Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

And I’ve lost my page again

I know this is surreal

But I’ll try my luck with you

Oh, this life is on my side

*

The general consensus is that Remus Lupin has good judgement. Solid judgement. 

That’s what Pete tells him, anyway. His boss says the same. Ronnie Bradford, the Head Honcho. The man. He’s got a brother called Reggie, like the Kray’s, if you can believe it. Parents must be proper fucking dickheads.

There’s a third brother— Ringo. Don’t even ask about that one, and whatever you do, don’t laugh, or else you’ll get a certified beating. Remus would know, he’s seen it happen before. More than once. Never to Remus though. They’ve had a working relationship for years, he’s tight with Ronnie.

Listen, it’s not forever and it’s not full time. In fact, Remus went to college. Sixth Form. He did A Levels and he passed them, much to his mother’s delight. He’s definitely going to do something with that at some point, if he doesn’t Lily will skin him alive. It’s just, until he sorts all that shit out, he’d rather sell a few bags to the locals in the beer garden of the Palomino than pull pints behind the bar every night like a fucking lemon.

That’s what Mary does. She says she can’t stand it, but essentially drinks for free every time they go out because she’s racked up a small fortune in large glasses of Zinfandel. She’s pretty as anything, a right good laugh and the old bastards down the boozer love her, which Remus thinks is fair enough, really.

It’s 1 a.m. and Remus has still got an eighth to shift before Friday, but he left Pete at the Pally and he’s smoking a cigarette at the bus stop down the road before he bikes home, because he’s starting a shiny new job tomorrow. See, good judgement.

Remus is leant against the cold metal frame of the bus stop, bike propped beside him, with his denim jacket buttoned all the way up and a scarf stuffed haphazardly round his neck, because even though Lily isn’t actually present right now she might as well be, what with the way he can hear her voice in his head. 'That’s the thing about September,' she’d say, 'boiling in the afternoon, but cold enough for your nipples to cut glass when the sun goes down— bet you’re glad I told you to put a scarf on, Loopy.'

If that wasn’t enough, he’s got a hat on as well. Evans would be so proud. Lily is eternally wise and worldly and Remus loves her very much.

It’s late or early, depending on how you look at it. He’s got his headphones in and is standing opposite what used to be a Chinese takeaway. It’s a shame about the dire hygiene rating, really, because Jasmine Garden used to do a blinding chow mein.

Remus’ phone vibrates thunderously in his back pocket. He’d dropped it on an unforgiving paving slab about a month ago and it’d been fucked ever since; the vibrations are seismic every time he gets a notification, and the screen is shattered because Remus did not get a screen protector or a phone case, despite Lily telling him he really should. Talk of the devil.

Betty (Tuesday, 1:07 a.m.): you’re at the pally late again tonight

Remus huffs to himself in fond exasperation.

Loops (Tuesday, 1:08 a.m.): Having a cigarette then going home

(1:08 a.m.): how’d you know where I am

His phones buzzes with Lily’s immediate response before he can even consider putting it back in his pocket.

Betty (Tuesday, 1:09 a.m.): find my friends

Loops (Tuesday, 1:10 a.m.): can’t decide if that’s weird or endearing

Betty (Tuesday, 1:10 a.m.): what a silly question

(1:11 a.m.): definitely endearing

(1:11 a.m.): right I’m going to sleep get home safe

Loops (Tuesday, 1:12 a.m.): yes mum

Betty (Tuesday, 1:13 a.m.): twat

Loops (Tuesday, 1:13 a.m.):Xx

Betty (Tuesday, 1:14 a.m.): Xxxxx

Remus smiles at his phone screen for a moment, before locking it and sliding it back where it came from. Lily’s been his best mate since the first day of secondary school, when they’d been on the same school bus and in the same form. Over seven years later and they’re still inseparable. If Remus is really lucky, they always will be.

Remus is staring sightlessly at the second reflection in the abandoned takeaway window for far longer than he cares to admit, before he realises with a jolt that somebody else is at the bus stop with him. Suddenly, Remus is incredibly thankful that Jasmine Garden went bust, because it just so happens that big dark windows are very reflective. Almost mirror like, actually. Perfect for covertly lecherous double takes.

It’s quite hard to tell because the reflection is a bit blurry and Remus may have sunk a pint or five, and yes, he may or may not have indulged in a little snifter from his own stash earlier, but— but. It’s quite possible that the new arrival is very nice looking. Obviously he actually needs to look at them to be sure. So he does. He’s very smooth about it, has a proper gander at them from the corner of his eye, and alright, maybe his breath does catch in his throat a little bit.

Standing at the other end of the bus stop is a boy rooting through a massive bag, washed out beneath the flickering orange of the street lamp. He’s pretty, like really pretty.

Like don’t even fucking bother.

Like cut your losses and move on.

Like stamp on my foot and I’ll say ‘thanks’.

The Boy has dark hair that curls at his shoulders, and he’s wearing an oversized leather jacket that’s seen better days, with black drainpipe trousers and a pair of big fuck off boots that are stupidly sexy.

The thing is, Remus can pull. It’s not really about his looks, though he supposes he’s alright as far as things go. Lily says it’s because he’s got a heart of gold and ever such pretty eyes; Mary tells him its because he’s fucking tall; Pete reckons girls like him because he sells drugs and the scar on his face makes him look dangerous. ‘What about the boys, Pete?’ Mary had asked, waggling her eyebrows like an idiot. ‘Don’t forget about the boys.’

Pete had sighed. ‘Suppose he’s just fit isn’t he?’

’Hear hear’, Lily had cried, and the three of them had crashed their drinks together in a toast, while Remus ducked over his partially rolled cigarette and tried not to cringe.

In fact, Lovely Margot who works behind the bar at the Pally had been giving him the eye all night. Yeah, okay, he’d been giving her a bump every time she came out for a cigarette break under the pretense of ‘testing the merchandise’, so maybe what Pete said had some truth to it, but the point is, Remus does alright.

So why does he keep furtively look at The Boy and doing absolutely nothing about it?

With that thought in mind, Remus does a lazy sort of half turn so that his back is propped up against the metal frame and he’s facing The Boy head on. Only, The Boy is already watching him, and now Remus feels like an idiot.

He’s beautiful head on. He’s got big, dark eyes, and a beauty spot beneath his lower lip on the right hand side that Remus wants to kiss.

Christ.

And oh fuck, his lips are moving— he’s saying something. Shit. Shit. 

Remus rips out a headphone. “Sorry, what was that?”

The Boy stares at him for a long moment. “I said,” The Boy replies slowly, “you’re not going to rob me, are you?”

Oh, he’s fucking posh.

“Depends,” Remus says with an wry smile. The Boy only lifts his eyebrows in response. “Got anything good in there?” Remus asks, nodding at the bag now resting against The Boys hip.

“Not really,” he says. “Just my birth certificate and a fuck load of stolen family heirlooms.”

Remus laughs. The Boy, notably, does not.

“Right,” Remus replies before clearing his throat. “You’re not from ‘round here.”

“Says who?” 

“I go there all the time,” Remus nods in the direction of the Palomino, “and I’ve not seen you before.”

“Mm, remember every face, do you?”

“Something like that,” Remus tells him.

The Boy gives him an assessing look.

The Pally should be dark and silent right now, but it’s not because Margot’s let half the pub stay for a lock in, again. She’ll end up sacked if she’s not careful, then she’ll have to work at the social club, and that would be a downright shame because she always covers Mary’s shifts and Pete’s a little bit in love with her.

Anyway.

“I’m Remus.” 

The Boy steps forward to take Remus’ offered hand.

“Serious,” The Boy says. It’s pretty fucking dark so it’s hard to tell, but Remus thinks there might be a glimmer of something in his eyes.

“Yeah it’s a stupid fucking name—”

“No,” The Boy interrupts with a huff, “that’s my name.”

“Eh?”

“My name is Sirius. S-I-R-I-U-S. You know, like the star?”

Remus doesn’t know but he gives Sirius a long look and reckons that sounds about right.

“Oh,” he says stupidly.

They don’t let go for the entire exchange. Sirius’ hand is pale in the gloom. He’s got bony fingers and chipped nail polish and he’s wearing a gratuitous number of rings.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Sirius says, looking up from beneath long, black lashes. Remus feels the breath punch out of him because the effect of all that is lovely.

Remus pushes his tongue into his cheek. “Yeah,” he says. “It is.”

Sirius still hasn’t let go of his hand. Remus looks at the Pally over Sirius’ shoulder. The curtains are drawn but the lights are on and he’s fairly certain that Margot would let him in if he came knocking.

“Listen,” Remus says, “d’you want to get a drink?”

“Now?”

“Yeah, now.”

“It’s gone one in the morning,” Sirius tells him, dark brow arched high on his forehead.

Remus feels a little bit mad. “I know a place,” he says nodding towards the Palomino and Sirius glances at the pub behind him.

Sirius suddenly drops his hand. “Can’t,” he says, “sorry.”

Not as sorry as I am, Remus thinks.

“See you around then,” Remus tells him, even though he’s never seen Sirius anywhere before. He will though. He can feel it in his bones.

“Yeah,” Sirius says, like he knows it too.

Then he’s disappearing up the dark road and Remus is stood alone under the shelter, fumbling for the tin of roll ups in his jacket pocket.

*

All things considered, Remus is feeling pretty good this morning. He doesn’t even have a proper hangover. He’s drinking a cup of tea and smoking a roll up when Hope Howell strolls into the kitchen with her handbag in one hand and an absolute tank of a vape in the other.

Hope had given up smoking when Remus started buying duty free baccy off Arabella Figg from next door. 'It’ll encourage you to stop,' she’d told him, 'I’m leading by example.'

“Give us a drag love,” she says, dropping her vape on the table with a clatter and snagging the cigarette from between her sons fingers before he can respond.

Remus tuts. “They’re bad for you, you know.”

“Everything good is,” Hope tells him with the filter tip perched in the corner of her mouth.

"What time you home tonight?”

“‘Round eight I reckon,” Hope says, “you about?”

“Maybe.”

Hope huffs a laugh, handing him the roll up back. “That’s a no then.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Yeah, well, I know how to read between the lines.” She does too. Hope can flick her eyes over her son’s face and know exactly what's up. Thing is, that sort of understanding is a two way street, so Remus is certain that what Hope isn’t saying is that she wants him home.

“I’ll be home,” he tells her. She smiles at him.

Hope Howell is a former wild child turned single mother and NHS nurse. She’s always been a good parent, even if she is a bit unconventional. She’d been on a Hen Do in Blackpool when she’d had a one off shag with Remus’ dad and gotten herself knocked up. Fuck it, she’d thought, guess I’ll have a baby, then. That’s Hope in a nutshell, really, fuck it.

Hope pulls herself up on to the kitchen counter. “New job today.”

Remus hasn’t been entirely honest with everyone in his life about this recent development. He’d told his mum a bit of it, though. Remus tells Hope most things, always has. She’s usually alright with it all, as long as he doesn’t bring trouble home with him. He’d told her about it last Sunday.

'Got a job,' he’d said.

'A real one?'

'No, it’s imaginary. Yes mum, a real one.'

'Can’t blame me for asking,' she’d replied, which was fair enough. 'Doing what?'

'Working at the garage.'

'What, BP?'

'Nah, the garage garage. RB motors. You know, cars and that.'

'Oh yeah, and what do you know about mechanics?'

'I’m doing the books.'

'You’re rubbish at maths.'

'I’ve already told Mr. Bradford that.'

'He’s Mr. Bradford now, is he?'

Remus had shrugged. Hope sipped her glass of Echo Falls and gave her son a sidelong look.

'You must think I was born yesterday.'

'Nah. You’ve got too many grey hairs for that,'

'Cheeky bastard,' she’d muttered with a poke to his bony shoulder. 'Love you.'

'Yeah.'

Hope had given him a soft smile, pushed the curls back from his forehead and leaned forward to plant a kiss between his eyebrows.

'You’re a good boy.'

“I’m aware,” Remus says, leaning back in his chair and looking up at his mum.

She’s got her back to the window and the morning light makes her hair glow. Hope is a slender, pocket sized woman, with hair like honey and a pair of big blue eyes that crinkle at the corners when she smiles. How she’s managed to keep her teeth all lovely and white after years of smoking is a mystery. She’s the type of woman that pencils her eyebrows on every morning without fail, even if she’s only popping to One Stop for a pint of milk.

Remus looks like his dad: freckled and lanky as anything, with a mop of taupe coloured curls. He had his mums nose once upon a time, before Pete accidentally launched an entire bottle of rum at his head. Lily had gently mopped up all the blood with a resigned look on her face. ‘You need to go to A&E’, she’d told him, ‘or it’ll be crooked forever’. Remus hadn’t gone to A&E. Now he’s got a busted nose and a fuck off scar slap bang in the middle of his face.

“You told Betty what you’re up to?” Hope says with a raised eyebrow and the air of someone who’s just laid down the winning hand at a card table.

“Nope,” Remus replies, popping the P and turning back towards his cup of tea.

“Didn’t think so,” comes his mums voice from behind him. Remus hears Hope slide off the counter and land on the linoleum with a dull thud. “Right— I’m off.” She kisses the crown of his head and swipes her vape from the table. “Have a good day. Love you, sweetheart.”

“Love you,” Remus tells her.

Hope leaves him there to stare at the smoke spiraling from the end of his cigarette and contemplate the monumental task he needs to tackle sooner or later. He’s going to have to tell Lily, and she’s going to flip her fucking lid when he does.

Or.

Or. 

He could just avoid her.

*

Remus skids to a stop on the loose gravel outside of RB Motors and swings a leg over his bike so that he’s walking along beside it.

RB Motors is a real garage with real mechanics, that just so happens to run a side hustle in stolen cars and illicit deals.

Remus has known RB since he was seventeen years old and has been flogging gear for him almost as long.

A couple of weeks ago, Remus had been here picking up an ounce and whinging about his current lack of financial stability, when RB had peered up at Remus from behind his scales and said, 'you wanna work ‘ere?' Now, here he is, working for Ronnie. He’s not really sure what that’s going to entail.

Inside the garage Remus nods at a few familiar faces before he spots Cas. She’s bent in half at the waist and peering under the bonnet of a red Fiat.

Dorcas Meadowes has a resting bitch face and the ability to beat near enough anybody in an arm wrestle. She’s proper nice though, really lovely when you know her.

Remus leans in so close that’s he’s hovering just above her shoulder. “‘Ello,” he says directly into her ear hole, then quickly step backwards as she snaps up at an alarming speed, almost whacking her head on the open hood of the car in the process.

“Buggering Christ,” she exclaims, dramatically massaging the spot over her heart and spinning around to glare at him. “You.”

“Me,” Remus agrees.

Cas punches Remus in the arm. Hard.

“OW! What the fuck mate. It was just a joke, Jesus.”

“Mate? I’ll mate you, if you’re not careful.”

Cas hits him again. It really fucking hurts because she’s got an insane amount of upper body strength.

“Ugh,” Remus moans. “Why?”

“Does the name Margot ring any bells?”

“Eh?”

“Margot!” Cas says loudly, poking Remus viciously in the clavicle.

“What about bloody Lovely Margot?!”

“See— there you go again!”

“Sorry, but what the fuck is going on?”

“You disappeared last night without so much as a goodbye,” Cas rants. “Left me to get an earful! He’s gone, Cas, why’d he leave? Do you think he likes me, Cas? Do you? Do you? You’re all tucked up in bed, and I’m answering twenty one fucking questions on the subject of Remus sodding Lupin and his romantic inclinations.”

Remus scrunches his face up in confusion. “What? I don’t like Margot. I mean, I like Margot, but I don’t like Margot. Pete likes Margot. Pete might actually love—”

Cas interrupts his rambling with a loud groan. “Shut up, you idiot.” She gives him another hard poke. “You’re being a real arse, you know.”

“How?!”

“Leading her on!”

“I am not,” Remus grumbles, rubbing at the sore spot in the centre of his chest.

“Oh, come off it, Lupin. You know what you’re bloody doing.”

“I’m being nice. What would you have me do?”

“Stop calling her Lovely Margot, for one.”

Remus grins. “Ah,” he says wisely, “Do you want to be Lovely Cas? Is that it?”

Dorcas sneers at him. “Call me that again and I’ll break your knee caps.” The tool belt wrapped around her hips that’s loaded up with several heavy wrenches makes that threat very real. Remus takes a step back.

“Smart,” she tells him. “Now piss off. RB’s in the back office.”

Remus pisses off.

“‘Ere he is,” Ronnie says cheerily from behind his desk, sitting back in his chair and tucking his hands behind his head. RB is a head shorter than Remus, built like a brick shit house and pushing forty.

Remus throws himself down in the static office chair opposite. “Alright, Mr. Bradford.”

RB gives him a funny look. “What you callin’ me that for?”

Remus shrugs.

“Well fucking don’t. It’s RB to you, kid.” Ronnie yanks open a draw and produces an ashtray that’s almost overflowing, along with a packet of Benson & Hedges. He slides the cigarettes across the desk, scattering several sheets of paperwork in the process. “Present for ya. Welcome to the team and all that.”

Remus sticks a cig between his teeth and lights it. “You shouldn’t have.”

“You told your mother where you’re working?” Ronnie asks. His mum and RB were in school at the same time, though Hope’s got a couple of years on him. Remus reckons RB’s fancied her ever since.

“‘Course,” Remus tells him. “She says hello.”

RB looks right pleased with that. “I want this to be a mutually exclusive arrangement, Lupin.” RB lights his own cigarette and settles back in his chair again. “You do things for me, I’ll pay you cash in hand, no tax.”

“What sort of things you thinking?”

RB shrugs. “Whatever I need you to do, and today I need you go to South Hampton. Want you to grab a load of gear and bring it back for me. You can drive, yeah?”

“Sure, why not,” Remus says.

“Have you got a licence?” Ronnie asks, eyeing him suspiciously.

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answers to, RB.”

“Alright lemme rephrase that— have you driven before?”

“Course I have. Easy, isn’t it?”

RB looks skeptical for a moment, but then he’s digging in the draw again and pulling out a set of keys. “For my Beamer. She’s a right nippy little thing. You’ll be there and back in no time. Hear me now, Lupin— do not drive like a cunt. I want her back in one piece, yeah? And don’t forget to indicate.” RB holds the keys outs across the desk. Remus nods and goes to take them, but RB pulls his hand back and points a threatening finger in Remus’ direction. “No, don’t nod at me you silly cunt. I want your word that you’ll be on your best behaviour.”

“Yes, alright.”

RB rolls his jaw. “Right, take them before I change my mind. I’ll WhatsApp you the post code.”

Remus tugs the keys out of RB’s reluctant grip and gets up. He’s got his hand on the door handle when RB says, “Lupin.”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t get pulled over. You’re marj will have me six foot under.”

Remus tips his head in understanding.

*

It turns out driving for two hours to South Hampton and back is very boring, and also a little bit harrowing. Remus pulls up outside RB motors with a busted wing mirror, three near misses under his belt, and a considerable amount of illegal substances stashed in the glove box. It could have gone worse.

He pulls the handbrake up and slumps back in the drivers seat, reaching over to yank his phone out of the hands free set its been perched in, music still blaring.

Uh, I’m on it, get on it

The troops are on fire

You know I need it much closer

I’m tradin’ just a little more

He's got eight unread messages, five from Lily and three from Pete.

Pete (Tuesday, 5:01 p.m.): mate

(5:01 p.m.): I’ve done a thing

(5:02 p.m.): call me asap

Betty (Tuesday, 10:41 a.m.): morning sunshine

(11:13 a.m.): come see me at lunch

(1:14 p.m.): hello

(3:01 p.m.): are you dead?

(4:17 p.m.): I know your alive cos I checked find my friends and it says ur in south hampton??

Remus stares at the messages and sighs.

Loops (5:22 p.m.): stop stalking me or I’m taking away your location privileges

Betty (5:23 p.m.): I worry

(5:23 p.m.): why were you in south hampton remus?

Lily Evans is a naturally suspicious sort of person.

Loops (5:23 p.m.): your abusing technological advances

He ignores the second message and within moments she’s calling him. Remus waits until it rings out, the picture he’s got set as her contact photo watching him accusingly all the while. He’s obviously going to have to say something soon. This is getting ridiculous.

Betty (5:27 p.m.): what’s going on

Remus swipes out of the conversation with a wince and is about to ring Pete, when there’s a loud rapping on the car window. He almost jumps out of his skin, half expecting to see a very small and very cross redhead waiting to have a pop at him.

It’s just Cas, and she’s mouthing something at him. Remus squints at her before cracking the door open and sticking his head out. “Alright?”

“You’ll go deaf,” she says loudly over the music, nodding her head at the stereo.

Remus switches the engine off and gets out of the car, shutting the door and lounging back against it. His phone is vibrating in his pocket again.

“I didn’t know you could drive,” Cas says, both eyebrows high on her forehead.

“I can do lots of things you don’t know about.”

Cas reaches out to poke the fucked wing mirror. “Driving evidently isn’t one of them. RB’s going to have an aneurysm when he sees this.”

“Good thing he owns a garage.”

“You’re taking liberties, Lupin. RB’s soft on you, god knows why— but he’s got his limits.” Cas gives him a pointed look. Remus ignores that.

“Is he in the back?”

“Yep.”

Remus tosses the keys up and snatches them out of the air, nodding at Cas as he does so. “Right then, I’m off to get a bollocking. See you later,” he tells her.

“Hang on,” Cas says, just as Remus is about to stride off to face the consequences of his own actions. “You coming to the Pally for a pint? I’ll hang about if you want a lift.”

See, Remus would really love to go for a drink. Today’s been a right slog and Hope’s not going to be home for another few hours, so actually, an alcoholic beverage to take the edge off would do wonders. Here’s the problem though, Remus knows that Mary is on shift. Ordinarily, that wouldn’t be an issue, because Mary is his very good friend and he loves her a lot. However, if he goes to the Pally and sees Mary, the conversation will go something like this:

'Hello Loopy Lu.'

'Alright Big Mac.'

'I’ve told you not to call me that,' she’d probably swat at him as she said it.

'Right you are.'

'On your own?'

'Nah— I’m with Cas.'

'Where’s Pete and Lil?'

'Don’t know.'

'Are they coming down?'

'Don’t know.'

'Put something in the chat, then.'

'No.'

'Why?'

'I’m busy.'

'You’re being weird.'

'No I’m not.'

'Yes, you are.'

'I’m really not.'

'What are you up to?'

'Nothing, Jesus.'

'You’re lying, Lupin. I know your tells,' and she does. Mary is very observant, and nosy to boot.

He doesn’t need all that. He’s had multiple near death experiences on an A road, and he’s fairly certain RB’s about to rip him a new arsehole.

“Are you having a stroke?” Cas asks him seriously.

“I’m not out tonight,” Remus tells her.

“Christ, you really are unwell.”

Remus tuts. “I’m fine. Just don’t fancy it.”

Cas stares at him with her nose scrunched. “Don’t be a wet blanket, Lupin. Come on, we’ll stick your bike in the back of the van.” Cas has got a very fancy transit van that she brought on finance earlier this year.

The thing is, Remus is really big on going to the pub. A stiff breeze could knock him into the Pally. He heaves a long suffering sigh. “Fine. Let me break the news to RB—” Remus says, as his phone starts buzzing in his pocket for the third time. “Jesus Christ. She’s driving me— oh.” Remus cuts himself on when he sees who’s calling and answers. “Hello you sexy little bastard.”

“Stop it, Lupin. You’ll make me blush,” Pete replies.

“Was just about to give you a bell,” Remus says into the phone, and then to Cas: “Give me fifteen and we’ll head off.”

“Who you talking to?” Pete asks.

“Lovely Cas.” Remus winks at her and she does not look pleased.

“I need you tonight,” Pete tells him.

“My god, Pettigrew— please try to contain yourself.” Cas gives him a bewildered look and Pete snickers down the phone.

Pete says, “Come to mine when you’re done at the garage.”

“First of all, a please wouldn’t go amiss. Secondly, how’d you know where I am?”

“Find my friends.”

Fuck sake. Remus really needs to get rid of that bastard app.

“Sounds about right,” he says with a sigh, then he puts his hand over the receiver and tells Cas, “I’ve been summoned, catch you next time.”

Cas rolls her eyes. “Yeah alright. See you tomorrow, Lupin.”

“I’ll be there in a half hour,” Remus informs Pete.

“Right you are.”

*

Remus leans his bike against the wall in Pete’s front garden, and takes his headphones out.

As far as things go, RB took the destruction of his property fairly well. Obviously, he had been none too pleased, and he’d docked Remus’ wages for the trouble— but Remus has still got all his fingers and toes, so he’ll take that as a win.

He walks up to Pete’s bright red door and knocks sharply on the frosted glass. It opens so quickly that you’d be forgiven for thinking Pete was lurking in wait on the other side.

Peter Pettigrew has a permanently happy face; his mouth is always doing something smiley, and his blue eyes are wide and angelic. Pete’s got a penchant for bucket hats and a thatch of thick, blonde hair that he used to gel straight up at the front, before Lily had a word and told him it really had to stop. Remus has known Peter for almost as long as he’s known Lily. They were put in the same Maths set at the beginning of year eight.

“Hello, Petey Boy,” Remus says, tugging the front of his hat over his eyes.

“Piss off,” Pete replies, but he’s grinning.

Inside, Remus toes his trainers off and sprawls across the Pettigrew family sofa, fully making himself at home. “So,” he says to Pete. “What do you want?”

“Maybe I just wanted to see you.”

“You saw me yesterday.”

“I always want to see you,”

“Aw, you wetty.” Remus smiles at him. “Now, out with it.”

Pete shrugs and disappears into the other room. “Fair enough. One sec.”

A moment later: “Actually, you just come here.”

Remus heaves himself up off the sofa and follows the sound of Pete’s voice. The Pettigrew household is usually pin neat, because Jacqueline Pettigrew is absolutely mad about cleaning and can’t stand mess or clutter. Today, however, the dining room table is piled up with a shit tonne of brown cardboard boxes.

“What’s all this,” Remus asks, stepping forward to curiously peer inside the closest one. “Jackie’s going to have kittens when she gets home.”

“This,” Pete tells him, “is a hard days work.”

“Mate, are these all full of baccy?”

“That is correct.”

There’s five boxes and Remus pokes about in all of them. Golden Virgina; Pal Mal; Amber Leaf; Cutters Choice; and in the final one, Drum.

Pete is a part time postman, and a full time opportunist— that’s what he calls it, anyway. Lily fondly labels him a ‘robbing bastard.’

“Someone left a delivery van unattended behind One Stop when I was doing rounds this morning,” he explains. “How could I not?” Pete does some of his best work on company time.

“You nicked it?! All of it?”

“Yep,” Pete says.

“How the fuck did you manage that?”

“Chucked it in the back of my work motor.”

Pete has a Royal Mail van that he’s frequently used for nefarious purposes ever since he got his paws on it. It’s come in very handy so far. They hot boxed it about a month or so ago, which had been brilliant. It’s old as fuck and doesn’t have any new fangled ventilation, so they all got absolutely stoned off their bonces. Mary had sworn that her curls still smelled faintly of marijuana two days later. They’d called her Mary Jane for a while, until she threatened to cut them all off at the Pally. 'She’s gone mad with power,' Lily had muttered in Remus’ ear.

“CCTV?”

“Richie Cheung works behind the counter— he reckons the cameras have been busted for months.”

“Well,” Remus says, affectionately patting one of the boxes. “Good job. Why’d you need me?”

“I need to shift it. Mum’ll go spare if she comes home and sees all this.”

Jacqueline and Bernard Pettigrew do not know about their sons light fingered tendencies. Jackie works as a hairdresser, and Bernard manages a factory floor on one of the local industrial estates.

“Can’t you put it in your room?”

“Nah, won’t fit.”

“How’s that?”

“Found a load of flat pack furniture the other day.”

“Found it, did you?” Remus asks, raising an eyebrow at his mate.

Petes hums vaguely in response.

“Where’d you want to take it?”

“Kathy’s house.”

Katherine is Peter’s aunt on his dad’s side. She lives in a cottage half an hour away from town, with three cats and a fuck load of chickens. Kathy’s a bit of a hippy, believes in crystal healing, listens to psychedelic rock, and lovingly tends to a decent sized crop of of homegrown Skunk. Kathy’s willing to turn a blind eye to whatever Pete stores round her house, so long as he hangs about for a smoke and a natter.

Kathy’s sound as anything, but Remus knows what’s coming next.

“Dad says we can borrow the car,” Pete says. This loosely translates to 'I’ll need you to drive us home because I always get so monumentally stoned on my aunt’s medical grade weed, that I forget how to use the pedals of a car.' The last time Pete had made the trip himself, two squirrels and a small bush had paid the price. It’s a proper piss take, in all honesty.

“Fuck sake, Pete,” Remus moans, “I’ve already been to South Hampton today.”

“Oh, come— hang on, you’ve been where?”

“South Hampton.”

“Why?”

“Doing something for RB.” Remus is fully aware of how dodgy and evasive that sounds.

Pete gives him a look. “Oh,” he says, “does Lily know?”

Remus puts his face in his hands and drags downwards, eyes drooping and bottom lip poking out. “No,” he mutters petulantly.

“Right.” Pete’s looking at him like he’s very, very stupid. “Well, it’s your funeral mate.”

Remus spins on his heel and heads for the front door.

“Wait— no! Please, please Remus. I’ll give you a cut and everything.” Pete gets him by the elbow and drags him back to the table, nudging the boxes with his spare hand in what Remus assumes is meant to be a tantalising manner.

“I’ve got shit to do, Pete.”

“Please.”

Remus looks at Pete’s cherubic little face and sighs. “Fucking hell— alright. Fine. Come on then.”

He is a very weak man when it comes to helping his friends.

Ten minutes later, Remus is in the passenger seat of Bernard’s Kia, smoking a cigarette and watching Pete queue up a playlist. “I swear to god,” Remus threatens him, “if you put the fucking Venga Boys on again, I’m taking the wheel and driving us into oncoming traffic.”

“Yeah, alright.” Pete says, looking all sulky.

Remus’ phone starts vibrating again. Two guesses who it is.

“Aren’t you going to answer that?” Pete asks.

“Yes.” Remus picks his phone up and swipes the screen. “Lilibet.”

“Well,” Lily says coldly. “Good of you to finally answer.”

Pete’s watching him apprehensively.

Remus tries to placate her. “Oh, come on Betty, don’t be like that.”

“I’m not being like anything.”

Out of all of Remus’ friends, Lily’s the only one to have perfected the cold shoulder. She uses it sparingly, but when she’s got a strop on, she will absolutely make it your problem.

“You’re being all frosty.”

“You’ve been screening my calls.”

“That’s not true,” Remus lies, because he’s a liar.

Pete clears his throat, the duplicitous bastard. Remus glares at him and mouths oncoming traffic.

“Who are you with?” Lily demands immediately.

Remus sighs internally. “Pete.”

“Thanks for the invite.” If her tone had been cold before, it’s Arctic now. “What are you two doing?”

“Going to Kathy’s,” Remus says, and then as she draws a breath, “don’t ask. Trust me when I say you don’t want to know.”

“Pete nicked a load of tobacco from One Stop, didn’t he?”

“How do you do it?” Remus asks her. Flattery won’t usually get you anywhere with Lily, but the minute you allude to her talent for knowing everything, she’ll thaw right out.

“Someone posted about it on the Facebook community page. Doesn’t take a genius.”

“Hear that, Pettigrew? You’ve gone viral.”

Pete looks chuffed.

“You’re so smart,” Remus says proudly into the phone.

“Don’t try and butter me up, Lupin. I’m not happy with you.” Despite what she’s saying, she already sounds a good deal less fucked off.

“Rightly so.” Remus peers out at the street and tries to sound contrite. “Sorry.”

“I’d rather you tell me what’s going on with you,” she says.

“I’ll tell you when I see you,” Remus promises, and he really does mean it.

“When will that be?”

“I’ll come see you at work tomorrow.”

Lily works at a locally owned café in the town centre. Her dad would have a nervous breakdown if she worked in a Costa or a Starbucks. Both her parents are big believers in supporting local business'.

Lily sighs. “Yeah, alright.” She pauses and then says, “am I going to be cross with you, Remus?”

“Probably.”

“I was afraid you’d say that.”

“I’ll make it up to you.”

“Alright.”

“I’d better be off. Got heinous acts to commit,” he tells her.

Lily huffs a laugh. “Be careful, yeah?”

“Always am. Love you, Betty.”

“Obviously,” she replies, then immediately hangs up.

Remus chucks his phone back down and blows out a breath.

“Glad I’m not you,” Pete sings from beside him, and Remus gives him the finger.

“Let’s get this over with,” he says.

*

It’s late when Remus gets home. They hadn’t got to Kathy’s house until gone 7 p.m., because Pete had drank three liters of water throughout the afternoon, and consequently needed to stop for a piss with alarming frequency.

Remus had resolutely refused his request to use an empty Coke can as a temporary toilet.

'We have to have some boundaries,' Remus has told him. 'I really don’t need to smell your piss in the confines of a car.'

By the time they’d arrived, shifted the baccy into the shed, and strapped a joint with Kathy, it was mid evening. Remus had texted Hope and told her he’d be back in an hour or two.

Mum (Tuesday, 8:05 p.m.): no worries... I’ll stick ur dinner in the bottom of the oven. Xx

They’d sat around the garden table on Kathy’s lovely patio, beneath a generous arrangement of twinkling fairy lights, chatting as they passed a spliff around their little group. Kathy had insisted on giving them both a tarot reading. 'Your turn Remus,' she’d said around the roach tucked in the corner of her mouth, as she expertly shuffled the deck. Kathy had then proceeded to lay three cards out in front of him: The Fool, The Tower, and The Star. 'Oh my. Well, it’s not all bad, darling.'

Remus had shrugged and slumped back in his seat. It was hard to be concerned about much of anything in Kathy’s garden. It was somehow overgrown and tidy— the lawn was neatly trimmed and ringed with bedraggled looking bushes and wildflowers. There was copse of little trees towards the back of the property, a green house in one corner, and the garden shed Pete had bastardised in the other. Up above, the night sky was clear and bright, free of light pollution and full of stars. That bit had all been lovely.

At nine o’clock, Remus had announced it home time, forcibly removing Pete from where he sat, trying to negotiate another half hour. Kathy had given them both a hug and a kiss, as well as a fat ten bag as a parting gift. They’d clambered back into the Kia, Pete considerably more stoned than Remus, seeing as he’d deigned to smoke a second and third spliff with his aunt.

Then, the night had gone down hill.

Physical Graffiti had been playing through the stereo, as it often did when they smoked under Kathy’s influence.

And the wind is crying, from a love that won’t grow cold

My lover, she is lying, on the dark side of the globe

Pete had thrown his head back against the seat and said, 'mate, that guitar riff.'

Remus has hummed in agreement, and stupidly taken his eyes off the road to fiddle with the volume dial.

The next thing he knew, the road was bending to the right and the car was heading straight for a fucking ditch. Remus had yanked sharply on the steering wheel, because in all honesty, he doesn’t properly know how to drive. The poor Kia had careened across the road and rammed directly into a hedgerow, butchering a tyre and smashing one of the headlights on impact.

Stupid.

Stupid.

They’d both sat frozen for several long moments, before turning to look at each other in astonishment.

'Alright?'  Remus has asked Pete, who looked mildly shell-shocked.

Pete looked down at himself, poking at various body parts, as though checking for signs of injury. 'Yeah, alright. You?'

Remus surveyed the damage in front of him, and peered at his own reflection in the rear view mirror. 'M’fine.'

After another moment of silence, Pete let out a heavy breath. 'Fuck. Shit. Right, okay it’s fine. Dads with AA, yeah. We’ll leave the car here and sort it out tomorrow.'

'Pete, we cant leave the car here.'

'Dad’s got all the insurance details and I’m not calling him now— he can always tell when I’m stoned. You know how he is, probably call the police to teach me a lesson or something. Fuck that.'

'There’s no spare in the boot?'

'Nope. Remember when I ran over all that broken glass in Tesco car park?'

'Oh fuck— yeah, alright.'

'Now what?'

Pete had produced a joint he’d rolled earlier. 'Suppose we’d better get walking.'

After an hour and a half of tramping through the English countryside, Remus left Pete at his front gate, with a hug and a clap on the back.

'You worried about telling your dad?' Remus had asked him.

Pete had shrugged. 'I’ll make something up.'

Remus had no doubt he would. Pete was unnervingly good in situations like that.

When Remus finally gets home, he’s windswept, knackered, and his knees fucking ache. Not to mention the considerable amount of guilt he feels for standing his own mother up.

He finds Hope curled up asleep under a blanket on the living room sofa, bathed in the flickering glow of the TV.

Remus feels terrible about the whole thing. She’s always been patient with him. Hope’s a good woman, all kindness and understanding. Sometimes Remus thinks she’s too good by half, and she really got the short end of the stick ending up with a reprobate for a son.

Remus gives her a gentle poke on the shoulder. “Alright,” he says, when her eyes flutter open and she peers up at him blearily.

“Well,” she says in a raspy voice, “look what the cat dragged in.”

“Sorry.” He’s been saying that a lot today.

“I was worried,” she tells him, as she struggles up into a seated position, hair flat on one side where it's been pressed against the cushions.

“I’m okay. Something came up.”

Hope gives him a look that clearly says yeah, pull the other one. “As long as you’re home in one piece.”

Remus makes a show of checking himself over. “All parts accounted for.”

Hope tuts and gives him a tired smile.

“Sorry,” Remus says again— and he really is. He doesn’t like making his mum worry.

“Nothing I’m not use to,” Hope tells him. She gets up off the sofa with a sigh and pats him on the cheek. “Night, love.” Hope disappears up the stairs, leaving Remus standing alone in the front room with a pit in his stomach.

Listen, Remus Lupin does have good judgement, he’s just having an off day is all.