Chapter Text
Sitting silently in the solitude of a rundown cottage in a forgotten part of Derbyshire, Remus Lupin was picking apart his latest mistake.
A child stands to make history tonight, whether by living through it or dying by it, and he should be there. If not for security’s sake, at least to give Harry someone to look to in the crowd. Of course, he should be there.
As it stood, Remus was miles away, mentally replaying his last conversation with Albus Dumbledore and becoming more ashamed of his cowardice with each go.
“You would be doing yourself an unkindness drawing attention to yourself amongst the spectacle, Remus.”
He’s hiding, then. As a kindness to himself. Brilliant.
Hiding, as if he weren’t used to this, people gawking in fear. Or worse, promising that they really didn’t have a problem with “his type” until they pulled back so far it was only the problem that remained.
Though, admittedly, things had gotten less predictable since Rita Skeeter so kindly outed him to every person in Britain’s magical world. What was easily dispelled as the rumors crafted by overly imaginative students and their easily convinced parents had now become public record. Remus Lupin was a werewolf.
So, of course, he shouldn’t actually be there. How would that look – to be spotted on the grounds of the school where only last year he had to leave for every reason he shouldn’t have taught there in the first place?
But still, he thought, glancing up at the green, digital clock face on top of his two-burner stove, he should be there.
The glow from the stove was now the only light source in the room, as Remus had let himself worry his way into total darkness, neglecting to even turn a lamp on once he set his eyes on the time nearly three hours ago.
He leaned over the side of the armchair he’d rescued from the bins behind his last apartment and pulled the cord on the small stained-glass lamp he had inherited from his mother. The living room, or more accurately, the small space where the kitchen ended, was illuminated in a soft pink glow.
One grody armchair, a working stove, a pink lamp. He’d done worse.
Adjusting to the light, he faced the clock again. Ten minutes to midnight. Surely, he would have heard something by now.
No sooner had the dial changed to 11:51, was the pink light was suddenly swallowed by a bursting blue light, and the gaseous, translucent figure of a phoenix appeared before him, echoing Dumbledore’s message.
“Padfoot is on his way. Stay where you are and wait for instructions.”
Just as soon as the patronus had appeared, it dissolved into nothingness, leaving Remus alone with a heart pounding so hard he could have sworn his blood had thickened to sap.
Something had happened to Harry.
He forced himself to stand with no plans for what to do after. He was stuck here until Sirius arrived, and then who could say how long after? He willed his breath to slow, for his heart to stop bruising itself against his ribs. He had known this feeling before, and to feel it again would be the last of him.
As the minutes or years or hours passed, he stood like a dumb bull in pasture, mentally inventing every possible worst-case scenario, each finding a new way to scar the bloodied body of a teenager into his vision before he was finally interrupted by a sharp CRACK.
He cleared the room in one step before opening the door to let the soft pink light land on what was left of Sirius Black.
Sirius was about half the man he used to be, in a literal sense. He was somehow even more emaciated than Remus had last seen him. His ribs and collarbone showed so prominently out of the top of his hanging prison robes, Remus had the feeling you could have crushed him as easily as a cat might a baby bird. His long black hair had matted at the base of his neck, and his hollowed cheeks gave way to once brilliant blue eyes that had wilted their way to a cold steel grey. He smelled of decay and when he opened his mouth to speak, he was careful to try and cover the rows of rotting teeth.
“Voldemort had returned,” Sirius said hoarsely.
“You’re sure?” asked Remus, smacked brutally with shock.
“And Harry?” pressed Remus.
“Alive. Safe, for now. But another boy is dead – murdered.”
They stared at each other from opposite sides of the doorway. Summer air that might have otherwise been sweet felt heavy with the realization that the worst of their lives was to begin again. Breaking first, Remus stepped sideways to let Sirius in, locking the door behind him. Remus struggled to figure out what questions he was supposed to ask and in what order.
He turned back to Sirius, who stood right where the almost living room met the barely-there kitchen. His expression was unreadable, and his arms were brought in tight, as though he were afraid to accidentally make contact with his surroundings.
“What happened? Voldemort wasn’t at Hogwarts, was he? What did Dumbledore say? His patronus said he was sending instructions; do you know what they are?” Remus rattled off at him.
Sirius' expression remained the same as he looked at Remus and then toward the floor.
“Remus,” he said, gaze still pointed down, “Could I – can I… take a shower?”
“What? But what about Voldemort? Surely there are more pressing matters?”
“It’s just… been a minute. And there’s nothing left to be done tonight.” Sirius looked up as he said this, and it was clear that that previously unreadable expression was a deep, shameful embarrassment.
“Oh,” said Remus, “I mean, of course. Right. I’m sorry, of course.”
“Thanks, I – ”
“No-I-yes-right-sorry,” stammered Remus, “I’ll get you a towel and a change of clothes just, yeah, put the kettle on. Just through there” he finished his sentence by gesturing to the small bedroom door through which the small ensuite bathroom was visible and then walking toward it to pull a set of pajamas from his dresser along with his singular spare towel and dropped them both on the bed.
Sirius haunted doorway, still looking as if he couldn’t bear the thought of getting too close to anything.
“Thank you,” he said quietly before adding, “You should know that I can’t–can’t be in small spaces anymore, not since–so can I-I’m going to leave the door open, if that’s okay.”
“That’s perfectly fine,” said Remus, trying his best to sound as if this was totally normal conversation with zero pity. “Right, I’ll be just out here when you’re done.”
The two traded places, and Remus heard the water turn on just as he set the kettle on the stove.
This was all so fucking strange. He felt useless for bombarding Sirius with questions like that -- he of all people knew just how demeaning it is to have to ask other people for one’s dignity, what destitution does to you. And yet, this was all a bit cavalier, facing the return of the most dangerous wizard who’s ever lived returning and Remus knowing nothing about it.
He continued on making the tea and was anxious and agitated. By the time Sirius had emerged from the bedroom, it had already gone cold.
“You’re out of hot water,” said Sirius, “and shampoo.” He looked significantly calmer, not to mention cleaner, as he padded out to sit opposite Remus at the small two-seater table that took up most of the kitchen’s floor space. He dressed in the pajamas Remus had left out for him and had taken a fading Puddlemeer United jumper from the dresser himself.
“Both gone to a worthy cause, I suppose,” said Remus, who sipped at his cold tea. “Feel better?”
“You have no idea,” said Sirius, who grimaced at his cold tea before pulling a wand from his waistband and giving the cup a tap to heat it back up.
“That is most certainly true. How’d you manage to get a wand?”
“Dogs love sticks,” shrugged Sirius, clasping his hands around his mug and bringing it to his chest as if he’s just come inside on a winter’s day. “Can’t seem to stay warm without the fur anymore.”
“I can get you a blanket, if you’d like,” offered Remus.
Sirius waved away the suggestion before draining the rest of his tea.
“Although speaking of fur, there is one thing I could really use.”
“It’s a bit late for fetch.”
“I need you to give me a haircut,” said Sirius, the embarrassment briefly returning to his eyes.
“I can do that,” said Remus, “I can’t guarantee you’ll look better, but you probably won’t look worse.”
“I just need you to cut the mats out.”
“Of course.”
Sirius looked at him expectantly.
“Oh, now?”
“Yeah, if you could. Sorry, I know it’s late but—”
“No, don’t be.”
Remus stood from the table and sifted through the only two working drawers in the kitchen before finding a dull pair of scissors.
“I could get most of the top untangled, but the bottom is truly fucked,” explained Sirius as, Remus approached him from behind.
“Well, like I said, it probably won’t look worse.”
Remus placed a hand on Sirius’s shoulder and felt him jump. A gesture that would have meant nothing years ago was now an ocean to cross.
“Sorry,” said Sirius quickly.
“Don’t be,” said Remus, drawing his hand back slightly, “I’m going to touch your head now, is that alright?”
“Yes,” breathed Sirius as he braced for impact. Remus thought better of just immediately going in with the shears and leaned over Sirius to set them on the table where Sirius could see them.
Slowly, he brought his hands to Sirius’s temples and began to run his fingers through his hair. His once thick, shining black mane had muted and thinned with age and starvation. While he had always worn in long in their youth, it was now passed his shoulders and looked incredibly un-Sirius. He had been accurate in his report; the top portion of his towel-dried head was fairly easy to comb through, but the base was a knotted, matted mess that Remus would have to cut free.
Remus continued running his fingers through the parts that he could. It took a few minutes, but slowly, Sirius began to relax into his touch. It seemed overwhelming for him, and Remus could understand why.
While he could bury the loneliness in strangers, in women who thought he might stick around and in men who hoped he wouldn’t, he could say with certainty that Sirius hadn’t been touched with care in over a decade.
“Ready?” Remus asked after a few more minutes.
“You’re not going to give me your haircut, are you?”
“I only know how to do the one. But I’ll leave it as long as I can.”
“Thank you.’
Remus reached back over Sirius and grabbed the scissors from the table, gave him a moment to back out, and then began to cut. As he did, he spoke.
“Can you tell me what happened tonight, Sirius?”
“I can tell you what I can – to be honest, when Harry got back, well, he wasn’t really in any fit state to tell us.”
“Back from where?”
“Did Dumbledore tell you that the final task was a maze?”
“Yes, put your head down for me for a moment.”
Sirius did as he was told before continuing. “The Tri-Wizard cup was turned into a portkey and hidden at the center of the maze. When Harry grabbed it, him and the other boy were taken to a cemetery. Voldemort was waiting for him – and Peter.”
“Peter was there?” Remus interrupted. He had done everything to convince himself that Peter was merely on the run – that he wasn’t really going to return to Voldemort. And yet, he hadn’t really ever believed it.
“Yes, can’t wait to finally kill that slimy bastard for real. They did something, a spell or something, and Voldemort was returned to his body. And he killed the other kid, Cedric, right in front of Harry. Far as I know, Harry just grabbed the portkey and the body and just barely made it out. And Moody—”
“Cedric Diggory was the other boy who was killed?” Remus heard his own voice crack as he pictured the boy who refused to sit any further from the front row in all his lessons. To breathe in that moment felt as though a fist were around his throat, squeezing.
He let his arms fall to his side and had to catch the scissors before they slipped from his hands. Sirius turned to face him.
“I’m sorry, Remus, I forgot he was your student,” said Sirius.
‘Yeah, he was,” whispered Remus.
“But Remus –”
“What?”
“The Death Eater who planted the cup was Barty Crouch Jr – he kidnapped Moody. Been impersonating him all year.”
Remus didn’t even know where to start with that one. He settled on:
“You mean the very dead Barty Crouch Jr.”
“The very same, except very alive. Or I guess less so now.”
“He was killed?”
“Captured and then immediately sent to honeymoon with the dementors.”
“He was kissed?”
“Yes, courtesy of Fudge. No recorded confession, no trial, and absolutely no evidence against Voldemort. Dumbledore is furious.”
Remus just continued to look down at Sirius.
“What do we do?”
“Nothing,” said Sirius, who turned forward in his seat again, “Nothing we can do except wait for Dumbledore and worry about Harry.”
“He’s safe, though, you said he was safe, right?”
“Yeah, but – you should have seen him, Remus. He can’t unsee what he saw tonight, Cedric dying. Nothing can take that back.”
“Suppose he’s one of us now.”
“Probably always has been,” sighed Sirius. “So, do I have any hair left?”
“Yes, but I’m only about halfway through,” said Remus as he raised his scissors again and began work on a particularly difficult mat.
They continued on in silence. Remus wanted to ask more questions, but it didn’t seem as though Sirius felt particularly excited to answer them. Remus even felt the need to breathe quieter with someone else now occupying his space. He brushed the hair that had fallen on Sirius’s shoulders to the floor and gestured for him to turn his chair around. As he cleaned up the hair around his face, Sirius began to look less like the wild animal he has seen in his wanted posters and more like very tired man he was.
“I think that just about does it,” Remus said, bending forward slightly to snip away one last mat before his eyes connected with Sirius’s. With the exception of the adrenaline-fueled hug they shared the summer previous, it was the closest they had been in thirteen years. He felt as if he was meant to do something about that. He didn’t.
Instead, he watched as Sirius pulled back and gave a small, closed-mouth smile in thanks.
“I can fix your teeth too,” Remus added as he settled back into the chair opposite Sirius, pulling his wand from his pocket and vanishing the hair that had collected on the kitchen floor.
“Can you?”
“Yes. I mean, I think so. I’ve had to regrow a few of mine after the moon before, and I think the theory is the same.”
“Do you know what you could get for a werewolf’s fang on the black market?”
“To the knut.”
“That’s bleak.”
“Yeah, it is. Would you like me to try to fix them?”
“Alright then, give it a go.”
“Open up.”
Tentatively, Sirius dropped his jaw and leaned toward Remus. Even in the low light, it was clear the decay was profound, with teeth chipping and crumbling at the ends.
“Here, lean closer,” said Remus, placing a hand under Sirius’s chin. He brought his wand to just barely brush Sirius’s left canine tooth, turned it in his hand like a key, and muttered “denovaro.”
The tooth glowed a brilliant white before cooling down to reveal itself to be perfectly healthy.
Sirius tongued at the tooth repeatedly before saying, “Oh, thank God.”
“I know, I really wasn’t sure if that would work.”
“Seriously?”
“I honestly just figured it couldn’t get worse – here, let me do the rest.”
It was slow work to get through all of his teeth, many of which needed to be repaired multiple times. By the time Remus had finished, his elbows ached from leaning on the table, and his eyes were blurry from the flashes of magic.
Sirius, on the other hand, looked delighted, relieved beyond relief by his new smile.
“Moony, you’re brilliant,” he said, clicking his teeth together, “Thank you, honestly, thank you.”
“We’ll don’t thank me yet, let’s see how the magic holds in the morning,” said Remus, eyeing the clock on the stove for the first time since Sirius arrived. “Or, well, sometime later today I suppose. It’s nearly half three. Ready for bed?”
“Yeah,” said Sirius with hesitancy, “yeah, it’s just that I don’t do too well at night.”
“We can leave the light on,” Remus offered.
“No, that’s fine, you go get some rest.”
“I don’t think it’s a reach to say I’m not the one who needs it.”
“I – alright.”
They stood from the table and shuffled to the bedroom. Exhaustion forwent any negotiation of awkwardness as Sirius sat on Remus’s bed without pretense. Before he could close the door behind him, he was cut off by an abrupt:
“STOP!” Shouted Sirius who looked shocked that he had even said it. “Sorry,” he said, quieter, “Sorry. Could you leave the door open? Please.”
“Yeah, of course,” said Remus, desperately hoping he conveyed normalcy, “Light on, too?”
“I think you can turn this one off if you keep the one in the other room on.”
“Then we’ll do that.”
Remus reached for the top button on his shirt before pausing. This was not the body Sirius knew. Most days, it was one he barely recognized. But, as long as they were being vulnerable… he continued button by button before shedding his shirt on the floor, and letting his trousers find the same. He didn’t bother with pajamas but made the mental note to do laundry in the morning if they were to be sharing clothes.
“Budge up, will you,” he said as he crawled passed Sirius on the too-small bed and collapsed, lying face up and the weight of the day collapsed on top of him. Bone tired, as it were. He took a deep breath before turning to catch eyes with Sirius, who was staring at him.
“You’ve got a lot more scars than I remember,” Sirius said, unabashedly raking his eyes over Remus’s torso.
“I don’t think I need to be the one to tell you that life is hard, Sirius.”
“And nor I you. Night, Remus.”
Sirius lay down beside him and curled in on himself, eyes toward the door.
“Good night.”
As soon as the words left his mouth, he could feel sleep dragging him under. The night was fitful, and hot, and marred by the nightmare faces of death eaters and dead teenagers. When he finally managed to pull himself out of his self-contained hell, he discovered he was alone.
Weak morning sun had just begun to pour through the room’s one small window, and from his position on the bed, he could tell that Sirius wasn’t in the other room either. Still weighed down by sleep, Remus pushed himself up and pulled on the clothes still waiting for him on the floor.
“Sirius?” he called, entering the living room with its pink lamp glow now replaced by orange sunrise. The back door, just off the kitchen, sat ajar, ushering in bird song.
As he stepped into the small, overgrown garden behind the cottage, he found exactly what he thought he might: Padfoot, dozing in the grass.
His footsteps stirred the great black dog from sleep. Padfoot perked his head up to look at Remus before dropping it in a very human act of shame. Remus lowered to the grass and sat, tilting his head up toward the light, trying to feel what Sirius felt.
“Okay,” he said, patting the dog on its head. “No small spaces.”