes his eyes. He knows Sirius will be fine, but he’s less confident in himself. “I love you, even if you are a stubborn pain in the arse.”

“And I love you, even if you underestimate yourself at every turn.”

Remus huffs a soft laugh; why does the prick always have to call him out like that? “I was thinking, I slept most of the afternoon, and I was going to paint anyway. I can handle the night shift.”

“You sure, love?” Sirius looks at him quizzically. 

Remus nods, though his hands are shaking. “Yes. I can do it.”

“Alright, if you’re comfortable.” Sirius frowns. “But don’t be a martyr, okay? I don’t want you to make yourself miserable to try and protect me. We’re in this together, Moonbeam. We’re a team, and I want you to ask for help if you need it.”

“I will. Promise.”

Remus paints until Sirius goes to bed, doing the detail work on the flickering flames and the shadows they cast in Minerva’s portrait. He’s covered in streaks of ochre and red when he’s done and smells like the turpentine he uses to clean his brushes, but a cleaning charm takes care of that in a wink. Then, he sets himself up outside Harry’s nursery door and spends every second between nappies and bottles reading.

<3

Sirius owled in to work again this morning, and he’s spent every non-Harry-caring second of his day reading the parenting books Remus brought home. He pushes his glasses up and rubs his eyes. There’s so much information here, and half of it conflicts with each other, and Sirius has no idea what to make of that. Let him cry it out? Or pick him up right away? They got him formula, but then Sirius read something about breastfeeding and immune systems, so now he’s panicking. Does Sirius need to find a bloody wet nurse? Do people still do that? It sounds like something that probably went out of style in the eighteen hundreds. Of course, wix do tend to be behind the times, so it’s possible he could find someone. 

One thing he knows for certain, though.

Electricity is a death sentence.

That’s why when Remus comes home with a fancy muggle camera system to watch Harry sleep from other rooms, Sirius loses his ever-loving mind.

“Are you joking, Moony? You can’t be serious.”

“No, darling, I’m fairly certain that’s you.” Remus kisses him on the cheek and plops down on the floor to get to work setting the thing up, but Sirius positions himself between Remus and the outlet.

He crosses his arms and looks at Remus with his mouth set in a thin line. “No.”

“Padfoot.”

“I said no.”

“Sirius.”

“It’s dangerous, Moony.”

Remus doesn’t look up as he continues unboxing the baby monitor. “We use electric lights all the time. In fact, the light in this room is turned on right now.”

“We’ll stop.”

“So you think candles are safer? You’re arguing in favour of fire?” Remus arches a brow.

Sirius splutters. “Well, I don’t know, Moony! I just know all the books say electricity is dangerous and you have to keep them away from the plug thingies! We’ll figure out lumos bulbs or something!” 

“Muggle babies have been surviving in homes with electricity for a century, Padfoot. It’ll be fine.”

Sirius points an accusatory finger. “That’s survivor bias and you know it.” 

Remus gets up with a long, beleaguered sigh. “All right, but I don’t think you’re going to like how this plays out.”

He heads down the stairs, and Sirius follows in his wake. “Why, Moony? Why do you think I’m not going to like prioritising Harry’s safety? What are you doing? Moony, why are you standing in front of the stereo? Moony? Moony? Moony!”

Remus turns to him with his wand still in the air, pointing menacingly at Sirius’s elaborate audio set up, with the turntable, the tape and CD players, the Zoon plug-in, the big speakers, and the sub. Sirius has it all, the entire world of music available to him in digital surround. He can play eight tracks, for Merlin’s sake. Even most muggles can’t do that these days. “I thought you were worried about using electricity?”

“Yeah, around Harry!” Sirius cries. “Not this.”

“I don’t know, Pads. He spends a lot of time in here with us, I wouldn’t want to put him in an unsafe situation.” 

“The plug is in the back, Moons! He can’t even reach it!” 

Remus stands as still as if he’d been petrified, holding Sirius’s gaze.

“I know what you’re doing,” Sirius pouts.

“What do you mean? I’m just trying to make sure Harry’s safe and you feel comfortable.” 

Sirius clenches his jaw. “Fine.”

Remus’s eyes go wide. “What?”

“I said, fine. Unplug the stereo.” He crosses his arms over his chest.

“You don’t mean that.”

“I do.” Sirius nods toward Remus’s wand. “Go on. Unplug it. Call my bluff.”

“Come on, love. Be serious.”

“I always am,” Sirius snarks.

Remus groans and tosses his wand on the sofa. “Fine! Have it your way! Can we at least set up the monitor until we figure out something else to keep an eye on him while he sleeps? It’d be nice to get a little work done instead of hovering around his door all night. I almost woke him up three times.”

“Fine,” Sirius grumbles, and storms off to the kitchen. 

“Where are you going?” Remus calls after him.

“To fix those fucking mirrors.”

<3

Remus is, by nature, a night person. Maybe it’s the werewolf in him, or maybe the unpredictable spark of creativity. Maybe he’s just a layabout who doesn’t like to get up before noon. It doesn’t matter beyond the fact that sometimes, when he gets really deep into a piece, he and Sirius end up on opposite schedules, and he hates that.

Right now, though, he is incredibly grateful to Minerva McGonagall and her appointment as Hogwarts’s Headmistress, his body’s unusual circadian rhythm, and his husband’s more traditional nine-to-five. They have a few hours of overlap each day where they spend time together and tag team Harry duty, and their natural schedules lend toward neither of them becoming terribly, horrifyingly sleep deprived. 

It does lend itself to situations like this, though.

It’s two a.m., Remus is up by himself changing Harry, and he’s panicking because Harry is gone. He was on the changing table, smiley as can be after pissing on Remus’s face, and then Remus turned for half a second to grab a new package of nappies from the drawer underneath and when he turned back, the sneaky little muppet had fucking disappeared.

“Harry!” Remus hisses, heart racing. “Harry James Potter, where did you go? Fucking Merlin…” He tugs on his (eurgh) damp hair. At least he knows Harry didn’t fall; thank Morgana for small mercies. And he isn’t crying, so he must be okay. 

But where did he go? 

Remus checks his crib, thinking maybe he laid him back down in his stressed, tired stupor, but he’s not there.

Next he looks under every piece of furniture in the room, like maybe Harry is trying to play hide and seek with him. But no, the baby did not climb down from his changing table while Remus counted to ten.

He even pops his head out of the nursery door. What to Expect with the Unexpected mentioned babies accidentally apparating themselves short distances sometimes, and Harry is obsessed with the light fixture in the hall. Maybe he Destination, Determination, Deliberationed himself right out of Remus’s sight. But no, he’s not there, either. 

“Well, fuck.” Remus puts his hands on his hips with a huff, about to cave and go wake Sirius, when he hears clapping from the toy box in the corner. He rushes across the room and throws open the lid to find Harry propped up inside, squealing with delight while his model broomstick circles the head of a plush dragon that breathes cotton fire. 

Remus bends down and scoops up the mostly-naked baby. “How did you do that, you dodgy little tosser? Huh?” He jiggles Harry on his hip as the little boy reaches for his mouth. Remus pretends to chew on his fingers, and a delighted laugh burbles up from somewhere deep in Harry’s belly. Remus’s stomach lurches and his breath catches in his chest, and then he’s laughing back, and Harry giggles harder, and Remus is lightheaded with joy, and they’re caught in a loop of laughter begetting laughter. By the time Remus gets Harry changed and dressed, there are tears pricking the corners of his eyes and he feels warm through his whole body. Is this what Sirius has been feeling the whole time? Fuck, this is amazing.

<3

Sirius convinced his boss to let him work from home for the next couple weeks, citing a vague family emergency they assumed had to do with Remus’s lycanthropy. Remus encouraged the ruse because there’s not much good that comes from reforming your body every month, Pads; if it can get us this, take it.

So Sirius spends the day magicking up entertainment for Harry while he sits at his drafting board and Remus grabs a few hours of sleep, and then he’ll take over so Sirius can work in earnest in the afternoon. Sirius tries to floo James again during Harry’s morning nap, but doesn’t have any luck. At least he’s fixed the mirror, and now that Sirius knows how the process works, he can make a couple extras so they can all carry one. 

Sirius has wards on all the doorways and the stairs to keep Harry in the room with him, and Harry squeals with delight as he crawls after a tiny model of the Hogwarts Express. Sirius turns back to his drawing of the Rosier estate, adding a rising wall to the patio with a self-cleaning feature that should make it hard to distinguish whether it’s up or down. Hopefully they walk into it frequently. He furrows his brow and syphons up some smudged ink, then jumps and splatters half his inkwell over the page when there’s a soft thump! and Harry wails. It’s not the way he cries when he’s frustrated or hungry; there is something wrong, and Sirius needs to address it now.

He rushes over to pick him up and cradles him to his chest. “Oh, Prongslet, what happened? What’s wrong, hey?” Sirius sways them side to side until Harry catches his breath, hiccuping softly into his damp shirt. 

Soon, Harry is content and reaching for the train on the floor, so Sirius sets him down again and vows to keep a closer eye. He crumples up his ruined parchment and is halfway through his fresh start when Harry pulls himself up on the edge of the ottoman, wobbles precariously, and topples over.

“Oh, shit,” Sirius mumbles and waves his wand to cast a cushioning charm. Harry lands softly this time and blinks up at Sirius in surprise, though no tears fall.

Sirius looks around the room, and all he sees are sharp corners and hardwood floors. He grimaces and sighs. Hopefully Remus won’t mind when he wakes up and every corner is rounded and there’s a foot of squishy floor around every piece of furniture.

<3

It’s the due date for Remus’s portrait of McGonagall if he wants the early-completion bonus, which he does, but he’s struggling to get it finished with their new little surprise. Sirius had to run into work for a few hours this morning because Bones mucked up a design for the practice pitch behind Quality Quidditch Supplies, and Remus’s only other option is to let the deadline pass. He’s read What to Expect from cover to cover, as well as Little Charms for Little Ones and The Baby Book of Babies, and as far as Remus can tell, there’s no ill effects of using the bubblehead charm on a child.

He hopes.

He sets Harry up in the bassinet he arrived in, casts the charm over his head, and waits. He stares for two minutes, then five, then ten, and other than Harry’s features being stretched and distorted oddly by the fishbowl around his head, there doesn’t seem to be any ill effects. As a matter of fact, the kid seems to rather like it. He claps and giggles and watches Remus with rapt attention.

Convinced Harry’s safe and Remus isn’t doing him any harm, he moves Harry so he’s always visible in his peripheral vision as he puts the finishing touches on the painting. His eyes flick over every few seconds to make sure he’s okay until his anxiety eases and he can focus for five entire minutes at a time. Much to Remus’s surprise, Harry doesn’t seem bored. Instead, he’s staring at something off to Remus’s left, completely mesmerised. 

“What are you looking at, annwyl?” He follows Harry’s eyeline to the painting of the fairies and the full and huffs a laugh. “I’ve never considered myself lucky that it's a waxing moon before, but I guess there’s a first time for everything. Good thing you didn’t show up a week earlier, hey? You’re a little too young for that type of show.” 

<3

Harry is stripped down to his nappy and making a break for it, his soft, slippery skin sliding through Sirius’s lotioned hands. 

“Hey, get back here, you curious little niffler! Moony’s toes are not treasure!” He scrambles after the baby and scoops him up; Harry laughs in delight from his spot above Sirius’s head. “Gotcha!”

He blows a raspberry against Harry’s tummy, and the boy shrieks with delight. Sirius lays him on the floor and does it again, over and over until they’re both laughing and Sirius is nearly breathless for it. Harry’s much easier to dress when he’s giggling and content than fighting to get free, and Sirius has so much more fun tickling him into submission. 

Sirius blows one last time against Harry’s belly before zipping his jimjams closed—and oh, how he wishes he would have known about zippers over snaps when he was shopping—and catches Remus’s eye as he sits up. 

Sirius knows his face is flushed and his hair is falling out of his loose bun; he can feel the sweat on his brow and see errant curls at the edge of his vision. His glasses are covered in sticky baby fingerprints, and there’s almost certainly puke on his shirt. Still, Remus has the softest look on his face Sirius has ever seen. His mouth just barely pulls up in the corners, so slight Sirius is sure he doesn’t even know he’s smiling, but his eyes still crinkle in the corners and he’s positively oozing love. “What?”

Remus shakes his head and goes back to his book. “Nothing.” 

His eyes flick back up, though, watching as Sirius picks up Harry and settles into the rocking chair to give him his bedtime bottle. Sirius feels heat flood his cheeks, and he’s certain he hasn’t blushed this much from just the way Remus looked at him since they were teenagers. 

“Doesn’t look like nothing,” he says, sneaking a glance to confirm that yes, Remus is still watching him and yes, he does still look like a soppy, love-struck idiot.

It’s Remus’s turn to go pink, from the bottom of his neck to the tips of his ears. His voice comes out soft and sweet, like whipped cream on chocolate mousse. Sirius wants to taste it. “You know how much I love you, right?” 

“Yeah, baby,” he breathes, the tenderness of the moment stealing the air from his lungs. “Yeah, I know.”

<3

Remus takes a few days off from his studio. He finished his portrait of McGonagall, Sirius’s proposal for the Rosier project is due tomorrow, and Remus knows Sirius needs him to take on more weight with Harry until James gets home. He spends the morning spelling the house clean with Harry riding around in a carrier strapped to his chest. The little boy claps his hands and points every time Remus casts a spell, and when Remus hands his wand over, he waves it around with joyful abandon. It paints long streaks of vibrant reds, blues, and yellows over the walls, and Remus decides to encourage Harry’s burgeoning artistic streak and leave them.

“Ah, yes, excellent showing, young man,” he praises Harry in his best gallery owner voice. “See how the artist demonstrates the use of primary colours to convey infancy is the building block upon which a life is built, and the abstract style demonstrates the chaos of nature and new life. Very talented, this young mister Harold James Potter.” A long strand of drools drips from Harry’s mouth as he stares up at Remus with wide eyes. Remus pauses for a moment, frowning in thought, then calls down the stairs. “Hey, Padfoot?”

“Yes, darling?” echoes through the hallway.

“Is Harry’s real name Harold? Or is he just Harry?”

A long pause. “I think just Harry.”

“Huh.” Remus shrugs. “We should probably get some kind of records for you, right, kiddo? Got to get all that nasty paperwork squared away if you’re going to stay with us. We’ll leave that up to your daddy, I think. The official records office at the Ministry would probably have questions for a gay werewolf trying to get his hands on your birth certificate.”

After the house is clean, Remus takes Harry out to the park to enjoy the weather before the drizzly fall sets in. They get home just as Sirius is setting the table; he made butter chicken, a recipe he learned from Effie the summer before seventh year that still makes it into their regular rotation.

“Perfect timing! I don’t even have to put it under a stasis!” Sirius gives Remus a peck hello and plants messy kisses all over Harry’s face until he’s giggling and reaching for Sirius’s dark hair. “Hi, Hazza! Hi, kid! Did you have fun today with your uncle Moony? Did he let you feed the geese at the park? I bet he did, didn’t he? He can’t resist those evil gits. No, he cannot!” 

Sirius takes Harry and puts him in the high chair that miraculously appeared sometime in the last forty-eight hours—and looks suspiciously like the very expensive minimalist furniture in the nursery, Remus can’t help but notice—and opens a jar of applesauce and another of puréed peas. Remus dishes up plates for Sirius and himself, spooning the chicken and sauce over bowls of rice and tucking pieces of garlic naan on the side, while Sirius tries to trick Harry into taking bites of his food.

“Come on, Prongslet! Mmm, look, it’s so yummy!” Sirius spoons a bite of peas into his own mouth and has to tamp down a look of disgust.

Remus snorts. “Very convincing, Padfoot. No wonder he doesn’t want it.”

Sirius tosses a stern look over his shoulder. “Like you’d have an easier time.”

“I definitely would not,” Remus laughs. “But I would know better than to put those in my mouth.”

Sirius grumbles something that sounds vaguely like not the worst thing you’ve had in there, which makes Remus laugh harder.

They eat slowly, talking about the great Dane Harry got to pet in the park and the quidditch pitch Sirius added as the finishing touch to his design in between bites of curry. 

“Come on, Hazzy! Just give it a try, please?” Sirius begs. “Here comes the broomstick, ready? Whoosh!” Sirius opens his mouth wide and zooms the spoon toward him, only to be met with Harry’s turned cheek.

“Try the Hogwarts Express, love, he seems to like that toy. Maybe that’ll do it.”

“Ready? All aboard!” Sirius calls, inching the spoon forward with steam engine noises. Harry eyes the spoon warily, keeping his stubborn lips sealed.

Remus’s heart flutters watching them together. Sirius is handsome; always has been. He has those lovely high cheekbones, piercing grey eyes, and an artful five o’clock shadow he somehow manages to retain at all times. But Remus thinks this is the best he’s ever looked, pulling faces at a stubborn baby with mushy peas streaked across his cheek, his glasses on and hair in a high, messy bun. He just looks so happy, cheeks bunched up so they crinkle his eyes at the corners. This is Remus’s husband, and he is beautiful.

“Okay, no Hogwarts Express. It’s only the thirtieth of August, so I’m early; fair enough. How about…flying motorbike?” He putters and growls, doing a spot-on impression of his very first passion project, and almost loses the applesauce when it does a loop-the-loop on its way to Harry’s mouth. Harry’s watching the spoon with hazy eyes, fascinated by the sounds and motions Sirius is making. When Sirius gets close to his mouth, his jaw drops open, and Sirius manages to get in a good-sized bite.

“Did you see that, Moony? It worked! The flying motorbike worked!” Sirius triumphantly turns to Remus with shining grey eyes, looking for all the world like the excited eleven-year-old who told Remus his mum’s biscuits were way better than Kreacher’s; the brilliant fifteen-year-old who managed an animagus transformation so his friend wouldn’t be alone on the full moon; the shocked seventeen-year-old when Remus’s self control finally snapped and he pinned him to the dorm wall. Remus has fallen a little more in love with Sirius Black every day since he was eleven years old, but this last week has been something else entirely.

<3

Sirius spells open the door, hands full of celebratory fish and chips after the Rosiers accepted his frankly ludicrous design idea. 

Purebloods. Bloody idiots, the whole lot of them. 

He’s about to announce his presence when he hears Remus’s voice float out from the kitchen. 

“Oh, look at those! Aren’t they pretty? What pretty little lights, right, Harry? Ah! Look at you! Good reach, cariad! A seeker, maybe, hey? Look at those grabby little hands!” 

Sirius leans in the doorway and watches, smiling around a bitten lip. His husband is bent at the waist so he’s eye-level with the baby bathing in the sink, deliciously perky arse on full display. He has one hand behind Harry’s back, holding him up, and the other is conjuring brightly-coloured sparks with his wand. The sink is full of bubbles, and Harry’s chubby little hands have splashed some foam into his hair. Remus is speaking in a tone Sirius hasn’t ever heard before, the Welsh lilt in his voice practically singing as he baby-talks at Harry. 

“Whoops, you almost got that one, maybe I should move it back a bit, yeah?” Remus’s voice returns to normal and he conjures another burst from his wand, this one floating over the countertop instead of the sink. Then he goes back into that silly, simpering little tone, and Sirius feels warmth flare in his chest, flickering in time with the array of fairy lights from Remus’s wand. “You almost got that one, didn’t you? You’re such a clever little boy! I wonder when your Uncle Padfoot will be home; he’d be so proud of you. We’d better get you out soon or you’ll be all pruny, won’t you? Yes, you will.”

Harry babbles up at Remus, a steady bah-bah-bah-bah. Remus mimics it back, smacking his lips on his waving little fist, and Sirius has to clear away a weird tightness in his throat. Harry turns toward the sound, and Remus’s head snaps around to find Sirius, too. “Oh, hi, love. This little menace shat through this nappy and pissed thrice while you were gone, so I decided it was bath night.”

Sirius grimaces, processing that information and shaking away everything else. “Blowout? He feeling okay?”

“No fussier than usual.” Remus shrugs. He turns to Harry with a silly grin and scrunched nose that sends Sirius’s stomach into barrel rolls. “You just think it’s funny to assault your uncle Moony’s poor werewolf nose, don’t you?” Harry chortles and claps his hands. “Yeah, you little sentient dung bomb, you are your father’s son, aren’t you? You’re lucky you’re so cute. Yes, yes you are.” 

Remus hits the hooded towel on the counter with a warming charm and wraps Harry in it, lifting him high and pretending to drop him while Harry giggles with glee. Remus is absolutely glowing, a golden beacon of light in their kitchen so bright, Sirius can barely stand to look at him. 

They never wanted this, the pair of them, but now they’ve got a tiny taste of it, and it’s ambrosia, the sweetest nectar Sirius has ever tasted, and he keeps sipping. He knows this isn’t their life; Harry isn’t theirs to keep. He’s James’s, and someday James will be ready to settle down with a person of his own, and he’ll take Harry with him. They’ll always be in their lives, of course. Sirius would die before he gave up James (and now, Harry). For the moment, he’s soaking up every bit of this wonder he can while a low hum of “not ours, not forever, not for you” plays in the back of his mind. 

He swallows down the knot constricting his throat and turns to unload their baskets of fish and chips. “Who’s hungry?”

<3

It’s late—or, by their new standards, it’s late, after nine p.m.—and Harry’s eyes are defiantly open. Sirius has been rocking with him for an hour, humming him little songs and giving him a bottle, and Harry refuses to fall asleep. Instead, he watches Remus from across the room like there’s a sticking charm attached to him, but when Remus tries to take him from Sirius, he fusses and clings to his shirt. 

Finally, Remus gives up and disappears into the kitchen to make a pot of tea, hoping his disappearance will alleviate the distraction and Harry will finally, finally go to bed. He putters around for at least half an hour, washing the dishes and sweeping the floor, and finally decides enough time has passed he can safely re-enter the living room. 

He finds Sirius with the Evening Prophet hovering in front of his eyes, and he’s reading the sports section in a low, soothing voice. Harry studies his face, and his eyes finally start to droop. “‘The Cardiff Krakens ended their extended Eastern European road trip today with a 280-240 victory over Prague. Chaser Pippa MacMillan led the team with eight goals, while veteran Captain James Potter scored three and Calliope Clearwater two.’”

Remus creeps into the room and whispers, “What are you doing?”

Sirius doesn’t break cadence when he answers. “It doesn’t matter what I read, as long as I do it in this tone, and Harry should hear about his daddy, right, Prongslet?” Harry goes a bit cross-eyed and blows a spit bubble. “Now where were we? Oh yes. ‘Seeker Fred Diggory caught the snitch in the 308th minute of play. Long-time Kraken fans may note Potter has scored fewer goals this season than any other to date. Some say he’s learned to be a team player, but others think the sun is finally setting on the thirty-three-year-old’s career.’” Sirius waves his wand and the paper folds itself up. “Well, we don’t believe a word of that, do we, Harry? No, we don’t believe it when those reporters at the Prophet try to stir up rumours.” He looks down into the bundle of blankets in his arms and smiles softly. “Yeah, I think it’s a right old bore, too. You’ve got it right, babe.”

“He asleep?” Remus asks. Sirius nods. “Want me to take him?”

Sirius shakes his head. “No, just a few more minutes.” He pushes the ball of his foot against the floor, which sets the chair to rocking again. “It’s very relaxing.”

Remus smiles softly and watches him over the top of his book. Merlin, Remus fucking loves him. Somehow, this version of Sirius, with rice puffs in his hair and bags under his eyes and a little smile that never goes away, not even when he sleeps, is the most himself Remus has ever seen his husband. He’s settled in a way he never has been before, his entire universe narrowed to a single point of pudgy cheeks and a scream that could wake an inferius. How didn’t Remus see it before? They’re happy. They’ve always been happy. But this transcends it all.

Suddenly, Remus is blown away by how helplessly in love he is. He wants to climb into Sirius’s lap and entwine their bodies until they’re impossible to separate. He wants to taste every inch of Sirius’s skin; bury his nose in his hair and inhale his scent; lay his head on his chest and listen to the even, steady rhythm of his heart. He loves him so much it makes his skin crawl and his chest ache and he’s filled with a scorching, desperate need to be closer, closer, closer.

Sirius’s eyes flutter shut, and Remus puts his book aside. He crouches next to Sirius’s chair and runs soft, gentle fingers through his hair. “Baby,” he whispers, and Sirius’s tired eyes flicker open. “Let me put Harry to bed, love. You deserve a few minutes to yourself. I’ve got him.”

Sirius nods with a wide yawn, and Remus eases Harry from his arms. He brings him up to the nursery and hears the shower turn on while he lays the baby in his cot. Remus closes the blackout curtains, casts a muffliato over the room, and charms Canis Major and Leo to blink down from the ceiling. After checking the sticking charm on the mirror at the end of Harry’s bed and making sure the changing table is stocked for the night, he turns off the light.

Remus pauses at the bathroom with his hand on the doorknob, but he decides he wants to give Sirius some time. He’s been busy with Harry lately, and Remus doesn’t want to ambush him and make him feel pressured for sex. Besides, he doesn’t want a quick shag with his face pressed into the shower wall. If, after all the lost sleep and the stress and the life-altering changes of the last week, Sirius needs Remus as much as Remus needs him, they’ll come together on their own. Remus doesn’t need to push it.

Instead, he brushes his teeth in the guest bathroom and stretches out on his side of the bed in his boxers. A few minutes later, Sirius comes in, squeezing the last drops of water from his curls with a towel, wearing soft grey joggers slung low on his hips and stretched tight across muscular thighs. 

Fuck, he’s gorgeous. Miles of ivory skin stretch across a broad chest, tattoos tracing patterns across his collar bones, over his pecs, and down his ribs. Remus designed the one over his heart, a moon that cycles with the phases with a wolf and dog that play tag around the border, and their wedding rune peeks out from the spot over the apex when he turns. He’s strong, the lean six pack and jutting hip bones of his twenties replaced with thick, functional muscle from training with James in the off-season and a decade of tinkering around the house. Those broad hands built Remus’s bookshelf.

Remus is staring, and he knows it, and he feels no shame whatsoever. However, a slow flush creeps across Sirius’s chest, up his neck, and over his cheeks. “What?”

“You’re stunning, love.”

Sirius ducks his head and rubs at the back of his neck, and Remus isn’t sure if he’s playing up the sudden bashfulness to show off his lovely bicep, or if Remus genuinely hasn’t been showing him enough affection recently. Either way, he’s going to make sure Sirius knows how much he’s adored. He banishes Sirius’s towel to the hamper with a flick of his wand and pulls him into bed. Sirius settles into his chest with a happy sigh that sounds more like Padfoot, and a smile curves Remus’s lips. He could swear Sirius gets a little more canine every year.

“You’re doing amazing, baby. You know that, right?” Remus asks, running his fingers up and down Sirius’s spine in long, slow strokes. Sirius hums, not an agreement but not a rejection, either, and nuzzles into Remus’s chest. “You have, Padfoot. You’re so good at this. I love watching you with him.”

That makes Sirius’s head jerk up. He searches Remus’s eyes, like he’s trying to find a trick or a trap, but all Remus can give him is overwhelming adoration. Sirius settles back in and brushes his thumb over the prominent bone of Remus’s hip. “This is the scariest thing we’ve ever done.”

Remus smiles into his crown. “You do realise you became an animagus at fifteen, right? You could have gotten stuck as a half-dog forever?”

“I was young and foolish,” Sirius grumbles. “The arrogance of youth. This is much worse.”

“You love it, though. Don’t you?” Remus scratches at Sirius’s scalp, the spot behind his ears and toward the base of his skull that always unwinds the tension running down his back.

Sirius squirms and plasters his body against Remus’s side, and Remus finally gets a taste of the closeness he was craving. The aching, twisting, breathless fluttering in his chest settles to a soft, steady beat that he knows would match Sirius’s heart if he could hear it, and Sirius must feel it too, because he melts into Remus further. “You know I do, Moony.”

Remus lets it sit for a moment, breathing through the sharp uptick in his pulse, which Sirius must sense because his fingers tighten on Remus’s hip. “Me, too,” he confesses.

Sirius’s breath hitches, and he lets it out in a slow, controlled exhale. “Yeah?”

“Mmhmm,” Remus nods and kisses Sirius’s forehead. 

*  *  *  *  *

Remus feels more than hears Sirius whisper oh against his chest, then he scrambles up Remus’s body and he’s kissing him, they’re kissing, everything they’ve been feeling the last few days but unable to voice spilling out between them in gasping breaths and soft nips. Sirius’s hands are steady, firm on Remus’s waist, and he’s pinned, grounded beneath Sirius’s strong body. It feels tender; intimate; the gentle squeeze of his grip screaming love, love, love louder than words ever could. Remus clutches him tight, one leg wrapped around his waist, and his fingernails dig into the skin of his back, pleading for more with every flex of his calf and whimper in his throat.

Sirius starts to rock against him, so softly Remus thinks he might not realise he’s doing it. But every nerve in Remus’s body is tuned to respond to Sirius Black, and every bit of friction, every drag of his cock against Remus’s hip is stolen, robbed from the place where Remus needs to feel him. 

“Sirius, please,” he begs, vulnerable and desperate, and he’d be embarrassed if Sirius ever allowed him to feel anything but ecstasy in the moments their bodies tangled together.

“C’mere, baby. C’mere, I’ve got you.” Sirius clicks his fingers and their clothes vanish. He clicks them again and a slick hand glides over the head of Remus’s cock, down his shaft, over his balls to slip gently into his cleft. He works a finger inside, murmuring into Remus’s neck. “Mmm, tight, baby. You’re going to feel so good.” Remus arches into him, overwhelmed by the emotion and the heat of Sirius’s body and the wonderful, smooth glide of his finger in Remus’s hole. “So responsive, too. I love seeing you like this, baby. Knowing I’m going to be the one to watch you fall apart. Do you need me, sweetheart? You ready for me to fill you up?”

“Yes,” Remus moans, arching into Sirius’s hand and searching for more. It’s been almost two weeks since they’ve shagged, the longest they’ve ever gone, and it’s been even longer since Remus bottomed. All Remus wants is to feel Sirius inside him, stretching him wide and filling him more full than he’s ever been. “Please, Sirius, please, I’m ready.”

Sirius stops, and Remus whines, writhing and searching for something, anything to convince Sirius to fuck him. Remus’s eyes are squeezed shut, but when he opens them, Sirius is studying his face. “You sure, baby? You’re barely prepped.”

Remus nods, frantic, and Sirius huffs a laugh. “So needy tonight, love. Stop me if it’s too much.” 

He presses Remus’s knee to his chest and teases his hole with the slick head of his cock. Remus is shaking and panting, watching him through heavy-lidded eyes as he waits, and finally, finally Sirius pushes inside. “Oh, fuck,” he cries, throwing his head back when Sirius breaches the tight ring of muscle. Sirius gives him time to adjust, pressing kisses to the inside of his knee and murmuring soft praise Remus can barely make out over the pleasure sparking through his body. 

“You ready, darling?” Sirius asks, and Remus nods. Sirius eases in slowly, the fingers digging into Remus’s thigh the only sign of how hard he’s working to control himself. Finally, he’s fully sheathed, and he starts rocking into Remus in short, gentle thrusts. 

Remus’s hands scrabble up his arms and around the back of his neck, pulling him into a kiss, which Sirius returns with a groan. They’re pressed together from lips to hips, their hands intertwined and pressed to the pillows above Remus’s head. “I love you,” he murmurs into Remus’s mouth, and Remus feels like he might die from the heart-cracking intimacy of it all. “I love you, I love you.” 

He’s rocking into Remus harder now, working him further up the bed with every thrust, until Remus finds himself with his back pressed against the headboard and his legs wrapped around Sirius’s waist. Sirius kneels between his thighs and snaps his hips, hitting Remus’s prostate with every stroke. He cradles Remus’s skull in his palm and supports his back with his other hand, and Remus feels safe. Cared for. Adored, down to the last eyelash. Pressed into his skin with bruising fingertips and gentle hands. 

Remus whimpers and keens as Sirius sends white hot pleasure up his spine, over a decade together allowing him to know Remus’s body as well as his own. Sirius’s hips start to stutter and jerk, and he wraps his arms around Remus’s torso and lifts and lowers him on his cock, and Remus can tell he’s hanging on by a thread, staving off his own end until Remus gets his release.

And that’s the thought that does it, that Sirius wants him to feel good, that his only priority is seeing Remus experience the bliss of being loved by him. It sends Remus rocketing into the stratosphere, coming untouched between them, gasping and biting into Sirius’s shoulder with his orgasm. His entire body clenches and spasms for what feels like ages, and Sirius loses his last vestiges of control. He slams into Remus once, twice, three times more before he lets go, filling Remus with his spend before collapsing, boneless and sated, on top of him.

They kiss languidly, doing little more than tasting each others skin and holding each other close, as their heart rates slow and their minds return to earth. Sirius makes to get up, grab a flannel to clean them off, but Remus stops him with a shake of his head and arms tight around his waist. “Stay,” he murmurs, kissing Sirius again. “Stay here.”

Sirius smooths the hair off Remus’s forehead and kisses him softly. “Whatever you need, baby.” 

He grabs his wand and casts a cleaning charm, then pulls the duvet up around his shoulders. They fall asleep like that, Sirius on Remus’s chest with their legs tangled together, happy, and sated, and wonderfully in love.