Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

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Commissioned Artwork by CharlieJacobs. Please do not edit, repost, or use without permission.

I do give permission for this to be used in bound copies of Break the Chain, so long as the bind is for personal or gifting purposes only.

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𝙷𝚎𝚛𝚖𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚎

.·:·.☆☾☼☽☆.·:·.

𝟹𝟷𝚜𝚝 𝙾𝚌𝚝𝚘𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝟸𝟶𝟶𝟹

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Traipsing through Whitehall was like trying navigate some sort of post-apocalyptic wasteland. As they moved, dipping into alleyways and pressing their backs against brick walls every time they heard a noise ring out in the dead of the night, Hermione distracted herself by trying to work out when exactly the ending of the world could be classified as a full-blown apocalypse. 

She wasn’t sure if there were any official criteria or statistical findings on the matter; Perhaps there had to be a certain number of deaths, or all of the little boxes had to be ticked in the right order. 

Hundreds of thousands of lives lost. 

Check. 

The entire electrical grid going dark. 

Check, check. 

Businesses closing. Pillagers in the streets. People killing one another for food and water. 

Check, check, check. 

Five years, five months, and two days ago, Harry James Potter had defeated Lord Voldemort and saved the world. 

Hermione wasn’t sure when she’d started counting. Perhaps it had been a byproduct of life after the war. A day since the battle. Then a week. Then a month. Perhaps some desperate switch in her brain had been flipped, and she’d defaulted to numbers because numbers were the only thing that still made sense. 

It was all the same, in the end. She could chart the days, the hours, but it wouldn’t change a thing.

She knew that. She just couldn’t stop. 

Five years, five months, and two days ago, Harry James Potter had defeated Lord Voldemort and saved the world. 

Three years, five months, and two days ago, a series of magical bombs were set off on the main street of every major wizarding district across Europe.  

Once upon a time, Harry was the boy who lived. And then he did it all over again. 

Two hundred and Ninety-Three days ago, Harry died in her arms.

It had been forty-seven minutes since Callum nursed, which meant she had at least an hour and thirteen minutes until he woke up, so long as the cushioning and silencing charms Remus had cast on the wrap she carried him in held up. 

They’d been walking for sixteen minutes, which meant there were four minutes to go. 

The last full moon was twenty-three nights ago. Because of the time of month, Remus’s reflexes were heightened, and his pain levels were low, so he was able to move rather quickly. He squeezed her hand every ten steps, as if he were ensuring she was still there. 

It had taken Severus five days to show symptoms after he accidentally infected himself with the pathogen. It had taken nine days after that for him to take his last breath. 

Five hours ago, they had exited the tunnels to sneak off to the woods and give him the closest thing to a proper burial that they could. Padma had refused to come, which Hermione had anticipated. 

Three hours and thirty minutes ago, Remus had informed her it was time to follow through with his plan. Two hours and fifty-eight minutes ago, they’d stopped arguing about the aforementioned plan when she finally relented. 

One hour ago, as she’d been nursing Callum while Remus fed her from the few rations they’d managed to find while they were on the surface, she’d felt hope begin to unfurl inside of her stomach. 

It could work. 

It would work. 

Honestly, it had to work because they were properly fucked if they failed. 

When Bellatrix Lestrange resurfaced on the second anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts, nobody knew how to manage the third war that had been suddenly thrown into their laps. The world was still weak, still recovering after the last war—and, in truth, most failed to see her as the threat that she was. 

Voldemort had been short-sighted at times; blind in his quest for power. But Bellatrix was power, layered in contingencies and failsafes. The fact that she had Horcruxes was a given, since dozens had seen her fall at the end of Molly Weasley’s wand, but she didn’t rely on a handful of pureblooded sycophants to do her bidding. 

Bellatrix had plans, and the money and intelligence—as buried beneath her madness as it may have been—to back them up. The attacks on Diagon Alley, Hogsmeade, and the other villages and thoroughfares were just the beginning. 

By the end of the year 2000, the first attack on the Muggle world came in the form of mass bombings at Trafalgar Square on Christmas Eve. 

The attacks on both worlds continued through the following year until the lines between the Muggle and magical worlds blurred. The Minister for Magic worked tirelessly with the Muggle Prime Minister, but by November of 2001, most of the people who had survived were forced underground—quite literally, in Hermione’s case. 

Before the world went belly-up all over again, Hermione and Padma Patil had both been studying for their masteries—Hermione, as a student teacher for Remus Lupin, and Padma in the same role for Severus Snape.

When the school closed its doors to students after the Trafalgar Square attack, the four of them were amongst the ten who stayed behind to guard the castle. After Hogwarts was breached, they were the only survivors. 

Once the students were sent home, Hermione and Remus had begun working alongside Severus and Padma in their nearly non-stop brewing of healing potions and emergency elixirs, so after the breach, the four moved into a bunker in Slough that Severus’s Muggle grandfather had built in the 1940s. 

It wasn’t pretty, nor was it an ideal arrangement, but they got by and eventually formed a strange sort of patchwork family, complete with bickering and bonding. 

The four still went above the surface to fight when needed, but spent long periods of time holed up in the brewing room in the bunker. The days crawled by, and they killed the time with a stack of old records Padma found during a mission in Stockton and far too much booze, because most never thought to pillage the Muggle pubs and liquor stores. 

Hermione had been living in the bunker for three months before it happened, one cold February night. She and Remus had been up long after Padma and Severus had both excused themselves to go get some rest, exactly five minutes apart because they were still trying—and failing—to hide their relationship in its early stages.

Severus had left an old Eagles record playing, Remus poured them each another drink, and a heated debate about the efficacy of peppermint oil when over-brewed led to a sloppy kiss, another heated debate, and Remus grabbing her by the arse and carrying her off to bed. 

They didn’t talk about it for a while, but by April, they’d both stopped pretending. By June, he’d sank his teeth into her neck and claimed her as his mate. In July, the four inhabitants of the bunker passed around a bottle of tequila and cast some vows. 

Remus did the honours of the binding for Padma and Severus. Severus cast the rite for Hermione and Remus. 

It was all far faster than it would have been if the world had remained good, and neither couple likely would have even come together if they hadn’t been forced to live their days buried beneath the earth, but it didn’t matter. 

They were sloppy and frantic, terrified for their lives, and disgustingly in love. 

And then, on the Seventh of October 2002, the first act of chemical warfare rippled across the continent. 

Three weeks later, Hermione found out she was pregnant. 

Harry, the last of the friends she knew to be alive, died in her arms in January of 2003. Severus and Remus had gone out to meet Harry and Kingsley to exchange potions and intel when a group of Muggle pillagers attacked them.

She held Harry for hours while they worked tirelessly to heal him from a gunshot wound to the abdomen, but the damage had been too vast for even magic to fix.

Things shifted after that. 

They were running out of food, preparing for a baby they couldn’t even take care of, and had lost contact with nearly everyone they knew—whether they were all dead or in deep hiding was anyone’s guess. 

When the water supplies all across Europe were infected with a magi-chemical pathogen that attacked the immune system of anyone with Muggle blood, Hermione had all but given up.

The pregnancy was hard on her body without the proper food and care, but they had all tried their best. Severus brewed her prenatal potions, Padma pilfered knitting supplies from an abandoned house nearby to make a baby blanket, and Remus had been nothing short of incredible, even with all the doubt and fear she knew he carried. 

When Callum Orion Lupin was born on the 27th of June, 2003, they’d had an entire, perfect week of blissful peace. Until Seamus Finnegan came crashing into the bunker, nearly dead, clutching a sample of the pathogen, and things exploded from there. 

Remus and Severus stopped allowing Hermione and Padma into the brewing room. Having long since lost the need to brew healing potions in bulk, they shifted their efforts to trying to find a cure for the pathogen. Both men became nearly maniacal about cross-contamination, to the point that they brewed only in their pants and then burned them afterwards. 

They thought they were being as safe as possible until two weeks before Halloween. Severus had been sitting at the little dining table, casually discussing Callum’s teething pain with Hermione, when he coughed. 

It was just a fucking cough. 

It barely registered at all until he pulled his hand away from his mouth, and she saw the blood coating his palm. 

He went so fast after that. Too damn fast, and it wasn’t fair, but there was nothing they could do but watch him fade away. 

Hermione saw the change in Remus almost instantly. He became frantic, losing sleep, constantly scribbling away on spare bits of parchment and muttering to himself as he paced the floor. 

Two days before Severus passed, he told her of his plan. She’d argued with him, lost her mind about the dangers of time magic and how short-sighted he was being, until Padma stepped into the doorway, cradling Callum in her arms as she asked the question that tipped Hermione over the edge. 

What other choice do we have if we want Callum to live?

And so, here they were, still covered in dirt from burying Severus as they moved through the desolate city with the baby strapped to Hermione’s chest beneath one of Remus’s oversized zip-up jumpers. 

A noise sounded off to the right, and Remus held his arm out to signal for her to stop. He looked back at her and jerked his head to the right, so she dipped into the alley. Pressing her back to the wall, she held her breath until he turned and waved her forward. 

“Is he still sleeping?” Remus placed his hand on Callum’s back and bent down to press his nose to the baby’s head to give him a sniff.

“I think we’ve still got time, he’s been fairly steady with his naptimes lately,” she replied. Remus nodded in response, looking back over his shoulder, and then met her eyes again.

Something flashed over his face that she couldn’t name, and she worried her bottom lip between her teeth. She had always prided herself on her ability to read him, so something about the way he seemed to be working even harder than usual to school his features unnerved her. 

Before she could overthink it, he pressed his lips to hers in a quick peck, then sniffed her shoulder. Taking a step back, he took off his jacket and held it out to her. 

“You’ll be cold,” Hermione protested. 

“The full is next week,” Remus responded. 

Shit. That was right. 

The days all sort of bled together for her lately. Somewhere along the way, she’d stopped counting the passage of time and started counting everything else. Thankfully, Remus had a built-in calendar due to the changes his body cycled through each month, so at least one of them could keep track of the days. 

“In that case, why are you even wearing a jacket?” she asked in a hushed tone. Remus stepped forward to help her into the jacket, then pulled back and carefully tugged the fabric away from her chest to zip it around the Callum-shaped lump beneath her jumper. 

“I thought it might help to bring it.” He bent down again, placing a kiss atop Callum’s curls where his head rested against her collarbone, then reached for her hand. “We’ve only got a few blocks left, let’s go.” 

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A dazzling, sparkling light danced along the ceiling of the time room, casting iridescent beams all over the floor as Hermione softly swayed, humming quietly to keep Callum from fussing. 

Remus stood in front of a large bookshelf, methodically adjusting the arms of several different clocks. He seemed to be working in a pattern of sorts—third clock from the left, back five minutes. One down, one over, forward an hour. 

He moved with a quiet determination. Sure of himself. 

Remus had always exuded a nervous energy, worried and uncomfortable in nearly everything he did. But when his mind was at work, all of his anxiety seemed to melt away. His brain was one of the few things he was confident in, to the point that he often became obsessive. 

It was a trait they shared—their implacability when it came to matters of intelligence. 

After she’d calmed down over his suggestion and heard him out, his plan made sense. She should have known it would; he never would have suggested such a thing if he hadn’t been sure that the likelihood of them succeeding was high enough to take the risk. 

Especially with Callum in tow. 

Still, it all seemed so fantastical, so unbelievable, but he had an answer ready for every question and protest she presented. 

She had, of course, wondered why he’d chosen the time he did, but he explained it all with ease. Per the Laws of Time Magic, they could not directly move through the timeline with the intent of stopping death. 

If they went back to the seventies, it would be impossible to do so without the intent to save James and Lily, and the same could be said for if they went back to the time after the second war. 

While they could acknowledge that their actions back in time would eventually change the world, if they were to move with the direct intent of preventing specific deaths, Magic would collect her price, as she often did. 

They’d gone over the options dozens of times, but he always came back to the same year, and so, Hermione took a leap of faith. Remus certainly knew the eighties better than she did.

He continued to wind up all the clocks, the countless hours he’d spent over the years learning about time magic lending him a steady competence that—well, honestly, it was rather hot, though that was par for the course, because he was always rather hot.

After he’d set the twentieth clock, he turned to face her. He didn’t speak, just scanned her face rapidly before he pressed his lips together in a thin line and gave a single nod. 

The light danced across his face, and Hermione stopped swaying as she tilted her head and narrowed her eyes.

“You look so tired,” she said quietly. She wasn’t sure how she hadn’t noticed it before, though in all fairness, neither of them looked their best these days. Two years spent in a bunker was, as luck would have it, absolutely terrible for the complexion.

Still, he looked worse for wear. His skin was pale, as were his lips. His eyes looked utterly exhausted, the little lines at the corners even more pronounced than usual. Overall, it was as if he hadn’t slept in days. 

Had he slept the last few nights? 

She supposed she hadn’t put much thought into the matter. He nearly always stayed up later than her. Either she fell asleep before he did when they’d lie together after making love, or he’d be up writing or reading, playing music softly while she went to bed, or he’d be holding her while she nursed Callum and would stay awake to move the baby after she drifted off. 

He was always in bed when she woke up, so she just assumed he went to sleep shortly after her, but perhaps she’d been mistaken? Of course, with Severus sick, the last few weeks had all blended together even worse than time usually did, so there really was no telling. 

“I am,” he confessed. “But I’ll get some rest soon, cariad.” 

He stepped forward and bent his forefinger, pressing it to the underside of her chin to tilt her head back. Hermione smiled as he pressed his lips to hers, sighing happily into his mouth. 

“I don’t think I’ve told you enough how important you are to me,” Remus whispered, moving his hand to cup her face as he broke the kiss. He placed his free hand on Callum’s back, smiling when the baby let out a sleepy little huff. 

“You tell me plenty,” she protested playfully. “But I do love it when you remind me.” 

“You are. Important. Vital. The love of my fucking life, Hermione. And I wouldn’t have made it this far without you. I would have given up years ago. I think I spent most of my life just waiting for a good enough excuse to give up entirely.” 

“And then I had to swoop in and ruin your plans.” 

“Aye.” He laughed, running a hand over Callum’s downy curls as he continued, “I’ll never know how I got so lucky to have you. I’ll never be able to thank you enough for giving me our boy. But I think…I think in the end, this is the closest I can get to giving you the world you deserve.” 

“You don’t need to thank me for loving you, Remus,” she told him. “I’ve told you before, and I’ll tell you again, even if the world falls to pieces, there’s still nowhere I’d rather be than by your side.” 

“My little hopeless romantic.” Remus shook his head, smiling at her, and she shrugged in response as she looked down at Callum. 

“Nah. Just practical. I think your baby looks good on me, Mr Lupin. Why on earth would I want to have missed this?” 

“My baby looks perfect on you, Mrs Lupin.” Gold flashed through his eyes briefly, and he crashed his mouth back to hers. He kissed her harder than he had before, his hand protectively cradling Callum’s head between them, then broke away to plant a soft kiss on the baby’s cheek before he stood back to his full height and looked over his shoulder toward the bookshelf. 

“This is going to work.” He spoke as if he were reassuring himself more than her, but Hermione responded all the same. 

“It’s going to be brilliant, Remus. We’re going to go back, just the three of us, and we’re going to have a better life there,” she said confidently. 

“Yeah.” He cleared his throat, glancing over his shoulder again, then looked back at her with a nod. He smiled, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes as he echoed, “Just the three of us, cariad.”

Hermione smiled back, forcing herself not to overthink his pause. 

He was tired. 

This was a lot of work. 

It was just his nerves. 

We’ll be fine. 

Remus took a step away and turned back to the bookshelf, swivelling his head before he reached out and tweaked the hand on a clock in the centre of the third shelf. 

“I only hope that, once this is done, you can—” 

A booming sound rang out, some sort of heavy thump, thump, thump loud enough to startle Callum awake. He let out a shrill cry, and Hermione pressed her hand to his cheek as she began to bounce, trying to soothe him whilst Remus cocked his head to listen. 

He waited a beat, then two, his hands curling into fists at his sides before he whipped around and grabbed her by the shoulders. 

“I’m so fucking sorry. I’m so sorry. I wanted more time to explain,” he rushed out, turning her so her back was against the bookshelf. 

“Time to explain? Remus, what's—” 

The door to Hermione’s left shook as something slammed against it, and she gasped, clutching Callum tighter. 

“Auror Department. Open the door.” 

“Remus,” Hermione repeated, tears stinging her eyes as fear surged through her. The Aurors. A mockery, Hermione thought, for Lestrange's henchmen to masquerade under the name of those who once protected their world. 

They were relentless and cruel. They would kill them on sight, or worse, and they were going to break down the door any second. 

No. 

This couldn't be happening; they'd been so close.

“I love you.” He slanted his lips over hers again, so briefly she barely felt the contact, then pressed his nose to Callum’s head before he jerked away and shoved a hand in his pocket. 

“424 Laurel. 2b. Brixton.” 

“What? I don’t—” 

A crashing sound—as if someone had fired a spell against the door—reverberated through the room, and Callum screeched again. Remus pulled a small scrap of parchment out of his pocket and thrust it into her hand, squeezing her fingers before he guided her hand to the baby. 

“Hold his head,” he ordered with a low growl. Hermione complied in an instant, opening her mouth to ask what was wrong, but Remus interrupted her as he reached over her head, fidgeting with one of the clocks again.

“I love you. I love you more than life. There is no world in which I don't love you, and I swear to the fucking gods if there was any other way—” he shook his head and looked back down into her eyes. 

“424 Laurel. 2b. Brixton. It's on the note. Say it.” 

“Remus, what the fuck is—” 

“Hermione, say it.”  

“424 Laurel. 2b. Brixton. What’s going on?” 

The door rattled again. 

Remus gave her a sad smile, placing a hand on her cheek as the other continued twisting something on the bookshelf. 

“I love you,” he sighed mournfully, trailing a knuckle down Callum’s cheek. “I love you both, cariad. There is no version of me who won’t love you. Tell me you know that.” 

“Of course I know that,” Hermione huffed. She shifted Callum against her chest. “I love you, too, Remus. Now what the bloody hell is—” 

The door broke. A beam of red light shot across the room, narrowly missing Hermione’s shoulder. 

Callum howled—or, what they called his baby howl, a soft little awooo sort of sound. 

Remus growled, deep and guttural as he pressed a hand to her shoulder and nodded down to the baby. 

“Protect his head. Keep him safe. I’m so sorry.” 

A brilliant, devastating shade of green ricocheted through the room just as all the ticking of the clocks screeched to a halt. Hermione stood suspended in utter silence, and then she was falling, tumbling backwards as the room warped and dimmed around her. 

She clung to Callum as her body turned over on itself, spinning through some sort of vortex. Streaks of light in every colour flew past her. Every time she thought she’d found her footing, the ground seemed to give way beneath her. 

And then it stopped. 

The world stilled as she landed, hard, flat on her arse with both arms wrapped around a now-silent Callum. 

No. 

No, no, no, please, she thought, hurriedly unzipping the jacket to shift him in her arms as she looked down at his face. Her vision was blurry, and she had to blink rapidly to clear it, but once she could see again, she breathed a sigh of relief. 

He was safe. Breathing. Content, as if whatever chaos they’d just been flung through had soothed him—which, honestly, sounded about right. He’d always been rather chaotic himself. 

“You’re okay,” she whispered, pressing her lips to his forehead. “We’re okay.” 

Callum let out a sleepy mewl, and she glanced around, her eyes going wide. They were in an alleyway, which seemed to open up to an ordinary street. It was late, and dark, and relatively silent, save for a few people walking around. 

Whitehall. 

Not far from the ministry, but things seemed vastly different from the way they’d been a mere hours ago. Everything looked shockingly…normal. 

But the normalcy wasn’t what caused her breath to catch in her throat; it was the scenery around her. 

As Hermione stood and slowly crept to the end of the alleyway, awareness settled over her as if someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over her head.

The signs splayed across the awnings over the shops. The shirt of the man leaning against the window of a pub across the street as he smoked a cigarette. The car idling by the curb nearby. 

It was all older; all reminiscent of her early childhood, when she’d pop off to the shops with her mum or walk to the park with her dad. 

“What the fuck did he do?” she whispered, then winced as she glanced down at Callum, who was looking up at her with wide eyes. Some day, she’d need to break her cursing habit, lest his first word be fuck. 

Today was absolutely not that day. 

Hermione moved deeper into the alley and sat back down. She shoved the parchment she’d been clutching into her pocket and slipped out of Remus’ jacket. Carefully unzipping the jumper, she discarded it as well and began to unwind the wrap she’d used to bind Callum to her chest. 

Pulling her beaded bag out of the pocket of the jumper, she dug around inside until she’d found a pacifier and a fresh nappy. When she checked, Callum didn’t need a change and seemed fairly content, but she popped the dummy in his mouth to be on the safe side and carefully swaddled him in the wrap, then the sweatshirt for good measure. 

It wasn’t dreadfully cold out, but there was enough of a chill that it caused her to fuss over his swaddling for a moment, tucking the arm of the sweatshirt around his face so that it covered his ears. Finally, she pulled the jacket back on and cradled the baby to her chest with one arm as she used the other hand to bring the lapel to her nose. 

Tears welled in her eyes as she drew in Remus’s scent, but she forced down the ball of emotion welling in her throat and climbed to her feet as she walked back toward the street. 

Callum stirred in her arms. Turning his head to press his nose to her collarbone, he drew in an audible sniff, then let out a soft whine.

“We're okay, cubby,” she cooed, patting his back. “Daddy must be sending us somewhere safe. It's all going to be alright.”

Stepping out onto the pavement, she plucked the note from her pocket and stared down at the address he’d scrawled onto the parchment before she sighed and closed her eyes. 

I need a ride. I need a ride. I need a ride.

She wasn’t sure if it would work; she wasn’t even sure how it worked, but she heard the screeching of tyres and smiled triumphantly as she opened her eyes. 

The Knight Bus stood before her in all its rickety glory, and she stepped forward as the doors opened to reveal a plain-looking older man with stringy hair. 

“Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard,” the man called out, giving her a kind smile. “Just stick out your wand hand, step on board, and we can take you anywhere you want to go. My name is Sherman Shunpike, and I will be your conductor this evening. Might I ask your name, miss?” 

“Hermione Lupin,” she responded as she pulled her wand from her pocket and held it out. The man nodded in approval and gestured for her to put it away as he looked down at Callum. 

“And who is this fine little lad or lass you’ve got with you tonight, Ms Lupin?” 

“This is, Callum,” she said, shifting the baby in his arms. “I need to get to Laurel Lane in Brixton. Is that alright?” 

“Quite alright, Miss. Come aboard.” Sherman stepped to the side, holding his arm out for her to pass him. Hermione braced a hand on the railing as she carefully climbed aboard and cast a nervous glance around. 

She’d heard enough about the Knight Bus to know how chaotic it would be, and couldn’t help but ponder the etiquette of asking the shrunken-head of a driver to take it easy, but Sherman seemed to be one step ahead of her. 

“Hey, Ern! We’ve got a wee one aboard, what say you take ‘er easy tonight?” 

“You got it, Sherm!” Ernie called out joyfully before the lever slammed and the bus lurched forward, causing Hermione to stumble. 

“Just have a seat here on one of the beds, miss. Ern’ll go easy on ya. I’ve got a wee lad at home meself, you know,” Sherman told her with a proud grin. “My little Stanley. Just turned nine years old, he did.”

“That’s wonderful.” Hermione forced a smile and sat down, dipping her head to press her nose to the crown of Callum’s head as a wave of exhaustion hit her. 

What the fuck did he do?

☆─────☆☾☼☽☆─────☆

The trip from Whitehall to Brixton took roughly fifteen minutes—which was a welcome surprise. Given what she’d heard of Ernie’s driving, she expected the trip, which normally should have taken around twenty-five minutes, to take less than ten, so maybe he had taken it easy. 

Though it hadn’t felt like it. 

With every lurch and hard braking of the bus, she felt her anger climbing. She’d asked Sherman, in as casual a tone as she could muster, if he had a copy of the Daily Prophet, and he’d produced the printing from that very morning. 

31st October, 1983. 

The Prophet had a full-page spread highlighting the second anniversary of the death of the Potters, complete with speculation about where baby Harry was being hidden away, which caused a whole new surge of anger as her mind flashed to the Dursleys before quickly circling back to Remus. 

He’d sent her back without him. 

He had fucking promised her that they would do this as a family. He said, over and over, ‘I’ll be there. I’ll take care of you both. I will keep you safe. You won’t be alone, I’ll be there.’

But here she was, standing before a rickety set of stairs in a shoddy block of flats across from a pub in Brixton, exhausted and alone, with a now-screaming baby in her arms—because of course, as babies often did, he had to wait until thirty seconds after she’d stepped off the bus to start squalling to be fed. 

It was her fault. She should have paid closer attention to how much time had passed, should have woken him back up to feed him while she had the chance. 

Alas, she’d been slightly preoccupied by the fact that her husband had just flung her and their infant son twenty years back through time without him. 

Without him. 

How was she supposed to rationalise this? How the actual, Godric-loving fuck, was she supposed to do this without him?

Why had he left her?

Most importantly, where was he sending her? 

Remus didn't exactly have a network of support in 1983. It had been a dark time for him, for obvious reasons, and he'd effectively cut himself off from the magical world, save for the letters he and Ted exchanged, and, if memory served her correctly, Moody had started forcing him to meet for a drink once a month by ‘83.

Given the year, the options were limited. There was no way Andromeda and Ted lived in this building. Moody had mentioned once, years ago, that he'd inherited his family brownstone in the seventies. She really couldn’t think of many other people whom he would have even known the whereabouts of in the early eighties. 

He didn't know his Muggle family. Hope had passed away in 1979, and Lyall lived back in Abergavenny, so it wasn't anyone he was related to. 

Could it be Emmeline? Mary? No, neither of those felt right. He and Mary hadn't been very close, and he'd mentioned seeing Emme on occasion when she was ‘in the city’, so she couldn't have lived in the East End.

The answer had to be there. She needed to focus, to think of who she could be forgetting. But Callum screamed again, so she forced the thoughts aside as she began to climb.

Fourteen stairs. She climbed them carefully, one by one, as she forced herself to steady her breathing. 

In through the nose, out through the mouth.

Twenty-one steps down the corridor.

Turning to the left, Hermione stood before a blue door with peeling paint and drew in another breath before she raised her fist and knocked three times.

She waited seven seconds before she raised her fist to knock again, just as the door swung open to reveal—

“Oh, you have got to be fucking kidding me.”

☆─────☆☾☼☽☆─────☆

Chapter Text

𝚁𝚎𝚖𝚞𝚜

.·:·.☆☾☼☽☆.·:·.

𝟹𝟷𝚜𝚝 𝙾𝚌𝚝𝚘𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝟷𝟿𝟾𝟹

☽───☆☼☆───☾

Today had been an exceptionally bad day. 

It was hard to classify any day as particularly harder than any other when life seemed determined to be nothing more than a never-ending torrent of bad shit and really bad shit, all piling on top of one another with no reprieve. 

But if a bad day could be plucked out from the shitstorm of a bad life and set apart, today would have absolutely been classified as an exceptionally bad day. 

After work, Remus had settled in for his normal nightly routine. The steps were easy enough: Shower. Drink his dinner. Attempt to read. Devolve into a spiral of self-pity or self-loathing, depending on which emotion won out that night. Pass out on the couch. 

Tonight, that last bit refused to fall in line with the rest, so he’d settled for throwing on a record and climbing onto the sofa beneath the shitty window in the shitty sitting room of his shitty flat to chainsmoke and spend a little extra time ruminating over step four. 

Both the pity and the loathing were out in full force tonight, circling one another and enmeshing themselves until Remus couldn’t find where feeling sorry for himself ended and hating himself began. 

It wasn’t that he only ever did one or both of those things. They were just the default setting, wired into his brain years before everything he’d thought he’d hold on to forever slipped out of his hands. 

Call it the Lyall Lupin effect. 

His dad had tried, and Remus knew that. His four-year-old son turning into a werewolf had, apparently, been the wake-up call Lyall needed to broaden his perspective and be a little more open-minded about that particular classification of creatures. His mum, rest her soul, had never done well with handling the magical world, so she fumbled just as much as his dad did.

Still, they tried for him. They uprooted their lives every time the neighbours started to get suspicious, and chained him up not only for the safety of others, but for himself as well. His mother tended to his wounds on the mornings after the full moon, and his father left the ministry to take a job as a research assistant at the largest wizarding library in Europe, in order to have better access to materials that would help them learn what Remus needed. 

Remus would never forget how encouraging they’d been when Dumbledore showed up to tell them all there would be a way for him to attend school. 

But for all of their trying, some prejudices still ran bone-deep, and there was nothing that could be done about that. When your father only ever looks at you with a mixture of fear and guilt, it tends to twist the way you perceive yourself, and Remus’s self-perception was at an all-time low tonight. 

Because tonight was Halloween. 

The second he’d spent alone. 

Lily and James were in the fucking ground, and so was Peter. Sirius was—gods, he couldn’t even process that part. Sirius, rotting in a fucking cell. The guilt threatened to drag him under every time he thought about it. 

He should have been there, but instead, he had taken off like a coward. Tucked his tail between his legs and begged Dumbledore for the mission so he could get as far from London as possible, and somehow, in the month and a half that he was gone, his entire life crumbled. 

The guilt was the worst of it. Sirius had always been impulsive. He was quick to overreact, to blow the world around him up, and Remus knew, he fucking knew he would do something stupid as soon as he left. But he couldn’t have anticipated that something stupid would be to—

|| Remind me how this helps again? ||

Remus tensed at the voice in his head, rolling his shoulders as he took another drag of his cigarette. He turned his attention to the window, trying to ignore Moony’s incessant bitching as he circled back to the thought. 

It had been two years, and he still couldn’t wrap his mind around how everything had gone so wrong. James, Lily, and Peter were all dead; Sirius was in prison, which was nothing short of what he deserved. But every once in a while, on nights like this, he couldn’t help the pang of sorrow he felt. 

Sirius was a social creature. He’d never done well on his own, and now he had nothing but himself and a handful of dementors to busy his days. It was hard to sort out the juxtaposition of his feelings; to know that Sirius deserved his fate, but to feel sad that it happened all the same. 

It wasn’t that he felt bad for Sirius. He had made his choice and couldn’t be undone. But just as no amount of research and love for his son had erased the fear in his father’s eyes, no amount of understanding that Sirius had ruined their lives could undo the years of love that had built between them. 

Years that Remus had never thought would end so soon. 

Not just with Sirius, but with all of them. They’d been so happy, once. Summers spent running through the forest behind James’ house, pick-up games of Quidditch in the field behind Peter’s. All the hell they raised at school, his quiet nights in the library with Lily. 

Remus had known, even in the good years, that it would end someday; he’d never fancied himself as someone who got to live happily ever after. He just never expected it to be this bad, this lonely. 

Moving on was a concept he still hadn’t quite grasped. He couldn’t stand to walk down Diagon or grab a pint at the Leaky or to go anywhere that held memories of the time before, so he hadn’t dealt with it at all. 

He merely retreated to the Muggle world. He found a room for rent in a shitty neighbourhood, got a shitty job at a shitty pub, and then did it again, over and over. 

Always running, yes. But always fucking trying. It seemed like all he ever did, these days, was try to get through to the next. 

The flat in Brixton was his fifth in two years, but he’d been here for eight months, which was the longest he’d managed thus far. The place was a piece of shit; The plumbing was shoddy, drunks fought in the street below his window after the pubs closed, and the other tenants weren’t exactly the salt of the earth.

But when he couldn’t make rent, Oscar, the old man who owned the building, let him work it off by seeing to the never-ending list of repairs across the sixteen flats in the building, so it was the best arrangement he was going to find. 

Besides, he didn’t need much. He had a bookshelf, a place to sleep, a shower, and a semi-functional kitchen. He’d been working as a security guard at a nearby pub when he’d found the place, and the pay was alright, so he’d managed to piece together the necessities and furnish the place well enough. 

Of course, the pub gig didn’t last long; it never took more than two or three months for him to run out of excuses for his absences or the way his moods and behaviour shifted throughout the month. But then, Sheila happened. 

A Muggle, who fancied herself a Pagan and worshipped the goddess Selene. 

Sheila was a tiny, erratic woman who had to be pushing seventy. She mumbled to herself, argued with the wall, and claimed she was speaking to those spirits, Remus, you know how they can be. But she was kind and had given him a chance. 

And, as if the gods themselves had stepped in, when he’d seen the ‘help wanted’ sign in the window of her shop and stepped inside to ask for an application, Sheila had given him the news of a lifetime. 

“We’re closed for lunar events, or whenever I feel the energy of the day is off, but I only need you three days a week. You can come in any days you want, so long as the work is done.” 

‘The work’, it turned out, included seeing to customers, stocking, and cleaning the countless waterbongs and cheap crystals scattered throughout the combination head shop/metaphysical emporium; but he was going on his third month, and Sheila hadn’t asked a single question about his personal life or said a word about when he came and went. 

When he wasn’t working, he’d occasionally walk around the neighbourhood or pop into one of the nearby pubs for a pint. For the most part, though, Remus spent the majority of his time doing exactly this. 

Sitting on his arse, smoking too many cigarettes, and losing himself in thoughts of the past.

Before everything had fallen apart, he’d shared a flat with Sirius, Peter, and Caradoc Dearborne, a cousin of Pete’s. Cardoc had disappeared right around the time Lily and James had to be put into hiding, and in retrospect, Remus supposed that was when everything got weird. 

Peter was more nervous than ever, Sirius was stressed and erratic, and Remus was splitting apart at the seams over being separated from Lily while she was pregnant. The pack thing was a bitch to contend with; at some point, Moony had claimed his friends as more than that, and knowing that there was a new pack member on the way, but being unable to be there and oversee things, as nonsensical as it may have sounded to the human mind, had him moodier than ever. 

But that new pack member was the one thing that kept him around, even now. Harry was out in the world somewhere, and any time his thoughts turned too dark, Moony reminded him of exactly that. 

It didn’t matter that he couldn’t even see the damn kid. The wolf didn’t adhere to the concept of time as the man did. Sure, the distance from Harry was impossible for both of them, but as far as Moony was concerned, they’d see Prongs’s pup again, so he couldn’t understand why on Earth Remus often thought of not being on Earth at all. 

The mind was a strange place. At the sheer thought of Harry, Remus heard a faint cry from somewhere in the street below. He stiffened, tilting his head to listen, but he couldn’t hear much over Moony’s incessant bullshit. 

|| Pup || 

I can assure you, Moony, I did not manifest a pup by thinking of Harry. 

|| Shut up. Go find the pup || 

“Right. Sure. Let me just rush out into the street and steal some random kid. I’m sure ‘the insane voice in my head is obsessed with babies’ will be a good enough excuse for the police,” Remus said aloud, rolling his eyes. He strained his ears to listen, but only heard the normal bustle of people leaving the pubs or walking through the neighbourhood. 

See? It was probably just a cat. 

|| You’re not listening ||

I generally try to ignore you, have you not gathered that yet? 

|| Stupid, idiot boy || 

“You do know that stupid and idiot basically mean the same thing, correct?” He took another drag of his cigarette and stamped it out in the ashtray as he pulled the window closed. 

|| You do know that I barely tolerate you, correct? ||

“Mutual, Moons.” 

Remus stood from the sofa and stretched his arms over his head. Wrapping one hand around his elbow, he pulled the limb back, groaning softly as his shoulder popped, then repeated the action with the other arm. 

He reached for the mug he’d set down on the side table and walked to the sink to rinse it. His mother’s Muggle-raising had settled somewhere deep inside of him, and he could never rationalise using magic for simple tasks. 

It always felt like a bit of a cop out. Not to be mistaken, Remus respected magic; he was more than glad for its presence in his life. He’d just always felt like it was the lazier option for menial tasks such as putting away a teacup. 

Sirius had always had quite the opposite opinion, as did James. They’d barely put on their own socks or tied their own ties, but Remus had always chalked it up to the pureblood thing. His father was a half-blood, so he used quite a bit of magic, but his mother felt it important to teach him to live a full life without it, so it was never his default. 

Besides, it gave him something to do to fill the time. 

|| It’s time || 

“It’s time to take my arse to bed, yes.” 

|| Not that. Stupid boy. Listen || 

Remus rolled his eyes and strained his ears, searching for whatever had the wolf up in arms, but the only noise out of the ordinary was the door downstairs creaking open. 

He needed to fix those hinges, he reminded himself. But the door opening was hardly Moony-worthy news. One of his neighbours must have just been getting in late. 

“Fine. I’ll bite.” 

||  Is that a werewolf pun? ||

“Shut up. What is it time for?” 

||  Fuck if I know. But it’s time. We need to listen. Just—THERE. PUP ||

Remus startled, dropping the mug into the sink as he heard another sharp, piercing cry. It was closer, now. Still distant, but it was coming from somewhere within the building. 

A strange sensation trickled down his spine, and he began to pace, fisting a hand in his hair. It was nothing. One of his neighbours must have had a baby, or perhaps they had company over. Someone with an infant moved into one of the empty flats on the third floor. 

A child in the building was hardly news. 

Still, this particular noise had him on edge. He could feel his pulse racing as a nervous sort of energy flooded his veins. 

|| Go. Now, boy ||

“Shut the fuck up,” Remus snapped, tugging at his hair again before he dropped his hands. Leaning back against the counter, he gripped the wood behind him and tried to focus, but Moony was in rare form. 

It was almost as if he could physically feel the wolf bashing himself against the bars of his mental cage as he let out a howl so piercing that Remus winced.

“Shut up,” he repeated. “Let me focus.” 

|| You don’t need to focus; you need to fucking listen. It’s for Moony  ||

What’s for you? 

|| It. It’s mine. For Moony ||

So very helpful, thanks. 

He could hear someone climbing the stairs—slowly, carefully, which tracked if they were the one holding the baby, he supposed—but the rest of the building was quiet, save for the sound of Mr. Jennings’ TV across the hall and the low hum of a fan from the next floor up. 

Remus had long since acclimated himself to the constant barrage of noise he faced living in the city. Over time, with his heightened senses, he’d learned to catalogue all the different noises his neighbours made. 

He knew when Madeline and Louis, the couple from down the hall, were arguing. He knew the comings and goings of most who moved through the floors above and below him, but he generally kept the record player and the fan over the stove on to drown out the majority of the noise. 

Neither was helping tonight. 

He could hear every single soft, almost hesitant step the person climbing the staircase made. He could tell that they were small in stature, given the way the wood barely creaked beneath their feet. 

And as they reached the loose step, second to the top, he could hear the baby as if it were screaming directly in his ear. Every piercing cry seemed to wrap around a new vertebra in his spine until his entire back had stiffened. 

Remus had never had any problem with babies. For the most part, the few he’d encountered had seemed like perfectly respectable tiny humans. With Harry, he felt the pull of the pack bond; the need to protect him, the urge to hold him, to sniff his head here and there just to confirm he was safe. 

But this was unlike anything he’d ever felt. 

The interloper stepped off the stairs and into the corridor, and Moony went batshit all over again. 

|| Scent. Don’t you see, boy? It’s time ||

Remus furrowed his brow and drew in a long breath through his nose—he hadn’t realised, to this point, that he had been drawing heaving breaths in and out of his mouth like a maniac. 

|| Scent || 

Scent. It was faint, but it was…something. Multiple scents all rolled into one. Milk, something fresh and powdery, as one would expect from a baby, and something headier. It reminded him of springtime, like lemon and wildflowers, but he could barely focus beyond the scent of himself. 

That was strange. 

He’d gotten rather used to the way he smelled, but it was almost as if it had doubled, even tripled. His head was pounding, and the footsteps grew closer as the baby continued to cry, until whoever had shown up to fuck his head all to hell stopped walking. 

His breath caught in his throat as Moony went completely silent. Before he could process the sudden change, he heard the shuffling of feet, and then—

Knock. Knock. Knock. 

Remus was across the flat before he even realised his feet had begun to move. He paused, dragging a hand through his hair as he blew out a shaky breath. 

|| Open the fucking door, you idiot. I told you it’s time ||

Helpful as always, Moony. 

He sucked in a breath, bracing himself—for what, he wasn’t sure—as he reached for the handle and opened the door. 

A woman stood on the threshold, and he took a single step back as he took in the sight of her. She was short, on the small side, with a wild mane of hair spilling down the front of a leather jacket. Her eyes were a warm, tawny shade of brown, and she had a light smattering of freckles over the bridge of her nose. 

Her eyes.

Remus couldn’t look away from her eyes. It couldn’t have been more than half a second, but he felt like a creep for the way he knew he had to be leering at the poor girl. 

Something ignited in his chest as her eyes locked with his, almost painfully so, but before he could process it, all hell broke loose. 

The baby let out a final, sharp cry, then went completely silent. 

Moony howled. 

The girl—a witch, he could feel the magic radiating off of her, which was an oddity he didn’t have time to overanalyse—let out an irritated huff and rolled her eyes. 

“Oh, you have got to be fucking kidding me.” She rolled her eyes and delivered a sharp, humourless laugh. 

“Wh—”

|| I told you, I FUCKING TOLD YOU IT’S TIME || 

Shut the fuck up. 

|| You never listen. It’s mine. Mine is here ||

“Remus John Lupin, you bastard!” she hissed, her voice high and shrill.

“I—what?” Remus blinked rapidly, taking another step back as she scolded him by name. He scanned her face again, trying to place her, but for all he could tell, he’d never seen her in his life.

Certainly, he would have remembered someone who looked so…like that.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, do I know you?” he asked, trying to force his voice to sound as if he wasn’t losing his bloody mind, but it fell flat somewhere around the third crack in his words. 

“Right.” She sighed, squeezing her eyes shut, and shook her head. “I’m going to kill him.” 

Before Remus could ask who was being murdered, or press further about why on earth she was at his door at one o’clock in the morning with a screaming infant and his name on her lips, Moony howled again. 

And then again.

The baby sniffed audibly, and Remus’ eyes jerked down, going wide as they locked on the bundle in her arms. 

|| Pup. PUP. MINE. WE NEED TO—How? Moony would remember. Wouldn’t forget. How? Closer, boy ||

The baby sniffed again. 

The witch muttered something under her breath, but Remus was too shell-shocked to decipher it, even with his ever-annoying hearing.

The baby’s eyes shot open, and Remus felt his spine snap straighter as his hand shot out to grip the doorframe. 

||  Mine. Mine, mi— ||

“Your what?!” Remus exclaimed aloud. 

||  Mate. Pup. Mine ||

Remus sucked in a breath through his nose, his eyes darting back up to the witch. His vision blurred slightly, the familiar golden tint flashing over his eyes, and she gave him a small, almost sad smile.

“Hi, Moony.”

Remus couldn’t respond. Honestly, what could he have even said? She knew about Moony. Moony recognised her. But nothing made sense. 

There was no way in hell he’d…what, gotten a random witch pregnant, bit her, and then simply forgotten? Sure, he went to the pub once in a while. He’d had a few and taken someone out to the alley or gone home with a girl here and there in his never-ending quest to shut Moony the fuck up, but he was careful. 

He knew far too much about werewolf fertility to not be careful—and if he hadn’t known, Moony would have been sure to remind him, over and fucking over—so he’d never even let it get beyond hands or mouths.

Even if he had, even if he’d drunk too much and forgotten some random romp with some random witch, it certainly wouldn’t explain this. He knew, even drunk off his arse, he never would have bitten someone, never would have marked a mate.

But he could feel it, even without Moony’s input. Perhaps he’d been Obliviated? That had to be it. It was the only possible explanation.

The baby sniffed again before it—he, Remus knew, though he wasn’t sure how—let out a soft noise, jerking Remus from his thoughts.

“Did…did he just howl?” 

“He does that. Now, are you going to let me in, or shall I stand in the corridor all night whilst you argue with Moony until the pup wakes up the entire neighbourhood?” The girl asked sharply. 

“Right. Sorry, I…right.” Remus gave a jerky nod and stepped aside.

|| Mate has fire. I like her ||

Obviously, you like her if she’s our mate, you fucking idiot. 

Mate. 

What the actual fuck was happening?

☆─────☆☾☼☽☆─────☆

Chapter Text

𝙷𝚎𝚛𝚖𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚎

.·:·.☆☾☼☽☆.·:·.

Carefully folding herself down into an armchair next to a bookshelf, Hermione settled Callum into her lap and began to unwrap his swaddling as she watched Remus close the door. He glanced up at her, but quickly looked away as he began pacing. 

He stalked across the room to pick his wand up off the counter, spinning it between his thumb and two fingers as he muttered to himself, occasionally glancing back over at her and then quickly looking away. 

He came to a standstill and rolled his shoulder. Raising his wand, he began to cast, layering protection wards over the door before he moved to the window to do the same. She knew better than to intervene; Moony was undoubtedly losing his mind about keeping the pup and the mate safe—and honestly, with the neighbourhood and the state of the block of flats, she understood the sentiment. 

She didn’t suppose it would do any good to inform him she’d been dealing with much worse, for far longer than even he had.

Callum squirmed, stretching his arms over his head with a big sigh as she finally pulled the last of the wrap away and carefully draped it over the arm of the chair. She gave him a moment, smiling down at him despite the whirlwind of chaos inside her head, before she spread the sweatshirt out on the floor beneath her and moved to sit in front of it. 

Carefully laying the baby down, she pulled the nappy out of the pocket of the jacket and then shucked it off, laying it next to the wrap. As she changed the baby, Remus finally seemed content with the wards and turned to face her, staring openly. 

Hermione stared back. 

None of this was fair.

It was the only logical thought she could muster, and it played on a loop through her mind, over and over. 

Not fair. Not fair. Not fair. 

He was right there, and he was Remus, but he wasn’t her husband. The only thing she wanted to do was pick up the baby and go climb into his lap, to hold Callum as he wrapped them both up in his arms, to be surrounded by his scent, his safety. But the man before her wasn’t her Remus. Her Remus shoved her back through time with no explanation, when he was right there.

He could have come back with them; they could have escaped the Aurors together. 

But now that she had the time to slow down and think about it, a whole new light fell over his erratic behaviour over the last few days. 

He never planned to come back with us at all. 

The realisation settled like a lead ball in her stomach. Bile filled her throat, and she closed in on herself, scooping the baby into her arms and awkwardly climbing back in the chair as she turned to face the window. 

She couldn’t look at him because everything about him was reminiscent of the man she loved, and the man she loved had left her. Or, more accurately, he’d made her leave him.

Hermione wasn’t daft, and she knew her husband better than she’d known anyone. She knew, even in her anger, that he had a reason. It was simply unfathomable that he would have willingly sent his wife and their son off into the unknown all alone, without a good reason. 

There was certainly not a snowball’s chance in hell that Moony would have allowed himself to be separated from his mate and pup, to boot.

But he hadn’t sent them into the unknown at all, had he? He sent them to himself. 

What the fuck. 

“Are you alright?” Remus asked, so softly that it took a moment for his words to register. 

“No. I’m angry,” Hermione answered bluntly. “And I’m finding it hard to look at you, because I am having an extremely hard time not directing that anger toward you.” 

“Why…” he paused, clearing his throat, “Why at me?” 

“I…gods, there’s so much to explain.” She drew in a breath, forcing herself to turn and face him. 

Wrong. 

It was all wrong. He was just as handsome as ever, but he was so young. There wasn’t a hint of grey at his temples, not a line on his face to be seen, save for the scars she’d spent countless hours tracing—but they were the same scars. 

“This is fucking confusing.” 

“I think I can agree with that.” Remus chuckled awkwardly and looked down at Callum. He tilted his head, studying the baby with rapt attention as he folded his tall frame onto the sofa to her right. “He looks like me, doesn’t he?” 

“More every day.” Hermione nodded. Callum began to sniff wildly again, his little head turning this way and that, and she bit back a groan as she turned him in her lap so that he could see Remus. The baby didn’t seem to notice—or care—that the man before him wasn’t the father he knew. Perhaps it was the scent; He smelled exactly the same, and Callum seemed to recognise it as well. He made a final little huffing noise and then let out a happy gurgle as he reached a hand out, and Remus’ eyes went wide as he bolted up from his seat and began to pace again. 

“Why is he—Gods, what the fuck is going on? Can I even say fuck around a baby? Why is there even a baby, and why does he smell—why do you smell like—can you please shut the fuck up so I can think?” he groaned. Fisting a hand in his hair, he shook his head, then sighed and dropped his arm. 

“Can you please tell me who you are, and who this baby is, and what sort of enchantment I’m under? Because I —” 

“Remus,” Hermione said softly. “What is Moony saying?” 

“There it is again! How do you know about—what do you know?” He pointed a finger at her, shaking his head. “I’ve never met you in my life. I don’t know this kid, and I don’t know why he thinks we know you both, but—how do you know about Moony?” Remus collapsed back onto the sofa, his hands buried in his hair as he mumbled, “Shut up, shut up, shut up.”

“Remus,” she repeated. “What is Moony saying? I know you want answers, and believe me, I understand. But I think it's obvious that I have some very big, very complicated things to tell you about, and this conversation isn’t going to get anywhere until you get him calmed down. What does Moony need right now?” 

His head shot up, his eyes flashing gold, and Hermione almost laughed—would have, if she weren’t still fighting the urge to scream. Instead, she snapped, “Other than that. Read the fucking room, Moony.” 

“Shit. Sorry. But…that. He, um…he likes that you talk to him,” Remus confessed. “Right now he’s saying…just, he wants to be closer. He’s, erm…very worked up over this…child that you’ve brought.” 

“Yes, he usually is.” Hermione sighed and worried her bottom lip between her teeth. She looked down at Callum, who was still cooing happily in her lap, erratically patting her arm with one hand as the other toyed with the dummy he’d yanked out of his mouth.

“I have no idea how you know that, but he’s been—it doesn’t matter.” Remus shook his head. “I just need answers, but he won’t shut up, and I’m really fucking confused, and—” 

“Shut up.” Hermione shifted Callum to cradle him in her arms and stood from the chair to move closer to Remus. “Hold him.” 

“What? No, I—I don’t think—gods, he really does look so much like me.” Remus’ voice cracked, and Hermione watched his head twitch to the side as he squeezed his eyes shut—a clear indicator that Moony was howling, now. 

“Remus, shut up for five bloody seconds and hold this baby,” she ordered, rolling her eyes as she bent at the waist to deposit Callum in his lap. 

His arms dropped instinctively to clutch the baby to his chest, and Hermione had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from letting out a frustrated scream as she watched Remus watch Callum with wide-eyed wonder.

It was wrong, and right, and so bloody confusing, and she couldn’t find the space to think around the relief she felt when she watched him sag in relief, slumping back against the sofa as he continued to stare down at the baby. 

Callum turned his head, nuzzling his face against Remus’s chest as he sniffed him and then let out a contented coo. Remus laughed incredulously, his eyes darting up to Hermione, then back to the baby, before he looked back up at her. 

The gold bleeding inward from the outer ring of his irises was all the question she needed to give him an encouraging nod as she turned to sink back into her chair. 

Remus immediately dipped his head, pressing his nose to the side of Callum’s head. He drew in a ragged breath and growled—the low, soft, comforting sort of rumble she’d fallen asleep listening to so many times. Gods, even his growl sounds the same. 

This isn’t fair. 

“It smells like me,” Remus whispered in awe. 

“He smells like you,” Hermione corrected. “Remus, meet Callum Orion Lupin. Your son.”

☆─────☆☾☼☽☆─────☆

𝚁𝚎𝚖𝚞𝚜

.·:·.☆☾☼☽☆.·:·.

His son. Gods, it was true. He could feel it in his bones, had known it the second he’d seen his face, but hearing it confirmed aloud set off some sort of chain reaction in his mind. 

Moony let out the most triumphant howl Remus had ever heard. The baby made that noise again—that soft little oooo that sounded like he was trying to howl right back at him. He wondered if he could hear Moony or sense it, and he wanted to ask, but a million thoughts were speeding through his head, and he couldn’t seem to latch onto a single one. 

He had a son. 

“Callum?” he asked.

“Callum,” she confirmed. “ It’s Gaelic for dove. It’s, um—”

“A symbol of peace,” Remus answered for her. Callum Orion Lupin. He liked that. The first name of it all, at the least. And the last set something possessive off inside of his Moony-riddled hindbrain. 

It was the middle that didn’t make a single bit of fucking sense. 

“Callum,” he whispered, shaking his head, then shot his eyes back up to the girl currently sitting across from him, nervously chewing on her nails. 

“Orion. Why the bloody fuck would my—our child be named after my—after that fucking—” 

“After your ex-boyfriend?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. 

Remus opened his mouth, ready to argue—because yes, sure, Sirius was that, but Remus was far more concerned with why the fuck he would name a child after that traitorous murderer than the fact that they used to shag. He took a moment before responding—it really wouldn’t serve him well to come off as too much of an asshole, at least until he had some answers. 

Reaching a hand out to grab his pack of cigarettes off the table, he looked back down again. 

Callum. 

||  Pup. Moony’s… Must hunt for the young. He needs meat. Furs. Moony will take care of everything || 

“Babies can’t eat meat,” Remus muttered. 

“Moony, you don’t need to hunt. It’s the mate’s job to nourish the young at this stage,” she said matter-of-factly. “As to your question about why he’s named after Sirius, I told you there is nothing I have to say that isn’t complicated. Now—no, Remus, you can’t smoke while you’re holding a baby, you dolt.” 

“Right. Shit. Sorry,” Remus stuttered out as he tossed the pack down onto the seat next to him. “Been a while since I was around a baby.” 

“Since Harry.” Something flashed across her face as her voice cracked on the name, and Remus stiffened—too quickly, causing the baby to let out a startled grunt as she continued, “I can’t imagine Lily would have let anyone smoke about him, even with the times.” 

“What times? How do you—how do you know about Lily? Or Harry? Who—I’m sorry, but who the bloody hell are you?” Remus asked exasperatedly as he shifted the baby against his chest and patted his back to try to soothe him. 

||  Need to scent the pup. Keep safe ||  

He’s safe. And we can smell him just fine. 

||  No. Stupid boy. Scent || 

“Also,” Remus interjected before she could respond. “Is it…er...is it typical for me to want to lick his head? Since you seem to know so much about the…Moony of it all.”

“Ah.” She gave a knowing smile and stood to take the baby from his arms. “About that. Yes, that’s typical, though that’s usually something we refrain from. As for the rest...gods, I just realised I haven’t even properly introduced myself.”

She bent forward, plucking a dummy up off the floor that the baby must have dropped, and waved her hand to cast a sanitising charm, before she guided the little blue bit of plastic back to Callum’s mouth. The action reminded him of Lily, and how well she’d always tended to baby Harry, which sent a pang of sorrow through his chest, but Moony was far too distracted for him to be able to focus on it for long.

||  Mate keeps our pup safe. Need to reward her. Scent and bre– || 

Don’t you dare finish that sentence.

“An introduction. Yes, that would…I would appreciate that. Who are you? How do you have my son, and why does Moony think you’re our…mate?” Remus asked, forcing the words out through the lump in his throat.

“Because I am,” she answered. “As for who I am—well, you’re not going to believe this, but I’ll tell you anyway. My name is Hermione Lupin, and I am your wife from the year 2003. Our world was dying, so you—my husband—sent me back through the Shelf of Hours in the Time Room at the Ministry of Magic. I couldn’t tell you why the fuck he did that, and I’m rather cross about it, given the fact that he led me to believe he would be accompanying Callum and me on the journey, but clearly, he must have had his reasons.” 

|| No. Wrong. We would never leave our Mate || 

“That’s impossible. I wouldn’t—your husband—wait a damn minute. You expect me to believe you’re a time traveller?” Remus asked sharply. 

Callum let out a shrill cry before she could respond, and she turned her focus back to him, trying—and failing—to soothe him as she spoke over his protesting squeals.

“It’s true, Remus. I’m sure I have a million things in my bag that could confirm it, and I’m happy to submit to questioning under Veritaserum if you can procure it or produce memories for you to view. But right now, I need to nurse this baby before he makes it the entire neighbourhood’s problem. You can ask me any question you need to confirm,” she said firmly. 

|| Nurse. Yes, that. Need to see Mate nourish our young. So smart. Let Moony see, little mate || 

“I—you’re, um…you need to nurse him? With your…?” Remus waved a hand over his chest, and she—Hermione, he corrected himself—laughed as she laid the baby in her lap and reached for the hem of her shirt. 

“Yes, I nurse him with my breasts. I haven’t quite figured out how to produce milk from my earlobes yet,” she intoned, then sighed. 

“Remus, it’s okay. It’s…with Callum, it will be a lot easier for you if you give in to Moony, okay? And in turn, that’s easier on the baby. He may not have his own wolf, but he’s very perceptive to any…Moony-related mood shifts. And right now, I’m assuming Moony is expressing an interest in watching me nurse?” 

|| Our mate is so smart. And pretty. Tell her she’s beautiful. Tell her we’ll watch her nurse our young, and then we’ll scent them both and take her to— || 

“It hardly seems appropriate to just… watch,” Remus swallowed roughly, casting his eyes down to his lap. 

|| Stupid. They’re ours. Meant to watch || 

“It’s okay. I’m rather skilled at this,” she said. “See?” 

His eyes shot back up of their own volition—the damned Moony of it all again—and his breath caught in his throat. She’d merely shoved her shirt up enough for the baby to latch on. Callum was already suckling greedily, his tiny little fist kneading the fabric of her shirt, and he felt an inexplicable stinging building behind his eyes. 

“You really are mine,” he whispered. She didn’t answer, merely gave him a sad smile as she ran a hand over Callum’s hair. Her earlier words hit him, and he startled, looking rapidly between her and the baby as he asked, “You said he doesn’t have his own wolf? Is he…he won’t be like me?” 

“Oh, he’s exactly like his father,” Hermione said in an amused tone. “But no, he won’t shift. We’ve done so much research. And Moony knew, when he was born. He carries Lycanthropic genes, so he’s a bit different from, say, Harry would have been. He has some traits. Heightened senses, fussiness around the full moon, and he’s already ahead in his physical development because he’s quite strong.

“But he’s safe, Remus. He…my husband, he liked to think of it as he got all the perks, and none of the downsides. He’s got your immune system, to boot, so he’s just…happy and healthy. And so very loved,” Hermione cooed the last part to Callum as she ran a knuckle over his chubby little cheek, and Moony preened inside of his head. 

|| Perfect Mate. Strong pup. See how she tends to the young? Nourishing our cub. Need to give her more. Breed an entire pack ||  

“Oh, gods,” Remus groaned, dropping his face into his hand. He waved the other, refusing to look up at her as he spoke, “Can you…are you really a time traveller? How do you know about Harry and Lily? Well…gods, that’s a stupid question, if you’re claiming to be my wife, but—wait.” 

He shot his head back up, scanning her face as he shook his head in disbelief. 

“You’re so young. That’s…” 

“Not something I will defend to you, now or ever,” she cut in sharply. “I have had enough ‘coaching Remus Lupin through his age-related guilt’ to last a lifetime. I loved my husband. He loved me. I was a full adult when we got together, and that is all that matters. He marked me as his mate and had a child with me, which should be proof enough that he was sure of his love for me, and that is all you need to know.” 

|| Old boy chose so well. Do you see how she defends us? ||

“Okay.” Remus nodded. “Okay. I’m sorry. I won’t bring that up again. I’m just…it’s very late, and this has all been a lot. Logically, the last thing I want to believe is that a time-travelling future wife just showed up on my doorstep with a kid in tow. But…you need rest. You both do. It’s far too late, and you look—” 

|| Too thin. Need to hunt for Mate so she can feed the pup || 

“Gods,” he sighed. “Don’t take this the wrong way, you’re beautiful, but you look like you haven’t eaten in weeks, and Moony seems to have a major issue with that.” 

“Yeah. That’s normal too. I…we’re really rather bad at having a straightforward conversation, aren’t we?” Hermione moved the baby to lie against her chest and tucked her breast away. Remus ignored Moony’s commentary as he caught sight of a flash of nipple and stood to walk toward the kitchen. 

“I don’t have much, but I could make you some oatmeal or a sandwich. I might have leftover—” 

“You have bread?” Her voice cracked, and she began to sob, carefully patting Callum’s back as her shoulders shook. 

|| You upset her, you fucking idiot. Fix it || 

I didn’t do anything! She’s crying over bread. Why the fuck is she crying over bread? 

|| Fix it || 

Helpful. Thanks. 

“Is that…would you like some bread, Hermione? I can make you a sandwich. Or if that’s not enough, I’ve got a few pounds; I can pop off to the corner store, I could get some eggs or…oh! I could make Welsh Cakes, I think I’ve got some lard.” 

“It’s okay.” She reached a hand up, wiping the tears from her eyes as she let out a harsh laugh. “I’m sorry, it’s stupid. The only bread I’ve had in ages has been sourdough, from a starter my friend kept up with, and honestly, I hate sourdough. And I just…food is a tough subject for me.” 

“Will you tell me about it?” Remus asked cautiously as he stepped into the kitchenette and began to pull out the ingredients to make her a sandwich. “About where you came from? I can’t—well, Moony can’t wrap his mind around how any version of myself could send you away.” 

The thought alone sent anger coursing through his veins. Sure, perhaps it was unfair to judge a man from a world he knew nothing about, but his Moony-senses were nearly drowning him. If the urge to protect the woman before him and the little boy who looked just like him—save for her nose, and her wild chestnut curls—was even a fraction of what her husband had felt, there was no way in hell he could have walked away from them willingly. 

|| Fuck that guy || 

My sentiments exactly. 

“Well, it starts with Harry Potter,” she said, sighing mournfully before she continued, “he was my best friend.”

☆─────☆☾☼☽☆─────☆

Remus pulled the door closed and leaned back against the wood, running a hand through his hair as he tried to process everything he’d learned in the last hour. 

As he busied himself fixing her a sandwich and adding it to a plate along with some crisps, Hermione had begun to talk. He took Callum from her arms and held him while she ate and gave him an abridged version of her origin story. 

She’d been friends with Harry through her years at Hogwarts. Voldemort came back, and was defeated, but another evil rose in his place, and the world was torn apart. She told him of her time working under him as a student teacher, and then the move to the tunnels, but for the most part, she kept things brief and to the point. 

He knew there was more to the story, and she acknowledged as much, but he could see the exhaustion etched across her features, and Moony wouldn’t shut up about it. When he declared she and the baby would be staying with him, she merely nodded and quipped that she had assumed as much, because Moony wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Moony really liked the way Hermione thought of him and spoke directly to him. Remus couldn’t deny that he liked it as well, in a strange sort of way he didn’t know how to contend with. It was like she saw all of him and accepted it, and it made him feel defensive and defenceless all in one fell swoop. 

He had shown her to the bedroom and helped her and Callum get settled, but he hadn’t wanted to leave. He’d practically had to force one foot in front of the other, reassuring Moony that they would be safe, just to make it back into the hall. 

With a sigh, he made his way back toward the sitting room and picked up her discarded plate, washing it and setting it into the dishrack as his mind continued to spin.

Once he was done, he drew his wand to extend the sofa before he reached for a quilt that had been thrown over the back of the chair. 

He knocked her jacket off the arm of the chair in the process, and, lost in thought, didn’t think twice as he bent to pick it up and toss it back onto the chair and turned around. He stopped in his tracks, doing a double-take before he spun on his heel and lunged for the fabric.

There, embroidered on the midnight-blue lining, was the absolute last thing he wanted to see. A memory surged to the forefront of his mind as Moony snarled. 

Remus, James, and Peter had all pitched in to buy a leather jacket for Sirius on his Eighteenth birthday. When he unwrapped it and Lily excitedly flipped the front of the jacket open to reveal her contribution, Sirius’s eyes lit up with his typical bratty mischief as he teased her about not including herself. 

And so, she’d snatched the jacket back and set about embroidering a fourth symbol.

Remus sank to his arse in the middle of the floor as he spread the jacket over his lap and ran a finger over the delicate silver threads. 

A crescent moon. A little nose with whiskers. A pawprint, with a star hollowed out in the centre. A set of antlers. And a single, delicate flower. 

Lily. 

|| Why does Mate have the dog’s jacket? || 

“How the fuck am I supposed to know?” Remus glanced toward the front closet, an inexplicable guilt curling in his gut as he pushed himself to his feet. As he snatched the jacket back off his lap and stood, he felt something in the inner pocket and reached a hand inside, pulling out a thick stack of parchment folded over itself, with her name scrawled across the top. 

In his handwriting. 

It was wrong; a violation of her privacy, of that he was certain. Moony told him as much, but Remus ignored him as he carefully unfolded the paper and began to read.

☆─────☆

Cariad, 

This life was never meant to be yours. I've often wondered if it's sick or wrong to talk of you as that thirteen-year-old girl I once met, but for the purpose of this letter, let us pretend it's not creepy. 

You were unlike anyone I'd ever known, and so like people I'd loved my entire life. You had Lily’s determination, Sirius’s mouth. The way you stood for Harry reminded me of how James stood by my side. I could go on and on, but I've told you all of this before, so I'll just remind you, one final time: 

I saw the world in you, Hermione Jean.

It was never in any sort of inappropriate way; it was never bad or wrong. You were just this shining beacon of hope and potential; of purpose and light; of unadulterated good. That girl was born to save the world, and to make it hers. And you did. Gods, did you ever. 

But then it was ripped away from us all over again. And somehow, in the middle of it all, I began to see my world in you. I still remember that first night I kissed you. And the way you refused to let me run after. 

‘The world is ending. Everyone is dying. And the only time I feel like there may be any purpose at all to be found in this fucking nightmare is when I look at you, Remus John Lupin. So shut the fuck up about age, get over your self-flagelating bullshit, and snog me again, or I'm going to hex you bald.’

Maybe it was then that I knew I'd move the heavens and the earth to make you mine. Maybe it was sooner, the first time I had to undergo the transformation in the tunnels, and you sat outside the door all night and read to me so I wasn't alone. Maybe it was the day I returned from Bath and scented the change in you the second I walked into that bathroom. 

Maybe the when and the why don't matter, now, in the end. 

Because the truth, my love—the devastating, disgusting truth that makes me want to scream, and sob, and fight the gods kicking and screaming, is that this IS the end for me. 

I felt the first tremor the day Severus lost his vision, and I knew. I could scent it on myself. Moony and I argued for hours that night. He wanted to go to you. The instinct, which you understand all too well, was to seek comfort in my mate; to allow you to nurture me. But you know better than anyone, my love, that I've never bent to the wolf as well as I should. 

I couldn't stand the thought of leaving you both. Even as I write this, I can't quite bring myself to believe it's real. 

All I've ever done is lose. Over and over, I've let myself love, only to be left alone in the wreckage. It's a well-practised routine at this point. One that I can tap dance backwards on one leg with my eyes closed. But this time, I'll be the one doing the leaving. And this shittiest part of it all is that this time, I finally had something worth staying for. 

This time, I will be leaving behind what I thought I'd never have. What I knew I never deserved. I won't be there now. When Callum says his first real word, or takes his first steps, you'll look up to tell me—it's a habit, you know.  We always look for the ones we've lost in those first few months, as if our hearts haven't quite gotten the memo that we'll only find empty space. 

That's the part that I regret the most. That when you do look up, I won't be there. I'll never know what it sounds like when he says ‘Da’ for the first time. I'll never hold his hand through those shaky first steps or play the stupid little aeroplane game with a spoon to get him to eat his peas. 

I'll miss every fucking thing, now. And I could make peace with that, I swear I could. But I'm leaving you both behind in a world that you won't survive. Not to be mistaken—you are strong enough to do exactly that. But you'll be alone, now, with our baby. And I think it's fair to call it, now. To acknowledge the truth of what would happen if they found you. 

If they found our pup. 

You have always been the strongest person I've known, Hermione, but the reality is too big to ignore right now. You'll starve, come winter. They'll storm the tunnels and take you both, and Padma, and I won't be there to protect my pack. The baby will get sick, or you will, and there will be no cure. 

It's sickening and horrible, but it's an inevitability. For as much of an honour as it has been to steal these few years with you, we were doomed from the start. And now I'm leaving the only woman I've ever loved and the boy who has my eyes, and I feel like a petulant child in the way I want to kick my feet and scream and beg to stay. 

But I can't stay. 

I'm so fucking sorry for that, cariad. I hate how unfair this is. 

As I write this, you are curled up in our bed with our boy. His little hand is fisted in your curls, and you've got one leg thrown out of the blanket, and you're both snoring. Moony wants me to put down this pen and go gather you both in my arms. I want to curl around your bodies and hold you tight and pretend, for one more night, that I can keep you both safe. 

I want to wake up to the sight of my mate, nursing our pup, with my t-shirt hanging off one arm and your curls wild with sleep. I want to bottle the way it's felt to have you both and shove my head into a Penseive and never come up for air so I can stay suspended in that perfect moment with you. 

But I can't. 

There is a day I can never give you now. I've imagined it a million times over. We wake up in a home of our own—some flat or cottage or hovel, it wouldn't matter because it would belong to us. I'd hold you both while you fed the baby, and then I'd pop off to the kitchen to burn pancakes you'd pretend weren't terrible. 

We'd give Callum his first bite of real food, and he'd grab at us with syrupy hands and giggle through toothless grins. I'd give him a bath while you cleaned up the kitchen, and dress him in a little sun hat, and then we'd go. 

It wouldn't be some grand, fantastical day. We would go to the park for a picnic, or I'd hold him in one arm and an ever-growing stack of books in the other as we followed you through a bookstore. Maybe we would take him to the shore and put his little feet in the sand. We'd stumble home exhausted and sunburnt, and we'd put the baby to bed, and then the night would be ours. We'd have a drink, and maybe dance to some sappy song I'd roll my eyes and pretend to hate, and then we'd fall into bed happy and in love. 

And once we were spent and breathless, you'd curl against my side with your head on my chest, and you'd proclaim it had been the best day ever. This ordinary, ‘nothing even happened’ sort of day.  And I would respond that every day with you and our son is the best I've ever had. 

That last part is the only part we'll ever have. The truth. I'll never be able to give you both the life you deserve, but every damn day, Hermione. Every moment I've spent with you has been a gift I never deserved, but one I've treasured all the same. 

I have to leave you. I have to leave you, and this isn't fucking fair. 

But I won't go out like this. I won't leave my family in a world where you'll never have good days and pancake breakfasts. 

I've wondered if you'll hate me for this. I've no doubt that self-loathing prick I’m sending you back to will want to hate me, because for as bad as you thought I was in all my self-pitying bullshit once upon a time, that little fucker wrote the playbook on convincing himself he doesn't deserve to find the good. 

But I have to believe you'll understand. This was the only way, cariad. I can't leave you and our boy behind in this world. Because even through it all, I still see her inside of you. That girl who was born to set things right. And so you'll go, and you'll take Callum, and you'll set this right. 

And I'll stay behind. And I'll fade away. 

But I'll be there, even if it's not the same. He'll take care of you both. Moony will certainly see to that, and someday, Nineteen Eighty-Three Remus will thank me for sending you to him. Some day, I hope you'll be glad as well. In the meantime, you tell that fucker to listen to Moony, because that arsehole is never wrong. And you tell him I said this is his life, now. Don't fuck it up. 

There is no version of me who won't love you until my lungs give out, Hermione Jean Lupin. There is no world or timeline where you weren't meant to be mine. So be mad at me. Curse me and kick the wall and scream all you need until your hair sparks. 

But you'll live, now. So I won't apologise for what I'm going to do tomorrow, but I am so infinitely sorry that I won't be there when you look up. 

But he will be, and my love, that’s the best I can give you out of this terrible hand we’ve been dealt, so if I can ask one final thing of you, it is this:

You never gave up on me, so don't give up on him. Make him learn how to forgive. Explain Sirius. Tell him all about Harry. Don’t let him close in on himself, and for the love of the gods, tell him to man up and write his father. Things look and feel a little different once you’re on the other side of this father-son thing, and he doesn’t need to repeat my mistakes and wait until the world is ending. 

Speaking of sons, Callum is making that soft little howling noise in his sleep and nuzzling into your neck. My bones ache, and my head is swimming, and I think he's got the right idea. So I'm going to go hold my family one last time. 

Tomorrow, I'll say goodbye. 

Tonight, I'll leave you with this; 

You were the greatest years of my life, Hermione. Thank you for making me believe I deserved something good. 

Now go do your thing and save the world, baby. You're the best woman for the job. 

Infinitely yours, 

Remus

P.S.: Moony would like to make it known that, for once, he agrees with me. I can’t believe I’m writing that either.

I don’t want this to end, but what a privilege to be able to say I loved the cleverest witch of her age until the last breath of air left my lungs. One more thing? Tell that fucker I said he’s welcome. You are nothing short of a gift, cariad. Kiss our boy for me. I’m off to do so myself. I love you…Gods, do I love you, Hermione. 

☆─────☆

“What the fuck are you doing?”

Remus’ head snapped up at the sound of her voice, and he opened his mouth to respond, but she closed in on him before he could get a word out. She snatched the jacket out of his hands and clutched it to her chest, then raised the sleeve to her face. 

Something splintered deep beneath his sternum as he watched her sniff the jacket and let out a low, mournful whine before she glared at him again. 

“Don’t—you can’t touch this, it’s not yours,” Hermione snapped. 

“Why the bloody fuck do you have Sirius Black’s jacket?” His tone was too sharp—too mean, and Moony was far from pleased, but he ignored the grumbling as he glared back at her, waiting for an answer. 

“It’s not his,” she whispered. Remus began to protest, but she cut him off, holding up a hand. “It has not been his since he died in 1996. It belonged to his husband, who became my husband, and then he put it on me right before he sent me back here.” 

“Wait a fucking minute, are you trying to say I married— ” Remus shook his head. “No. You’re fucking barmy.”

“And you have no idea what you’re talking about,” she shot back. “I don’t give a fuck what you think you know. This jacket is mine, and you can’t…you can’t touch it. You have to promise not to touch it, because you smell like my husband, but you smell different, too. And I need it to smell like him, it—” she choked on a sob, clutching the jacket tighter. 

“It’s all I have of him,” she whispered. “It’s the last thing he gave me before he sent me back here, and I don’t—I don’t know why he left me, and I can’t…I can’t sleep without him, and I can’t see you touch this because you’re him, but you’re not, and it’s all so bloody confusing and—” 

Hermione broke off mid-sentence, sobbing harder as she sank into the chair behind where she stood. She buried her face in the jacket, and Remus felt his entire body lurch toward her. 

||  You upset the Mate. You need to fix it, boy. Hold her. Let her smell you || 

I’m not what she needs right now. 

“Hermione.” 

“Remus, please, just…I can’t talk anymore tonight. Please,” she whispered brokenly. 

“Hermione, listen to me. That’s not the last thing he gave you.” 

Her head snapped up, her brow furrowed in confusion, and Remus knelt in front of her seat, bracing one hand on the arm of the chair as he carefully laid the letter in her lap. 

“I shouldn’t have read it. But I think…I think this has the answers you’re looking for,” he told her softly. 

☆─────☆☾☼☽☆─────☆

Chapter Text

𝙷𝚎𝚛𝚖𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚎

.·:·.☆☾☼☽☆.·:·.

“He was sick?” Remus asked quietly after what must have been twenty minutes of her sitting, staring down at the last page of the letter as tears streamed from her eyes. 

“I should have known. I think I—I noticed how exhausted he looked. But things had been terrible for so long, and then Sev…” Trailing off, Hermione sighed and carefully folded the letter. She slipped it into the pocket of the jacket that she still held clutched to her chest and then leaned forward to slip it on, allowing herself a moment to sink into the comfort of her husband’s most prized possession before she spoke again. 

“There was a pathogen released into the water supply. A magi-chemical compound. It was an extremely dark bit of magic that caused a sort of viral infection in anyone who had Muggle blood.”  She pulled her feet up into the seat and wrapped her arms around her legs. Remus watched her carefully as he stood, and she realised only then that he’d still been kneeling in front of her for however long she’d been reading and sobbing. 

It was comforting, and she hated that. 

“That’s…well, that’s fucked.” Remus sighed and ran a hand through his hair as he reached down to pick up the pack of cigarettes he’d tossed onto the sofa. He pulled one out, but his head twitched to the side, and he put it away with a sigh. 

“Right, sorry,” he mumbled. “There’s a fire escape. If I shut the window behind me, is that alright? I don’t want to…smoking is bad for babies, aye?” 

“Aye,” she nodded, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “The fire escape is fine. Do you mind if I bum one of those?” 

“Of course,” Remus held a cigarette out to her, then turned to open the window. It seemed reluctant to comply, but he finally forced it open and turned, reaching out as if to help her. When he seemed to think better of the action and dropped his hand, she couldn’t deny her relief. She wasn’t sure if she could handle the way it would feel when he touched her. Moreover, she wasn’t sure if she could handle the fact that it would probably feel the same as she was used to, and the last thing she wanted was another reason to burst into tears tonight. 

Bracing a hand on the windowsill, she climbed out onto the fire escape and leaned over the railing, looking down at the street below. Remus joined her, keeping as respectable a distance as he could in the small space as he passed her a lit cigarette.

“You don’t smell like smoke.”

“That’s because I don’t smoke.” She took a drag, watching as the smoke curled out of her mouth and disappeared into the night before she explained, “He quit, for the most part. They weren’t easy to come by where we were, but he still managed to find them on occasion, so he and Severus would ration them out. Once the supply got even lower, he only smoked one cigarette a month. It was the one he could never let go of.” 

“The morning after the full moon?” 

“That’s the one.” Hermione took another drag, flicking her ashes over the railing as she repeated, “I should have known. That he was sick, I mean. I…now that I do know, it's so bloody obvious. All the signs were there, and I just…I don’t know how I missed it.”

“I’m not sure if it’s any consolation, but the letter made it clear that he didn’t want you to know. Given that I’ve sort of got an early-access view into his mind, I know exactly how we can be when we want to keep something close to the chest. You can’t beat yourself up for not knowing,” Remus told her. Hermione nodded, biting the inside of her cheek as she tried to blink away the tears that threatened to fall.

“I’m so mad at him,” she confessed, her voice so low it was barely a whisper, but he picked up on it all the same. 

“I’m sorry.” Remus sighed. “And I’m sorry that I read the letter. I knew it was private, but I’d just seen the jacket, and I…” 

“That has to be so confusing for you.” Hermione turned to face him, fidgeting with the zipper of the familiar leather coat. “Do you…do you want me to explain?” 

“Honestly? Yes. I have so many questions. But I don’t want to put any more stress on you right now. If you can’t go through it all tonight, I understand.” 

“It’s okay. I mean, there really isn’t any sort of playbook for what to do when you win a war only to watch the world go to shit before you marry your former professor in a post-apocalyptic bunker, and then he contracts a deadly pathogen and sends you back in time to his twenty-three-year-old self,” Hermione quipped. “But since it seems we’ve been chosen to write the book, I’d say page one should be open communication, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Remus chuckled softly, shaking his head. He studied her face for a minute, then looked down at her jacket as he quietly confessed, “I have that. In the closet near my front door.” 

“I know.” Hermione nodded. She drew in a final drag of the cigarette and flicked it over the railing, turning to look out at the city as she began to explain, “You kept it until Nineteen Ninety-Three, when Sirius escaped from Azkaban. You gave it back to him when you learned he was innocent.” 

“Innocent?” Remus croaked the word, sounding as if something was lodged in his throat. Hermione kept her focus trained forward. She knew that if she looked at him, if she saw his face right now, she’d crack and do something completely barmy like launch herself into his arms to try to soothe him. 

And then she would spiral, and they wouldn’t get anywhere. 

“Are you sure?” he asked, a little trickle of hope bleeding through his words. 

“Absolutely positive. He didn't do it, Remus. He never betrayed them, and he sure as shit didn't kill Peter. After James and Lily died, everyone thought it was over. But it wasn’t. It isn’t. Voldemort came back. I told you a bit about that earlier. What I didn’t go into detail about is that Harry was at the centre of it all. I’ll explain more about that and what happened after the war ended tomorrow. But as for Sirius…” 

“No. Harry, first,” Remus snapped harshly, then winced as he pressed the butt of his palm against his temple.

Right. Moony. 

“Shit. I shouldn’t have mentioned that part yet. Moony, Harry is…as safe as he can be right now,” she said carefully.

“Okay.” Remus sighed in relief. “You’re…how are you so good with the Moony thing? You seem to take it all in stride.” 

“I’m rather used to him. In my time, I’m his favourite person.” Hermione smiled, then added, “Well, perhaps it's a tie between Callum and me, but it's all the same. You—I mean, my husband, he always said that he wouldn’t have claimed me as his mate if I weren’t well-suited to deal with Moony. I’ve always handled him just fine.”

“Shut up, ” Remus groaned. 

“What’s he saying?” Hermione asked, turning her head to study his side profile as he placed his elbows on the railing and leaned forward. 

“I don’t think you want to know the answer to that.” 

“Oh. Right.” Her cheeks warmed, and she considered climbing back through the window and burying her face beneath a pillow, but that idea only served to remind her that the baby was just down the hall. “I…I’m sorry, it feels awkward to ask, but I lack the super-hearing thing. If you hear Callum, could you let me—” 

“Of course,” Remus interjected swiftly. 

“Okay. Thank you. Okay." 

Awkward.

Gods, why is this so awkward? 

She drummed her fingers against the railing, trying to decide how to reroute the conversation back to territory that didn’t make her want to scream, but Remus beat her to the punch.

“Sirius is innocent. And you’re certain? Was there evidence to clear him?” 

“There was never any evidence to convict him, Remus,” she snapped a bit too harshly, then forced her voice back to its normal octave. “Sirius and James became paranoid that Voldemort would realise too easily that Sirius was the Secret Keeper, so he convinced them to choose someone else. You know the rest from there. They locked him up without a trial, and he’s in Azkaban now. He stayed there until ninety-three. He escaped, and the real traitor was captured. 

“It took some time for his name to be cleared, so he went to stay with you. The two of you…” Hermione worried her bottom lip between her teeth as she gave herself a moment to collect her thoughts. 

Sirius never bothered her in terms of his relationship to Remus. Her husband had loved someone else before her for a very long time, and in the end, they barely had the time to be happy before he was ripped away. To the end, he still loved him, but it had never been something she felt threatened by. 

Love is a living thing, Padma used to say. It grows and changes. Adapts. The love we have for one person doesn’t diminish our capacity to love another. 

Padma always gave the best speeches. Gods, she missed her. Even prior to being forced underground, they had become indelibly close during their time working on their teaching masteries, and she would have given anything to hear whatever too-wise advice her best friend would have to say about her current predicament. 

She wondered, briefly, if Padma knew of Remus’ plan; if that was why she’d refused to come with them. But the truth, Hermione knew, wasn’t pretty. Whether Padma had known or not, she never would have come back with her and Callum anyway. For as much as she loved her godson, Padma wouldn’t have wanted to go back to a world without her Severus. 

Hermione didn’t get the luxury of a choice. 

“We were married?” Remus asked. “You said, about the jacket…‘it belonged to his husband.’”

“You were,” she confirmed, running a hand along the stitching over the breast pocket. “Summer of Ninety-Four. You kept it quiet; I didn’t even know until years later, when my husband and I grew closer. They had been together for two years, and they were extremely happy. But then Sirius died, and the war came, and after that, everything…I think I’d like to wait until I’ve had some sleep to go into the details of my own experience, if you don’t mind?” 

“Of course. Whatever you need,” Remus said, turning to face her. He opened his mouth, then quickly closed it before he blew out a long breath through his nose and asked the question she’d been waiting for. 

"Who did it?" She could see in his eyes that he already knew the answer. But she knew him enough to know that he needed to hear her say it.

“Peter.” 

☆────☆☾☼☽☆────☆

𝚁𝚎𝚖𝚞𝚜

.·:·.☆☾☼☽☆.·:·.

|| Rat. I told you, I fucking told you. He was a rat. Couldn’t trust a rat. Nobody listens to Moony ||

Remus turned without a word and shoved the window open, climbing back into the sitting room to make a beeline for the kitchen. Grabbing the bottle of whisky he kept stashed under the sink, he poured two fingers and downed it, then poured another. 

“Would you like a drink?” he asked, his tone clipped as he heard the window slide closed behind Hermione.

“No, thank you. I’m breastfeeding.” 

“Shit. Right.” He sighed and ran a hand through his hair before he put the bottle away and moved back to the sitting room, glass in hand. Taking a seat on the settee, he stared down at a gouge in the wood floor as his thoughts began to spiral. Hermione folded herself back into the chair and remained silent, giving him the space he needed. 

She was considerate, he noticed; so in tune with his needs, because she’d known some version of himself like the back of her hand. But she didn’t know him, not really. She knew whatever she’d been told—which was undoubtedly viewed through the sort of clarity that came with the passing of time. 

As for tonight, there wasn’t a single shred of clarity to be found. 

Moony was still raging inside his head, but for once, Remus just let him throw his fit, taking every twinge of pain and flutter of annoyance as he slowly sipped his drink. 

Because Moony wasn’t wrong. 

The wolf had always held strong opinions. Peter wasn’t the first person he disliked without any good reason at all, and for everything that Remus had seen, there had never been a reason not to trust him. 

Over time, he’d chalked it up to some sort of animal-kingdom bullshit. Moony had always called Sirius a dog and Peter a rat, even before they’d undergone the process to become Animagi, so once they revealed their animal forms to him, he just assumed Moony had somehow been sensitive to their potential animal forms. 

Moony never called James an animal, though. James was always just brother; The first person Moony ever recognised as Pack. Then came Sirius, then Lily. But never Peter. Even when Remus himself would call Peter ‘pack’ aloud, Moony always had some snarky denial at the ready.

He could have sat for hours, overanalysing the signs he’d missed, regretting the fact that he’d been too caught up in his shit with Sirius to pay attention to Peter’s behaviour in the end, but it wouldn’t change a thing. 

James and Lily were gone. Harry was being raised by strangers, by Not Pack. Sirius was in prison for a crime he didn’t commit. And Peter was dead. 

|| They only found a finger ||

Remus’s head snapped up, and Hermione turned to face him, finding his eyes immediately. 

|| Still sad. We need to comfort her. Come here, pretty Mate. Sit in the boy’s lap. Let Moony fix it || 

Could you please stop being a creep for five fucking seconds?

|| No ||

“Is he alive?” He was nearly afraid of the answer, but some part of him already knew. He just needed to hear her say it. 

“Yes.” 

|| HUNT. Now. Justice for Pack. Kill the rat before he finds our Mate and Pup. Must protect them || 

He won’t touch them. 

Remus gripped the arm of the sofa and gritted his teeth as he fought back the inexplicable urge to throw the poor witch in front of him over his shoulder and drag her back to the bedroom where he could watch over her and the baby in an enclosed space that would be easier to protect. 

Hermione seemed to sense his struggle and leaned forward in her chair, her brow furrowing in concern. 

“Take a breath,” she coached softly. “You should be able to hear Callum’s heartbeat from here, since the bedroom is just on the other side of that wall. It will help to focus on that.”

Remus nodded, squeezing his eyes shut as he strained his ears to listen. 

It was faint, but it was strong all the same. A delicate little tha-thump, tha-thump. 

|| Pup’s heart is strong. Healthy. Such a good Mate, giving us a strong Pup. Need to go scent him ||

You’re not waking him up, you idiot. Babies need sleep. 

|| Pups need scent ||

“One Hundred Fourteen.” Hermione’s voice startled him, and he peeled an eye open to look at her as she explained, “It’s…you were tapping your index finger against your leg. My husband did that, too. I, um, do this thing where I count everything. I always thought he did that for my benefit; listening to Callum’s heart soothed him, and I thought it was a tangible way for it to help me, too, but—” 

Her voice cracked, and Moony let out a discontented grumble, blathering on about his damn lap again, but Remus stuffed it down. His heart felt like it was splintering as he watched her curl in on herself, clutching the lapels of the jacket.

Gods, he was mucking this all up. He’d just robbed her of a comfort he hadn’t even known existed, and he couldn’t help but think about how terrible it must have felt for her to sit there and watch him wear a younger version of her husband’s face. 

He wanted to fix it. He needed to fix it, but the only methods of remedy his stupid mind could conjure were wildly inappropriate, so he just…sat and stared at her.

“I’m sorry,” she sniffled. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Quite the opposite.” 

“You’re not mad?” Moony was practically preening inside his mind, and Remus had to resist the urge to yell at himself so he could hear her response. 

“No, I’m not mad. I…sometimes, it doesn’t matter whether something was done for us, you know? It’s comforting. And I like seeing that it seems to be a natural thing for you. I just wanted to point it out because, well, I’d like it if you kept doing it,” she explained. 

“Of course. Anything.” He quickly glanced away, mentally cursing himself for his over-eagerness, but honestly, it was hardly his fault if, on occasion, he opened his mouth and Moony popped out. Hermione yawned, and he looked back at her, taking in the exhaustion written all over her face. 

“You should get some sleep, Hermione. We can talk more tomorrow, but you look positively knackered, and I can’t imagine a baby that small sleeps through the night yet.” 

“Not usually, no. Though Remus was always the one who—um, it’s fine. He will wake up a time or two to nurse, but then he goes right back to sleep, so it's easy enough. Nothing like his newborn days,” she said with a bit of a laugh. 

Remus stiffened, biting the inside of his cheek as a wave of emotions washed over him. He felt terrible for her—her husband was the one who did what? Helped with the baby at night? That tracked. He could feel that; it took every ounce of control he had not to offer to do exactly that, to watch over them while they slept, to care for his pup so his mate could sleep. 

But it would be an overstepping of some sort of boundary, of that he was sure. He felt inexplicably guilty at the mention of the newborn days. As illogical as it was, he couldn’t shake how wrong it felt to know that he wasn’t there, that she’d gone through it without him, even as he tried to remind himself that she’d had him. 

“This is all so bloody confusing,” she muttered softly, as if she’d read his mind—honestly, he was beginning to think she could do exactly that. 

“Yeah,” he agreed. “It really is.”

“I’m going to go get some sleep.” Hermione stifled another yawn as she rose from her seat and looked toward the short hallway, then turned back to him. “Remus? I…I’m here now. In this time, I mean. Even just by being here tonight, the future has likely changed. And going back would be…anyway, I know this is a lot to throw on you, and I’m sorry for that. 

“You’re not my husband. You’re not the man who got me pregnant. But you are him, and that’s all twisting my head up. And with the Moony of it all, I think…I think once we’ve hashed out all this future shit, we need to talk about the baby.” 

“There’s nothing to talk about. Not with Callum. Hermione, I swear to you, the second I held him…” he trailed off as he rubbed a hand over his chest. 

|| Ours, now. Old boy sent them to us to keep. Can’t let them go ||

“We won’t.” He looked back up to Hermione to address her directly as he continued, “I know I’m not your husband, but I am Remus Lupin, Hermione. I'm in this just as much as you are now. And I...I’m sorry that I read that letter, but I’m glad I did. Because he’s right; I’ll keep you both safe. Moony recognises you as…as what you are. And I can’t say either of us is ready to touch that with a ten-metre pole, but we don’t have to. 

“I’m not going anywhere, and neither are you or our son. I’m so fucking sorry that I’m not the man you thought you’d raise him with, and I reckon I don’t know shit about being a father. But you have to know I can’t let him go, now.” 

|| Won’t let the Mate go either. Tell her, boy. Comfort. We’ll keep her. Give her more pups, hunt for her and— ||

She doesn’t need that right now. And we don’t even know her. You need to stop. 

|| Idiot ||

“I know.” She cleared her throat, nodding as she added, “We’ll figure it out. It’s…Callum is what matters. That’s all I can focus on now, okay?” 

“Okay.” 

☆────☆☾☼☽☆────☆

Remus pushed off from where he’d been leaning against the wall and began to pace again. Hermione had gone to bed around two hours ago, and it was well after four o’clock in the morning, but try as he might, he couldn’t settle his mind enough to fall asleep. 

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been pacing the floor, tugging at his hair and staring down the closet door like it was a bomb set to explode at any moment, but finally, emotion won out, and he stepped forward to rip the door open. 

There, next to his winter coat, between a threadbare cardigan and a flannel shirt, hung Sirius Black’s trademark leather jacket.

After the night he lost everyone, Remus had gone back to their flat and taken one bag of clothing, five books, a single picture, and this. He wasn’t sure why he hadn’t been able to let it go; why, even then, when the anger was fresh and achingly raw, the idea of leaving it behind made his stomach turn. 

At the time, he’d excused it away, blamed Lily’s embroidery, or the memory of how excited James and Peter had been when they found the perfect one. But he’d known even then that he was kidding himself. 

Reaching a hand out to brush the back of his knuckles against the sleeve, Remus let out a mournful sound—half sigh of frustration, half howl over the destruction of his pack—as memories flashed through his mind. 

Sirius shrugging on the jacket for the first time, checking his appearance in the mirror before he cast a brilliant smile over his shoulder and asked Remus how he looked. Sirius, taking the jacket off and putting it over his shoulders as they sat in the astronomy tower, while Remus tried to smoke away the shakes from the transformation of the night before. His hands, clutching at the lapels as he shoved Sirius back against the wall outside some shitty pub in Camden. Memory after memory hit him like a freight train, until he finally gave up and fisted a hand in the fabric to press the sleeve to his nose. 

Tears began to blur his vision as he inhaled the old, familiar scent. As pathetic as it felt to admit it, even to himself, he knew exactly how Hermione felt when she’d seen him holding the jacket. 

It was the same way he felt when he realised someone else was wearing it. Even with the complexity of all of these…mate-feelings. 

Even after two years, Sirius’s scent still clung to the fabric. The rich cedar of his aftershave, the faint hint of firewhisky. Mint, from that damn gum, he never stopped chewing. 

And cigarettes. 

Sirius had been the first amongst their group to smoke. After that first, reckless kiss one late night in their dorm, Remus had taken up the habit—and the gum chewing—just because it made his mouth taste like him. 

By sixth year, they’d been all over each other, insatiable and incapable of breaking apart, and they’d maintained that theme throughout their time together. They’d never been soft; Hell, they had barely gotten along half the time. They’d fight and fuck and fight some more, and some nights, he swore they’d ripped a hole in the fabric of this thing between them far too big to repair. 

But then Sirius would curl up with his head in Remus’ lap, or Remus would shuffle across the dorm and slide into Sirius’ bed so he could feel his arms wrap around him on the bad nights. They had their quiet, their calm. Mostly, though, they had their fight. 

Life in love with Sirius Black had been a torrential downpour, drenching him in need and frustration in equal measure. 

That last fight had lasted a month, and then Remus left. 

He knew, even then, even as he sat before Dumbledore and begged him to send him as far from London as possible, to let him be of use to the Order, that he was being a coward. 

Moony had been more than happy to remind him of such, the wolf’s own feelings about the tangled web he and Sirius had spent five long years weaving notwithstanding. 

He’d known, then, that Sirius would do something reckless. Perhaps that was why it had been so easy for him to think the worst of him—or, even worse, maybe he believed the shit the Prophet spewed simply because it gave him another reason to blame himself, to hate himself.

That seemed to be the one thing Remus could never stop seeking—reason to prove himself right; a big, glaring, neon sign above his head that read ‘monster.’ 

Maybe, in believing Sirius to be guilty, he’d merely found another way to punish himself, but he had believed it, wholeheartedly. He’d cursed his name, drank and sobbed until he threw up, clawed at his own arm as if he could remove the stupid fucking tattoo etched just below the crook of his elbow with his bare hands. 

He believed it. He thought Sirius had been capable of harming Lily, of harming James—moreover, he’d thought himself important enough that the absence of him would have driven Sirius to cause the death of his three best friends. And now, as he pulled the jacket from the hanger and sank to the floor, clutching the fabric to his face, and began to sob, he couldn’t find a single justification. 

Two years. Two years to the fucking day, the man he loved had been rotting in prison, tormented by dementors. He was probably cold, hungry, losing his godsdamn mind, and Remus had been sitting on his arse feeling sorry for himself. 

He hadn’t done a fucking thing. They threw Sirius away without a trial, and he had let him waste away in that fucking cell. He let them take Harry, to boot, and that was the worst of it all. 

Sure, he'd tried. Or, he'd told himself he had. But it took one single conversation of Dumbledore making him feel lower than dirt by reminding him he couldn't care for a child for him to accept that Harry was better off. 

But how could he be better off when he hadn't even known the people Dumbledore shipped him off to? Why had he been so willing to believe them better than himself? Why had he so easily decided to accept the narrative that the man he loved caused the death and destruction of their entire family when they didn't even give him a trial?

And how the fuck did he go from having done all of that, to the future she spoke of?

Hermione called Sirius his husband. He got him back, some day, married him, and then lost him all over again. Twelve years apart, for two years together that he couldn’t even begin to fathom, because that had to mean Sirius forgave him, and why would he? 

He didn’t deserve forgiveness. He didn’t deserve a fucking thing. He didn’t even deserve to be touching the jacket Lily had stitched her love into with such great care. 

He didn’t deserve to live his life as the man he somehow became.

The man who got to love Sirius again. The man who got to love her, this impossible witch who had shown up a few hours ago and tilted his world on its axis. The man who loved a woman and a baby enough to defy the laws of time and send them to safety. He didn’t deserve to be a father, to live the life that man had worked so hard for. 

And now it was here, deposited straight into his lap with a simple ‘tell him I said this is his life, now. Don't fuck it up.’

But how could he not fuck it up? How was he supposed to be a father? A Mate? A husband? What was that even supposed to look like for them? How the fuck was he supposed to get Moony off of his back long enough to make sense of everything and give her time to heal, when even now, as he heard the baby stir and Hermione begin softly humming to soothe him back to sleep, the wolf was howling in his mind with the need to go to them? 

And how was he supposed to live, knowing he’d failed the man he loved? 

Sirius was innocent, and Remus had failed him, and somehow, the man who knew him better than anyone had faith enough to believe he could take care of his wife and child, and nothing made sense. 

And so, he sat, and he sobbed into the cold leather jacket until he heard Callum begin to cry just as the first light of dawn began to stream in through the thin curtains. He stood, drying his eyes with his sleeve as he carefully hung the jacket back on the hanger and closed the closet door. 

And then, Moony won. Remus turned to head down the hall and carefully slipped into the bedroom, lifting the squirming bundle that wore his face into his arms, because he didn’t know how the fuck he was supposed to do any of this, but he did know that the letter said to trust the wolf. 

And right now, the wolf was demanding he tend to his pup and let his mate rest, so he did exactly that. Cradling Callum in his arms, he moved to his familiar spot on the sofa and pushed the curtain to the side as he watched the sun rise. 

He didn’t know how to move on; he didn’t know how to forgive, or be forgiven, and he damn sure didn’t know how on earth Old Boy, as Moony so lovingly called him, had thought him worthy of any of this, but he was going to earn it.

And then he was going to bring Sirius and Harry home. 

He wasn’t sure how, or what that would mean for Hermione, for the baby, but Moony simply sighed in contentment at the thought of having what was left of his pack reunited, and Callum let out a satisfied little ah–ooo, and the combination of the two ignited something within his chest.

As the night bled into day and his son fell back to sleep in his arms, Remus thought that maybe, for once, he was on the right track. 

☆────☆☾☼☽☆────☆

Chapter Text

𝙷𝚎𝚛𝚖𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚎

.·:·.☆☾☼☽☆.·:·.

Over breakfast and well into the morning, Hermione sat and told Remus everything she’d left out the night before. She talked for at least three hours, divulging every bit of information she could think of. It was almost as if once she’d opened the floodgates, she couldn’t force them closed no matter what she did, until she’d given him her entire history, down to taking the Knight Bus to his door. 

It wasn’t easy. She cried, Callum fussed and whined and giggled and clapped and had a nappy blowout and interrupted a million times as they passed him back and forth. Moony got so angry over some of the details that Remus had to take a few minutes out on the fire escape to calm down. 

Remus looked more broken by the minute. 

But then it was done; Every bit of the terrible tale was out in the open between them, and they began to work on a game plan. 

Horcruxes. Then Harry. Then Sirius. Then, figuring out what the fuck comes next. 

It was simple enough, in theory. In practice, it was already dizzying up her mind as she sat on the sofa next to Remus, holding Callum while she looked at a post-eye-loss, pre-creepy-magical-eye Alastor Moody, who was far more handsome than she’d anticipated. 

Not in such a way that she was interested in him; she was a married woman with a husband lost to time and another technical-husband sitting next to her, given the fact that marital soul bindings didn’t exactly give a shit about the concept of time. 

He was just handsome in a way that surprised her, because it was a bit trippy to be looking at the thirty-something-year-old face of the gruff Auror she’d known. 

She wondered if, perhaps, it was the eye patch that did it, but she shoved the thoughts aside to focus on the matter at hand.  

Calling Moody had been Remus’s idea. She knew, of course, that Moody was a sort of mentor for Remus, and that around this time they would have been meeting for pub nights, so it made sense that Remus trusted his judgement. After his initial disbelief and a round of both Veritaserum and Legilimency for both of them, Moody had finally bought their story enough to go over some of the finer details. 

Now, however, they’d reached a stalemate. 

“I’m the one who has seen Voldemort's horcruxes with my own eyes, and I have a vested interest in keeping the sixth and final one safe.” Hermione had kept her tone firm and unyielding the entire evening. She refused to waver and appear unsure of herself by behaving too timidly, nor did she want to have to contend with being perceived as a hysterical woman if she got too worked up. 

“I understand that,” Moody said coolly. “But you don’t have the slightest idea where Lestrange is keeping hers, or how many there are. I have the power to dispense teams trained to handle dark artefacts. They can do away with what we do know of, and I can have her brought in for questioning under Veritaserum to discern the location of the rest. 

“Respectfully, Miss…is it Lupin?” At her nod, Moody chuckled. “That’s going to take some getting used to.” 

“You’re telling me,” Remus laughed as he reached over and plucked Callum from Hermione’s arms. Callum let out a happy gurgle and immediately shot a hand up to tug at Remus’ nose. 

“Well, you look like you’re holding your own with the kid. Looks good on ya, mate.” Moody looked back over at Hermione, his expression softening slightly as he continued. “Look, Mrs. Lupin—” 

“Hermione,” Remus quickly corrected. She looked down at her hands in her lap and took a breath, absolutely refusing to unpack why his correction stung.

“Hermione,” Moody said. “You did the right thing. You’ve given invaluable information to the authorities—the authority being me, in this case—so now, you need to let me do my job.” 

“But I’ve already done it, and I can do it again. I don’t want to be on the sidelines, I—” 

“She needs confirmation.” Remus looked over at Hermione, carefully grabbing Callum’s wrist to tug his hand away from his face as he spoke, “That would help, yeah? Because Moody isn’t wrong. You have to think about Callum, and you can’t go running off headfirst into danger.”

“But, ” he continued as she opened her mouth to protest, “You have to understand, Moody, that this is her fight even more than it is ours. She’s lost her entire world, many times over, to a war that wouldn’t end. If Hermione agrees to stay out of it and let your men handle the job, could you guarantee to keep us informed every step of the way?” 

“Of course. It's the least I could do,” Moody agreed. 

“Will that work?” Remus asked, his eyes moving over her face rapidly. 

Hermione wanted to sink into the couch cushions, and keep sinking, because the stupid, confusing feelings seemed hellbent on sticking around, and he was holding her son, who was also his son, but he wasn’t the man who she’d had the baby with, and he was right there taking charge and flipping things to meet her needs as her husband always did, and honestly, she rather thought the whole mess would be easier to contend with if Remus had been one of those people who had been awkward-looking in their younger days. 

But no, he just had to be as handsome as he’d always been. 

She wanted to kick him, but she refrained and chose the more sensible option. “That would be great, thank you.” 

It was a partial lie. In truth, she hated the idea of not being on the frontlines, of not being involved or, better yet, personally destroying every Horcrux with her own two hands. On the other hand, she’d been fighting this war for twelve long years, and she had to admit that letting the people who had chosen the job handle things wasn’t the worst idea in the world.

“Brilliant.” Moody slapped his hands against his knees and stood to reach for his jacket. “I’ll get the ball rolling on this right away. Remus, I’ll see you Saturday if we’re still on? And Hermione, I just want to thank you again. I know this must be very hard, but coming to me was the right step. If there’s anything you need, anything at all, Remus knows how to reach me.” 

“Actually,” Hermione began carefully. “There is something. Two things. They’re both rather big matters to ask for, but they’re necessary all the same.” 

“Name it,” Moody said with ease. 

“I need your guarantee that Albus Dumbledore will not know a single word that was spoken here today until every matter has been fully resolved.” She paused, glancing over at Remus, who gave her an encouraging nod. Turning back to Moody, she added, “And I want you to help Remus and I secure full, legally-binding custody of Harry James Potter.”

☆─────☆☾☼☽☆─────☆

𝚁𝚎𝚖𝚞𝚜

.·:·.☆☾☼☽☆.·:·.

|| Want ||

Fuck off. 

|| Want. Mate Needs. Can’t you smell it, boy? ||

Remus sighed and rubbed his temples in an attempt to silence Moony and his never-ending stream of bullshit, but it was a wasted effort. It had been three weeks since Hermione and Callum had come into his life, and things had been exactly as awkward as one would expect them to be when your forty-three-year-old self decides to give you an early Christmas gift and shove his wife and kid through a bookshelf and into your decade. 

She was kind, polite, and no issue at all—honestly, now that he had been around her, even for such a short time, he couldn’t fathom a world without her in it, which only served to confuse him even more. 

Over and over, he played the reminders on a loop in his head. 

It’s not real. It’s the mating instinct. You don’t even know her. She’s grieving. It’s just the instinct. You don’t even know her.

It was just the instinct. 

It was the instinct that made him hyper-focused on every move she made, as if he couldn’t learn her fast enough. It was the instinct that made Moony scream the most inconvenient things in his head every time the collar of her shirt dipped to reveal a flash of cleavage when she bent to pick up Callum. 

It was just the instinct that allowed him to smell when she was ovulating—and that part had to be the truth, because honestly, he had never known he could smell such a thing, but it was right there all the same. 

A sort of earthy tang to her natural scent that had Moony droning on about breeding and how perfect the mate was with his pup in his desperate mission to convince Remus to reward her. 

Moony had always been a simple-minded creature. Right around the time Remus started having wet dreams and became sexually curious, it opened something up inside his mind, and with that came the…thoughts.

The Obsession. Perhaps there was a better term for it, but obsessed was the only way Remus knew how to classify it. 

Choose a Mate. Breed the Mate. Choose a Mate. Breed the Mate.

When he had been with Sirius, Moony’s obsession was a thorn in his side the entire time. It wasn’t that Moony had any outright issue with Remus being with a man; as far as Moony was concerned, Sirius was pack, and whatever human emotions or relationship existed beyond that was none of his concern. 

What the wolf was concerned—and extremely vocal—about was that damned obsession. If Moony had his way, Remus would have simply gone out and found a mate who could bear his young and brought her home, and then he could have the best of both worlds. 

Which he couldn’t deny wasn’t the worst thought, but Sirius would have never shared. 

His jealousy was one of the things Remus both loved and loathed about him. It was a nuisance to contend with, but it felt…nice, in a sense, to have someone care enough to go all broody if he thought a witch or wizard smiled at Remus a bit too long. 

Sirius. 

Remus had been actively trying not to think about him, but just as his efforts to not think about Hermione in ways he shouldn’t were failing spectacularly every five seconds, it seemed impossible to prevent his mind from spiralling over Sirius, too.  

The primary focus right now had to be the boys. He and Hermione had agreed upon that without hesitation. Tending to Callum’s needs as Remus found his footing as a father, and working to get Harry back was the top priority.

It was all they could do, until Moody had things in order and the Auror department was ready to move on Peter, and then there would be a legal process to clear Sirius’s name. 

And then he would come home, and the world would explode all over again, and he had no idea how the hell he was going to balance everything or deal with it all. This thing for Hermione kept doing its damndest to creep beyond the boundaries, and the Moony-related issues were overtaking his mind, and at this point, it was getting harder by the hour to keep an eye on where the line was. 

It was especially hard when his eyes seemed to have become permanently fused to Hermione’s chest. And her face. Her arse. Her hair. 

It was like he couldn’t stop staring at her, no matter how hard he tried to break the habit. He would be going about his day completely fine, and then he would be leering at her like a creep, and he couldn’t explain it at all. 

The worst part was when Moony seemed to take control. Just this morning, he’d been across the room, and then before he knew it, he was standing next to her as she fixed a cup of coffee, leaning in so close that his nose was nearly touching her cheek. 

Hermione had merely offered him a smile and said good morning to both him and Moony, then carefully took her hair down from her tightly-wound bun and covered her neck. A wise choice, given that the full moon was in two days and he was beginning to worry Moony would take over entirely and he’d black out, only to come to and find himself licking the side of her face or something equally animalistic and deranged. 

Remus was well-read, in terms of his condition and what can happen when a werewolf chooses a mate. But living the reality was a fucking nightmare. He’d never been so worked up in his life, but he’d also never been forty-eight hours from a full moon and stuck in a tiny flat with his mate who had already proven her ability to give him pups. 

His mate, who was ovulating right before the full, because the bond literally steered her very biology to accommodate him. 

It was too much to handle, but he could hardly walk away, so he was doing everything he could to distract himself from the rampant need building inside of him—and distracting Moony in the best way possible; baby snuggles.

Hermione giggled as she watched Callum pull at his nose again, and Remus playfully scolded the baby before he stood from the sofa and laid him on the blanket she’d spread out on the floor to change his nappy. 

“See? He was just being courteous and plugging your nose to spare you the torture of that,” Hermione said, grimacing as she covered her mouth. “Honestly, I don’t know how you don’t gag, especially with your heightened senses.” 

“Because he’s perfect,” Remus said, matter-of-factly. “And he does no wrong, and he’s the smartest baby alive, isn't that right, cubby?” 

Callum let out an excited squeal, and Remus laughed.

“Undoubtedly,” Hermione agreed as she moved to kneel next to him, tickling Callum’s belly while Remus re-snapped the closures of his onesie. “But he’s also the stinkiest baby alive.” 

Callum giggled, kicking his little legs excitedly as he tried to reach for his mother’s hair—his favourite chew toy. Hermione captured his hands and began to place an array of loud, smacking kisses on his palms, causing him to laugh harder. 

|| See how happy Mate makes our Pup? She’ll give us more. So strong. Take her now | | 

If she knew the shit you say, she would file an injunction against you.

|| Mate knows. She knows her Moony so well. Needs me to reward her || 

I’m going to launch myself out of the window. 

|| You’ll live. I make you too strong for human dramatics. Now lick her neck ||

“Oh my god,” he groaned aloud. 

“Hey.” Hermione reached a hand out, then paused, her fingers hovering over his knee before she quickly jerked it away and turned her attention back to Callum, scooping him up into her arms. 

“He’s not going to stop until after the full. I’m…sorry for that. Moony, you could really be a little more understanding, you know?” she scolded lightly as she stood. 

|| Pretty little Mate loves her Moony. Speaks to me. Wants me to kn— ||

Don’t you dare finish that sentence.

“I’m sorry.” Remus moved to stand, then thought better of it, shifting as he tried to adjust the front of his trousers. 

“Don’t apologise. It’s a perfectly normal reaction. The full moon is almost here, and he’s a primal, needs-based entity. He’ll calm down as soon as the full passes.” 

“How did, um…how did your husband manage to deal with all of…this?” he asked, waving a hand near the side of his head. 

Hermione blushed and turned her head, pressing her lips into a thin line as if she were trying to stifle a laugh, and Remus didn’t need to hear the answer that was written all over her face.

“Shit. Right. Sorry for…” 

“No, it’s okay,” Hermione rushed out. “My husband loved me and then chose me as his mate. Things were vastly different for him and me than they are for us. I just showed up here with this bond already in place, so obviously, the first full moon afterwards is going to be rough. It’s quite alright, Remus.” 

“No, it’s not,” he spat the words a bit too harshly, then winced as Moony growled in discontent. “I’m sorry, I just…” 

“It’s alright,” she repeated. “It’s hard to deal with, but we’ll manage. You know it doesn’t have to…this isn’t anything beyond what we want it to be. Moony will annoy you, but you’ll both adjust.” 

“Right. You’re right. It doesn’t have to be anything…I mean, we aren’t…anything.”

“Right.” Hermione nodded and turned Callum in her arms to cradle him. Her voice sounded a bit strangled, and Remus knew he’d put his foot in his mouth again, but she pasted a smile back on her face before he could apologise again. “I’m a bit tired, so I think I’ll lie with the baby for his nap.”

“Sure, yeah,” Remus agreed as he finally pushed himself up to stand and moved toward the sofa. “I think I’ll rest a bit too. Have a nice nap, Hermione.” 

She nodded and walked away, and he sighed, slumping back against the sofa as he ran a hand through his hair. 

|| Wrong. Coward. Go lie with her. Pack time. She wants us with her ||

She wants him, Moony. We aren’t him. 

|| You never make any sense ||

“Go to sleep,” he mumbled.

☆─────☆☾☼☽☆─────☆

  𝙷𝚎𝚛𝚖𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚎

.·:·.☆☾☼☽☆.·:·.

The walls of the Dursleys’ sitting room were a nauseating shade of peach, with the most hideous floral wallpaper on the wall behind the too-stiff Chesterfield-style sofa. The home was meticulously maintained. Every picture frame was perfectly hung, every one of the too-many throw pillows fluffed and aligned to perfection. 

It was fucking infuriating. 

To sit here, in the middle of their forced perfection as the two adults sat stiffly in armchairs across from the sofa, judgment in their eyes and tight smiles on their lips, and not hex them both into oblivion was an exercise in self-control she felt ill-prepared to enact. 

But she did. For Harry. 

Moody had sent a letter the week prior to inform Petunia and Vernon of their visit. The Dursleys had never responded, which they had expected, but they were clearly ready for them all the same. 

Harry was clean and had been called from upstairs, where Petunia explained the boys were playing in their playroom, then promptly offered a snack as he took a seat in a chair at the little play table neatly tucked into the corner of the room. 

But Hermione wasn’t blind. She had noticed the locks on the door under the stairs when they walked in. She could see the way Harry looked down as he entered the room, already afraid to make eye contact. Most importantly, she could see the way he seemed to be examining the plate of fruit Petunia had given him as if he were trying to solve a complex arithmancy problem. 

They weren’t feeding him a healthy diet, that much was clear, but that was the least of her concerns. 

She knew what Harry faced under the ‘care’ of his aunt and uncle. She knew that, over time, Harry sort of hardened to it all. The sass she’d loved so much had been a direct product of his refusal to take too much of the Dursleys’ shit. But right now, he was practically a baby. Just over three years old, and two years into being stuck in this house of nightmares. He wasn’t old enough to even understand that what they did to him was wrong, let alone to build up the mental fortitude required to push back against it all. 

Harry picked up a grape, squeezing it between his fingers before he took a tentative bite. His eyes remained trained on his food the entire time, as if he were afraid to look up, and she wanted nothing more than to launch herself off the sofa and gather him in her arms, to comfort him and tell him it would all be alright, but she had to be careful not to spook him. 

Remus sat next to her, his entire body stiff and his eyes trained on the wall above Vernon’s head as he kept his arms wrapped around Callum as if the baby were the only thing holding him together, and Moody sat to his left, studying Harry intently before he turned back to the Dursleys as Petunia spoke. 

“Now that the introductions are out of the way, may I inquire about the nature of this visit? It would be wonderful if we could keep this quick, as I would hate for little Harry to miss his nap time. A normal sleep schedule is so important for a growing boy,” Petunia said with forced sweetness.

Remus sniffed. Hermione shifted her leg to press her thigh against his, trying to ground both the man and the wolf as she finally tore her eyes away from Harry to focus on the conversation at hand. 

“Yes, the letter mentioned a discussion about Harry’s current custody arrangement?” Vernon asked, sounding almost giddy. Hermione wasn’t sure why his elation sent her anger soaring to new heights, but she forced herself to remain calm as Moody took the lead. 

“Right,” he cleared his throat. “As the initial letter stated, it was in Harry’s best interest to be with a member of his mother’s bloodline. We have since managed to…resolve some issues, and that particular precaution is no longer necessary.” 

“So you think you can just swoop in now that your people have resolved whatever darkness took my dear sister-in-law,” Vernon spoke, his voice calm and controlled, “and take the boy we’ve loved as our own away? And to whom will he be given? These two, here?” 

“Yes,” Hermione said firmly. “My husband and I are prepared to take Harry and raise him as our own. We certainly appreciate that you took Harry in, but I don’t think we need to mince words here. Neither of you wants to be raising him; we do.” 

“And what on earth makes you think I would send him back to that world?” Petunia spat, her face pinched with discontent. “Do you expect me to hand him over to complete strangers and go about my merry way?”

“We are not strangers.” Remus’ tone was so icy that both of the Dursleys stiffened. Hermione placed a hand on his leg, and he whipped his head to the side, locking eyes with her as he blew out a long, slow breath through his nose. 

“What I mean to say,” he continued, turning his attention back to Petunia and Vernon, “is that James was my brother. I was present the day Harry was born. I was the first person he spat up on. I have, thus far, been prevented from having him under my care, but those restrictions are no longer relevant. With every ounce of the respect you deserve, we are not here to ask your permission. We are here as a courtesy, so that you may have time to say your goodbyes.”

“You can’t—you won’t just take him!” Petunia’s voice rose with every word until she was nearly screeching, and the lights began to flicker as the tea service on the table began to rattle. Vernon let out a high-pitched whimper and gripped the arms of his chair as his face paled. 

Hermione thought, for a moment, that the accidental burst of magic had been from Remus, so she moved on instinct, carefully plucking Callum out of his arms. Remus furrowed his brow and gave a slight shake of his head, indicating he didn’t know what had happened either.

Hermione looked back at Harry, and her heart leapt to her throat. He was rocking slightly in his chair, two fingers of one hand tapping his chin repeatedly as the other hand rubbed his forearm. His jaw was tight, his little face turning red, but still, he didn’t look up. 

“You see that? That’s exactly why he has to stay! The boy is disturbed. Rocking, doing his heathen magics on the lights, why, he shattered half the dinner plates last week! You expect us to just let him go out into the world? He could hurt somebody!” Petunia continued her screeching, and Hermione’s patience snapped. 

“He is not disturbed. He’s trying to fucking soothe himself because your incessant caterwauling is scaring him.” She forced herself to speak calmly, spitting the words out through a smile. 

Harry wasn’t okay. She’d known he wouldn’t be, but the reality of seeing him like this, so small and scared, was more than she could bear. 

Moody spoke up, attempting to calm the situation at hand as he explained legal measures and some other nonsense, but the words were lost on Hermione as she took Callum from Remus’s lap and stood, crossing the room to crouch down in front of Harry. 

“Hi, Harry. My name is Hermione. It’s lovely to meet you,” she whispered. Harry didn’t look up as he continued to rock, so she tried again.

“You know, when Callum here feels uncomfortable, his stuffed wolf helps him feel better. Do you have a stuffed friend to help you?” she asked, settling down to sit cross-legged on the floor next to the low chair where Harry sat. 

He gave a short, nearly imperceptible shake of his head. Hermione slipped her bag off her shoulder, and he finally turned to watch her, his eyes going wide as she reached into the old beaded pouch and dug around for a moment.

She pulled out the extra stuffed animal she’d brought—a little deer Remus said was reminiscent of one he’d had as a baby, and Harry looked rapidly between the toy and her bag.

“It’s magic,” she whispered conspiratorially. “Just like you have magic in you.” 

Harry let out a low, keening whine and began to rock again, rapidly shaking his head, and she mentally chastised herself. Right. He would be afraid of the very word at this juncture. 

“It’s good magic, Harry. And this stuffy is for you, if you’d like to have him. See? Baby Callum has his wolf, and Harry will have his stag. Wouldn’t that be nice? When you start to feel yucky, and you need something to hold, you could use him and maybe give your arm a break.” 

She flicked her eyes to where he’d rubbed his arm red, swallowing the bile that rose in her throat as she caught sight of the bottom of a bruise peeking out from beneath the sleeve of his too-large shirt.

Harry tapped his fingers on his chin again as he carefully turned in his chair to look at Callum. Tentatively, he reached a hand out, brushing his finger over the back of the stuffed stag. “Soft,” he whispered.

“It’s the same material as Callum’s wolf. Would you like to feel it, too?” 

Harry nodded, still watching the baby carefully. Hermione could hear Remus and Moody speaking, taking turns as they tried to bring Vernon back to a rational mindset, but she could tell the conversation was getting them nowhere, and it was the last thing she wanted to focus on right now. 

She moved Callum to sit on her thigh, placing a hand on his stomach as she pulled out his wolf. He let out an excited squeal, immediately reaching for it, and Harry smiled—for less than half a second before his face fell stoic again.

“Would you like to hold the baby?” Hermione asked after a moment, as Harry seemed to have lost all interest in the toys. He was staring at Callum, watching him carefully with his little eyebrows pinched together. There was a concern etched into his features that made her heart lurch, but as soon as she offered, he was scrambling out of his chair to carefully position himself on the floor in front of her. 

Callum sniffed the air, then squealed, lunging toward Harry. He jerked back in surprise. “It’s alright, Harry. He just gets very excited when he likes someone.” 

Harry seemed to perk up at that, another brief smile flashing across his face as he held his arms out. Hermione carefully situated Callum in his arms, wishing she’d had the foresight to bring a camera. 

Harry never got to hold him. In her time, he’d passed away when she was only four months pregnant. She never even got to talk to him about it. Remus had told him of the pregnancy, of course, during a supply run the week before Christmas, where he and Severus had met up with Harry and Ron—a week before Ron died. 

When Remus returned home to deliver their well-wishes, she’d sobbed for hours. She was glad he told them, but the reality of their situation was more daunting by the day during her pregnancy, and the fact that she hadn’t even been able to deliver the news herself had hit harder than she’d thought it would. 

The night Harry died, he’d placed a hand on her stomach and simply given her a sad smile before he’d lost consciousness, but she hadn’t needed the words to know everything he was thinking and feeling. 

Her Harry was gone, but now he was here, in front of her, holding her baby. She’d expected it to hurt, but she only felt a simple, calming joy at the sight. 

Harry looked down at Callum like he was a science experiment, and she had to stifle a laugh at his surprised expression when Callum yanked on Harry’s nose.

“Nice hands, Callum,” she scolded softly, tugging his hand from Harry’s face. Harry stiffened, watching carefully as she pulled the baby’s hand away.

“Would you like to hold your new stag?” she asked, trying to soothe him as he began to rock softly again. Harry glanced up, but quickly looked back down at Callum without answering as he continued to rock.

“He likes you.” She smiled and scooted back slightly, giving Harry the space he clearly needed. 

“My baby,” Harry whispered.

“Okay.” She grinned. “I think he agrees with that, yeah?” 

Harry nodded and reached out, yanking the small wolf up off the floor. Callum accepted it from him with a delighted squeal, and Harry ripped the stag out of her hand, then began to scoot backwards, carefully putting more distance between them as he looked over at the other adults and started to rock harder. 

He was protecting Callum. 

The realisation hit her like a ton of bricks, and she looked over her shoulder to where she knew she would find Remus watching them. His jaw was set, one hand tapping rapidly against his knee as his leg bounced, and his head twitched to the side. 

She wasn’t sure if Moony was happy or losing his shit, but he was clearly having some sort of big reaction, and she found herself torn between wanting to go to him, to soothe him, and wanting to stay right where she was, watching Harry continue to study Callum. 

Ultimately, the kids won out. 

“You’re not going to stay here very much longer, Harry,” she told him softly. Harry looked up at her, his face impassive, so she continued. “That’s why we’re here today. You’re going to come home very soon, to live with me, and Uncle Moony, and baby Callum.” 

“My baby?” 

“Yes,” she laughed softly. “Your baby. Would you like that?” 

Harry nodded and all but dismissed her as he turned back to the task at hand, one hand rubbing the little velveteen antler of his new stuffed stag as the other arm stayed banded around Callum’s chest. He seemed to be off in his own little world as Callum babbled and bashed his wolf against Harry’s arm, so she turned to focus on the conversation happening on the other side of the room. 

“And what if we protest this?” Petunia asked curtly. 

“Respectfully, Mrs Dursley, it won’t matter. Harry is a magical child, so the case would be heard before the Wizengamot—our government, essentially. The court would rule on behalf of the two magical individuals willing to adopt him.” 

“Fine,” Vernon huffed. “But what of the…strain that caring for another child for two years has put on this household? Surely, you, Mr. Lupin, understand that child-rearing isn’t easy on the pocketbook.” 

“Are you fu—” Remus cleared his throat. “Are you actually asking that we pay you for you to allow us to take Harry?” 

“Well, it's just…a rational issue to discuss,” Petunia answered for her husband. “I’m well aware my sister married into money, and yet we haven’t seen a single dime of compensation for the cost of Harry’s care.” 

“You do realise selling a child, or accepting a bribe over a child’s custody, is illegal in both the magical and the non-magical world, yes? And I’m a cop, so I am duty-bound to report this…finding,” Moody warned them. 

“Now, now, it’s nothing like that.” Vernon laughed nervously. “We just mean, in other cases of fostering, there is usually compensation involved, so we were…curious.” 

“Then allow me to be very clear, so that your curiosity can be…alleviated.” Remus stood, towering over the room as he took a single step toward Vernon. Vernon gasped, pulling his feet into the chair as he cowered away from the gold she knew, even only having a view of the back of his head, would be present in Remus’ eyes. 

“Wh–what are you?” Petunia asked in a high-pitched whine.

“Harry’s future guardian, in…two weeks’ time, is that right, Moody?” Remus looked over his shoulder. At Moody’s nod, he turned back to Vernon, cocking his head. 

“As I said, allow me to alleviate your curiosity. You will not be paid to get out of the way when it comes to Harry, because I do not need your permission to take him. I am willing to wait for the paperwork, because it is to Harry’s benefit that the legal issues are handled properly.” 

“However,” he continued, “If I catch wind of you mistreating him, even slightly, between now and when my wife and I bring our nephew home, the cost of the scraps you’ve provided him with will be the least of your worries. Are we clear?” 

“Clear.” Vernon nodded. “Crystal.” 

“Let's just be sure of that, then.” 

Remus drew his wand. Petunia began to scream. Vernon sputtered. Harry’s eyes were as big as saucers as he scooted under the table, still clinging to Callum. 

“It’s okay, Harry. That’s Uncle Moony. You don’t remember him, but he’s not mean like Uncle Vernon, okay? Uncle Moony protects us,” Hermione rushed out, trying to soothe him. She wanted to reach over and pull both boys into her lap, but she was terrified of spooking him. 

“Oh, shut up, he’s not going to hex you in front of an Auror,” Moody huffed, rolling his eyes at the Dursleys’ antics, then added, “I don’t think.” 

“I’m not,” Remus agreed. He took a step backwards, turning to face the doorway that led into the foyer. Pointing his wand toward the staircase, he hit the little door with a Confringo, blowing it clean off its hinges before he carefully tucked it away. 

“That—that’s property damage!” Vernon stuttered out. “I could sue!” 

“And I could alert your Muggle authorities that you’re keeping a child imprisoned in a storage closet,” Moody replied simply as he rose from his seat and straightened the collar of his Auror robes. 

"Well, if you're some sort of law enforcer, then are you not obligated to report his actions?" Petunia screeched. "You just saw him commit a crime!"

"Bad vision," Moony intoned, tapping a finger to his eyepatch. 

“Uncle Moony killed my door?” Harry asked nervously. Remus whipped his head around, worry lining his features as he took in the sight of Harry huddled under the table. He moved toward them, but stopped short of the table and crouched down next to Hermione. 

“It’s okay, Harry,” he said. “I just needed to make sure the door went bye-bye. You’re not going to go in that closet again, alright? And if you do, then when we come back to take you home, Uncle Moony will see to it that Vernon is in very, very big trouble.” 

Harry studied Remus for a moment. He raised a hand, tapping his fingers against his chin just once before he began to rub the antler of the stag as he looked back to Hermione. “Home?”

“Home,” she nodded. “With me, and Uncle Moony, and baby Callum. We have to leave today, but we’ll be back so soon, and we’ll take you with us, okay? And then you won’t ever have to be in this house again.” 

“My baby,” Harry nodded and began to scoot forward, unceremoniously dumping Callum out of his lap as he reached for the stuffed wolf that had fallen to the floor. Remus leaned in to scoop the baby up, and Harry picked up the wolf and deer, staring down at them with that problem-solving look on his face. 

He carefully held the wolf back out to Callum, who accepted it with a squeal, then clutched the stag to his chest as he gave Remus a shy smile.

“My Prongs, see, Uncle Moony?” 

Hermione gasped, tears stinging her eyes. She knew the memory of a magical child worked a little differently than most; they were sharper, more likely to remember small details around major events than the average child. Still, if it was overwhelming even to her that he seemed to recall a fragment of his father, she couldn’t imagine how it must have felt for Remus.

“Yeah,” Remus cleared his throat and reached out to run a finger over the antlers. “That’s your Prongs, buddy.” 

☆─────☆☾☼☽☆─────☆

Chapter Text

𝚁𝚎𝚖𝚞𝚜

.·:·.☆☾☼☽☆.·:·.

Remus couldn’t take it anymore. 

It had been hard enough to see Harry living like that with those people and not rip Vernon Dursley’s head off his shoulders. Moony had been in a right state, growling so loud every time the git spoke that Remus could barely maintain the conversation. In true form, the wolf had settled as soon as Hermione left the adults to their bullshit and went to tend to Harry. 

|| Good Mate. Keeps both of our pups safe. Gives them Pack time ||

It was as if the very sight of Hermione near his young soothed even his own mind. He was angry, confused, splitting apart at the seams as he tried to maintain his control, but he’d been gone the second he saw Harry. 

He hadn’t seen the boy since his first birthday party. He knew Harry wouldn’t remember him, just as he knew Moony’s reaction to seeing Prongs’s pup would be a big one. 

But he hadn’t expected it to feel the way it had. 

Before, when James and Lily were alive, Harry was Pack. Remus had felt protective of him, just the same as he did everyone else. But now, everyone else was gone, and that seemed to have made some sort of instinctual difference. Because the boy he’d seen stumble into the room in a threadbare t-shirt that hung nearly to his ankles wasn’t just Pack. He was his. 

|| Our pup, now. Ours ||

He didn’t try to make sense of it; he wasn’t sure if he even could have, but there was no need to try. Logically, it made sense. Harry was young, his parents were gone, and his wolf claimed ownership over the orphaned young of his pack, but the logic didn’t matter; looking at Harry had been exactly like looking at Callum. Harry was his now. His, and hers, so far as Moony was concerned.

Needless to say, maintaining his control throughout the meeting had been nearly impossible, and leaving felt like something had torn inside his chest. 

But the ball was rolling, and everything was in place. Moody was in the process of obtaining credentials that named Hermione as a muggleborn cousin of Lily’s to negate any bureaucratic issues with the Ministry—or, moreover, to prevent Dumbledore from trying to stop the transfer of custody if he caught wind of the situation. 

Soon, Harry would be home, and he had to hold on to that, or he’d go completely insane. Hermione had chattered all through the evening as she looked through the classifieds, moving with that same determination she always seemed to possess while she made her plans. She wasn’t wrong. They couldn’t bring a second child back to a shoddy, one-bedroom flat, and Moony was beyond discontent with the state of the place. So tomorrow they’d begin touring houses and try to find something with enough space for their strange, patchwork family. 

And then, once Harry was home, it would be time to focus on Sirius, which he couldn’t even bring himself to think of right now. 

As for right now, he was losing his mind. Finding his footing as a father wasn’t an easy feat, and he was constantly worried about overstepping or violating some boundary. 

But Moony was insistent, and he was supposed to trust the wolf. Right now, the wolf was all but screaming with the need to go to them, because he could hear Callum fussing, could hear Hermione steadily losing her mind as she tried to calm him, so he raised his hand to knock lightly on the bedroom door. 

“Yeah?” she called out. Taking the permission, Remus carefully opened the door and slipped inside. Hermione was pacing by the window, her hair wild, face streaked with tears as a red-faced Callum screamed in her arms. 

“Is he alright?” 

“No!” she snapped, then made a choked sound as she shook her head. “I’m sorry. I forgot to put up the silencing charm.” 

|| Mate doesn’t want us to hear the Pup. Something’s wrong. Fix it. Scent || 

“Give him to me,” Remus ordered softly as he stepped forward. Hermione passed the baby to him, and Callum screamed again, sniffing greedily at his chest before he started to settle. His cries faded into soft, hiccuping whimpers, and Remus began to sway as he shifted the baby to lie against his shoulder so he could tuck his little head against his neck. 

“Oh, sure, the second you hold him, he—” Hermione broke off into a whine, dropping her head in her hands. He studied her for a minute as realisation dawned on him. 

“You’ve been silencing the room when he throws a fit at night? I thought he was sleeping all the way through. I only ever hear him in the mornings.” 

“I…yeah,” she admitted, raising her head as she wiped away her tears. “I didn’t want to…gods, why is this so fucking hard?” 

“I would imagine it’s not going to get any easier if you don’t talk to me about it. Communication, remember?” 

“Yeah. Yeah, I just…” 

Callum let out a sleepy howl, cutting off her sentence, and Moony purred in contentment. 

|| See, boy? Pup needs scent || 

“He’s not sleeping much at all, is he?” Remus asked. “Back home, he was used to having both of us. Is that what's wrong?” 

“I... Yes. I’m sorry,” she apologised, and he wanted to scream, because it was all wrong. This was his son. His pup, and why on Earth should his needing his father be a matter she felt the need to apologise for at all? 

But it was complex, as every fucking thing seemed to be these days, and he understood that much. 

Hermione looked so lost as she watched him sway with the baby. She was exhausted, and it didn’t take a genius to know that if the baby had been throwing fits throughout the nights, she wasn’t getting much sleep at all. 

“Hermione? Lie down.” 

“What? No, I don’t want to make you stay up with him,” she protested. “I can handle it, I’m just—” she broke off into a yawn, and Remus laughed softly. 

“Exactly. Lie down,” he ordered. Hermione rolled her eyes, muttering under her breath about bossy fucking werewolves. She complied, though, peeling back the quilt and lying down with an exaggerated huff. 

Remus walked around to the other side of the bed, and she bolted upright as she watched him climb onto the mattress next to her. 

“What are you doing?” 

“We, ” Remus corrected, moving a pillow out of the way with one hand before he carefully settled Callum onto the mattress between them. “Are doing exactly what we are supposed to be doing.” 

“Which is?” Hermione asked, raising an eyebrow. Remus rolled to his side to face her, and mirrored his movements as she waited for him to respond. 

“The letter, Hermione. He said to listen to the wolf. And even without Moony’s input, you know what Callum needs, because you’re his mother, right?” 

“Right. But I—this is all so difficult, and I didn’t want to make it awkward, or…but yes,” she sighed, tucking one hand between her cheek and the pillow. Remus let his hand rest on Callum’s stomach, feeling the subtle rise and fall of his breathing as he gave her a moment. 

He’d only known her for a month at this point, but he liked to think he’d learned her well already—thanks for that were, no doubt, due to Moony and his constant voyeurism, but it was all the same. She needed a moment to work out whatever she needed to say, so he gave her that, simply watching her face until she spoke again. 

“He’s always slept better when he had both of us around.” 

“Pack instinct," Remus supplied. "He needs both of us nearby so he feels safe.” 

“Exactly,” she confirmed. “So, he hasn’t slept well since we got here. I think you're close enough that he can smell you, but he can't find you, so it upsets him. I cast a charm when he starts to throw a fit, and usually cancel it by morning because I don’t want to keep you away, or worse, make you feel bad.” 

“Well, that’s just silly,” Remus stated plainly. "I'm here, and he clearly isn't going to rest until he has us both. I'm beginning to see he gets that stubborn streak from you, hmm?"

Hermione rolled her eyes and huffed out a little laugh before she quipped, "Nope. He got it from the postman."

"Ah. That was my next guess."

She laughed again, softer this time as she reached down to place her hand above his to rest on Callum’s chest. Their eyes locked, and she sighed again. 

“I don’t know how to do this,” she confessed. 

“Neither do I.” 

|| I have a few ideas ||

Shut up, you’re ruining the moment. 

|| Oh? Are we having a moment? || 

No, godsdammit, that’s not what I— 

|| Shut up. You’re ruining the moment ||

Moony settled, then, seemingly content with the proximity. Callum sighed happily in his sleep. Hermione’s eyes found his, and they lay side by side with their son between them, simply staring at one another for a while.

“Remus?” she asked sleepily, just as her eyes began to drift closed.

“Hmmm?” 

“Promise me you’ll stay?” 

“I swear it. I’ll be right here. Get some rest, love.” 

☆────☆☾☼☽☆────☆

Remus awoke to the feeling of Callum gumming at his jaw and let out a yawn as he peeled an eye open.

“Bore da, blaidd bach.” He yawned and rolled to his side, closing his eyes again as he tucked the baby under his arm. Callum squealed in delight and began to gnaw at his shoulder, and Hermione giggled, causing his eyes to shoot open again. 

(Good morning, little wolf.)          

She stood next to the bed, clutching a coffee mug in one hand and a folded piece of parchment in the other, grinning as she looked down at them. Her hair was loose and damp, spilling over her shoulders in loose ringlets, and her legs were bare beneath her bathrobe. 

|| Fuck || 

Fuck. 

She was breathtaking, and he was a man who had just woken up, and she smelled so fresh and clean, but still carried the scent that drove him crazy, and it was all too much. 

Luckily for him, the baby currently tapping into his inner wolf as he let out his best rendition of a growl and continued to attack his shoulder kept him grounded in the present. 

“Sorry, I thought he’d stay asleep longer,” she explained as she set the mug and letter down on the nightstand. “I just wanted to grab a shower.”

“No sorries,” Remus yawned and moved to sit up. “He’s fine with me, aren’t you, cubby?” 

Callum let out a disgruntled whine as Remus pulled away. He leaned back against the headboard and pulled the baby into his lap, tickling his stomach.

Callum giggled, then broke off into a deep-bellied laugh, and Remus gasped, jerking his head up to look at a stunned Hermione. 

“Did you hear that?” he asked, tickling the baby again. Callum laughed once more, squirming and kicking at Remus’ stomach, and he let out an incredulous laugh of his own.

“That was a real laugh!” she exclaimed. She hurriedly climbed onto the bed to settle next to Remus, resting her head against his shoulder as she reached out to tickle Callum beneath the chin. 

|| SHE’S LEANING ON US don’t move, don’t spook the Mate || 

She has a name. 

|| Yeah. Mine ||

Remus sat perfectly still because, honestly, Moony was on to something. He didn’t want to move, to spook her back into the present and break this moment with their son in his lap and his Mate leaning on him as she relished in the elation of having witnessed him reach a new milestone. 

It was perfect. Everything about this moment was perfect. It wasn’t lost on him that it wasn’t his moment to witness; that the older version of himself was the one who deserved to sit where he sat, but he refused to focus on anything but the present. 

Hermione seemed lost in the world of motherhood, fussing over Callum and giggling as she cooed at him, and Remus simply watched. Finally, when the baby began to fuss, she lifted him from Remus’s lap to feed him, then jerked her chin toward the bedside table. 

“I forgot,” she said. “I brought you some coffee, and you got an owl from Moody.” 

“Tha—” Remus paused, clearing his throat as he tore his eyes away from watching Callum nurse and reached for the letter. “Thank you. I wonder if your credentials came through?”

“I hope so,” Hermione remarked. “Hopefully one of these houses will work out today, and we can get moved in this weekend before Harry comes home and—Remus?” 

Remus barely registered her words. The coffee mug shattered in his hand as he continued to stare down at the letter. The words blurred against the parchment as gold bled into his vision. 

He heard the baby fuss as Hermione removed him from her breast and tucked a blanket around him, then stood to take Remus’ hand into hers. 

“You’re bleeding,” she whispered as she flicked her wand to vanish the mess. “Remus, what’s wrong?” 

He couldn’t speak, couldn’t think beyond the roaring in his ears. Hermione moved quickly, casting a cleansing charm on his hand before she summoned her first aid kit and carefully wrapped a bandage around it. 

Once she was finished, she plucked the letter from his hands, and Remus moved to pick up the baby, clutching the baby to his chest as he lowered his head to press his nose against his downy curls, watching as she quickly scanned the letter.

“They have Peter in custody,” she whispered. “What do you need, Remus? What can I do?” 

Remus remained quiet for a moment, squeezing his eyes shut as he drew in the baby’s scent before he responded, “Nothing. Not yet. Feed the baby so we can go look at these houses. The boys come first.” 

“And after the showings?” 

“After,” he began, handing her the baby as he climbed off the bed. “After, I’m going to go to the Auror department, because Moody promised me five minutes alone in a room with that fucking rat as soon as they found him.” 

“You can’t kill him,” she said with an air of casualty. 

“I won’t.” He paused, leaning over to kiss Callum on the head before he straightened. “He doesn’t deserve the kindness of an easy death.”

☆────☆☾☼☽☆────☆

𝙷𝚎𝚛𝚖𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚎

.·:·.☆☾☼☽☆.·:·.

“Now, this one is a bit out of the budget we discussed, and it’s more spacious than you said you needed, but seeing a young family like yourself, I can only assume room to grow would be beneficial, hmmm? And just wait until you see the conservatory that leads to the back garden.” The leasing agent chirped in her cheery voice as she unlocked the door to the terrace house. “You said you’ve got a toddler as well?” 

“Our nephew,” Hermione responded. “Three years old, so a bit of room to play wouldn’t be the worst thing, I suppose.” 

“When you say out of the budget…” Remus shifted on his feet, one hand firmly resting on Callum’s back as he napped in his wrap sling. 

“Oh, we can go over numbers after you tour the home,” The agent hummed happily as she pushed the door open with a flourish and gestured for them to enter. 

She led them up the stairs to the first floor first, and Hermione's head already began spinning. There was a small study and a bathroom with a claw-foot tub that would be perfect for bathing the boys. 

On either side of the loo stood two bedrooms. One was slightly larger, and as the agent babbled about measurements and westward-facing windows, Hermione turned in the larger room. She could imagine it perfectly as a room for the boys, with a cot against the far wall and a little bed for Harry nearby so he could be close to Callum if his attachment the day they’d met had been any indication of how he’d be with the baby. 

The other bedroom was smaller, but spacious enough that she could make it work for herself. As they moved on to the second floor, where two equally sized bedrooms shared a bathroom, her brain assigned them to Remus and Sirius, but the thought gave her pause. 

Would the two share a room? What would happen when they got Sirius home? Would he and Remus fall right back into one another’s arms as they had in the nineties? What would that mean for her and Callum? What if they did get back together, but Sirius didn’t want to deal with her and the baby hanging around and taking up Remus’ attention? 

What would happen to her, then? Would she be tossed to the side? Well, no, she thought that was a silly thing to worry about, because Moony would never allow such a thing. But that was, somehow, even harder to process. 

It had been so simple in her time. She and Remus fell in love. That came first, and the love existed before he chose her as his mate, marked her, and married her. Now everything was backwards and upside down and sideways and bloody fucking confusing. 

Moony was easy to figure out. Even with twenty years shaved off of his time inhabiting Remus' body and mind, she could read the wolf like the back of her hand. The man was more complex.

Remus was trying his best. She saw it, and she appreciated it. But her husband had chosen this life, had chosen her and their son. Remus was simply trying to survive the fact that his life had been turned upside down, and when he did get Sirius back, he would undoubtedly find that the love hadn’t vanished, just like it had been for her husband. 

Hermione couldn’t even work out how that thought made her feel. She had always understood Remus’s love for Sirius, had never felt threatened by it. But now, when it was happening in the present, and it wasn’t a loss buried in his past, it almost seemed like a threat. 

But a threat to what? She and Remus aren’t anything as he’d reminded her just yesterday. He didn’t want her to be called by his last name, as he’d shown with Moody. He wasn’t the man she fell in love with, and gods, she missed that man with every fibre of her being.

Her mind was a tangled mess. She wanted Remus to want her, but she wasn’t even sure if she wanted him, or if she wanted what he represented. The lines were all beginning to blur, and last night hadn’t helped at all. 

Last night had also been everything she needed, and the only peaceful night she’d had in over a month, and waking up curled against him with Callum between them had felt…different than she’d expected. 

Because it hadn’t felt like waking up to her husband. It had felt like waking up to him in ways that had her jumping out of bed and rushing off to the shower to mentally scold herself for half an hour before she’d been able to calm down. 

In short, she was losing her shit, but she had no choice but to force herself to keep it all together. 

The agent led them back down the stairs, showing off the half-bath near the front door, a quaint little kitchen, and then a sitting room that opened into—

“This is incredible,” Hermione breathed as she took in the sight of the conservatory. It was small, just a little attachment that connected the living room and kitchen with a door leading out to the back garden. But the ceiling and three walls were all entirely glass, and it couldn't have been more perfect for Callum. 

He’d always been so restless during the full moon, and she and her husband wondered if being in the moonlight would calm him. Living in the bunker hadn’t given her the chance to test her theory, but now that she had seen that she was right, she couldn’t imagine going back.

Last month, when Remus left to undergo the transformation wherever he managed that—he didn’t offer any sort of explanation, and Hermione hadn’t asked—she’d cast warming charms and sat on the fire escape with Callum for hours, and he’d been perfectly content, happily playing in her lap. Of course, his typical fit had started the second they were back inside, and moving a chair next to the window to sit and hold him in seemed to help. But a whole little room surrounded by glass where he could bathe in the moonlight but still be safe was something she hadn’t even dreamed of. 

The agent was good at her job; Hermione had to give her that. As soon as she’d seen the look on her face, she excused herself from the room, giving Hermione and Remus time to talk. Once she’d left the room, Hermione muttered a quick Muffliato, just to be on the safe side, before she turned to survey the room again.

“It’s perfect, Remus. I told you how much being under the moon made a difference for Callum. This room—oh, I could put a sofa right there, or maybe we could get an extra bed just big enough for the boys and me to curl up on, and the rest of the month it would be a perfect place to settle in with a bunch of pillows and read. And when Callum is older, I could watch the boys play in the yard from right here.” 

She turned, a bright smile on her face, and found him watching her with an indiscernible expression. His bottom lip was pulled between his teeth, and he released it as he slowly shook his head. 

“What?” 

“Nothing.” He smiled and added in a lower voice, “It's just nice to see you so happy.”

Hermione blushed and reached out to run a hand over Callum’s hair as he continued to sleep against Remus’ chest. 

His father’s chest. 

Remus may not have been the man who created this little life with her, but it made no difference to Callum. It was beginning to make no difference to her, if she were honest. She knew the Moony aspect of things gave him an advantage, but regardless, he had taken to parenting so naturally that sometimes it was easy to forget he hadn’t been doing this alongside her since day one. 

Remus turned to look out at the back garden, his shoulders drooping a bit, and she stepped up beside him.

“Talk to me,” she prompted softly.

“I… I love that you love this place, Hermione. I really do. But there’s just no way we could afford it on my wages. The location is perfect, so I can keep working at Sheila’s shop, but it just doesn’t pay enough. I suppose I could take a second job, but — honestly, I want to make this happen, but it's hard for me to keep a job, I’m sure you know that.” 

“I know.” She sighed, “But I can get a job, too. We can just work opposite shifts so the boys always have one of us, and—” 

“No.” 

“This is not a Moony opinion matter. I’ve never wanted to be a stay-at-home mom long-term. Eventually, I would have found a job anyway,” she said curtly, knowing all too well how Moony thought about his Mate not being home with their young. She understood, and she was in no hurry to leave Callum, nor did she want to think about leaving Harry once he was home, but if it was what it took to give the boys a safe, secure home, then she was willing to do it. 

“I know. I would never ask you to give up any dreams of a career, Hermione. I just mean, right now, with Harry coming home soon and Callum being so young, it would be beneficial to them both if they had one parent who stayed home. Consistency, you know?” 

“I know.” Hermione turned to face him, studying his side profile. “Honestly, it's not even that big of a deal. We need some time to get on our feet, but the gold from my bag that we exchanged at Gringotts will cover the move-in costs and the first two or three months of rent. After that, Sirius will be home, and we’ll have three adults to pull their weight, for a while at least. And, of course, there’s the Potter vaults. We’ll have access to them once Harry is in our custody, and—"

“No. You can’t just—” Remus spun to face her as he fisted a hand in his hair. “You can’t just decide to blow James’s money, Hermione, what the fuck? That’s for Harry!”

“Exactly!” Hermione spoke a bit too loudly, and Callum stirred, so she took a step back and forced herself to take a few calming breaths before she spoke again. 

“Remus, that money is for Harry. I would never mismanage his trust. I just mean that I know everything he stands to inherit, and if we need to pull some money from what his parents left to help provide him with a safe home, just until we get on our feet, there’s no shame in that. James and Lily would have wanted—” 

“Don’t. You didn’t know them, you don’t get to speak for what they would have wanted,” Remus snapped. 

“Fine!” She threw her hands up. “I didn’t know them. You’re right. But I knew their son better than anyone else ever did, and I can tell you in full confidence that if I had the chance to speak to my best friend again he’d say—well, honestly, he’d tell us to pack up and move to Godric’s Hollow, because he hated that it was left empty anyway, but I’d never do that to you and Sirius. Regardless, he would want exactly this. Harry would trust me to manage the money, and I know that for a fact, because the day he turned eighteen, he named me as the person who inherited the vaults if anything happened to him.” 

“I…I didn’t know that. I know the two of you were close, I…” Remus trailed off with a sigh and looked down at Callum as he softened his voice. “I should be able to take care of you all. It should be my responsibility, not the responsibility of my dead best friend.” 

“Remus. Taking care of us isn’t…it isn’t all on you. You can’t let the Moony thing get to you with stuff like this, because he doesn’t even understand how money works. You’re a logical man, and it takes a village to raise kids. There is no shame in using the money that is meant for Harry to take care of him. And honestly, two or three months' worth of rent won’t even make a dent in those vaults, and you know it.” 

“I know. I’m sorry. I just…I should be able to take care of you,” he repeated. 

“And you will take care of everyone, without having to stress about money while we find our footing. It’s going to be alright, Remus,” Hermione reached out, squeezing his forearm, then smiled. “Now, please tell me yes, because you know this house is perfect, and I’ll be far less annoying if I get my way.” 

“Oh, well, if it’ll make you less annoying,” he teased. “Fine. Welcome home, Hermione.” 

☆────☆☾☼☽☆────☆

𝚁𝚎𝚖𝚞𝚜

.·:·.☆☾☼☽☆.·:·.

“Alright, Remus?” Moody asked as he stepped up to Remus’ side, clamping a hand down on his shoulder. Remus drew in a breath through his nose, gritting his teeth harder before he nodded. 

It was a lie, but they both knew it, so there was no reason to discuss it further. Remus didn’t need to try to pretend he was just fine, because nobody in their right mind would have expected him to be right now. 

Moody, especially, must have known what this would feel like for him, but he facilitated it nonetheless, because he understood more than most how badly he needed it.

Remus had always liked Alastor. A decade older, he’d been a valued mentor through Remus’s time in the Order. Once the war settled, several people did their best to keep in touch, to check on Remus. He had been far from receptive to the care and concern of others, and eventually, everyone went back to their lives and left him alone. 

Save for Moody. Determined, that one. He’d stopped by every day for the first few months, then weekly. Finally, he’d scaled back to their standing ‘First Saturday of the month’ pub night, but he still owled on occasion or popped through the floo to hang out here and there. 

He was a good friend. One Remus had been determined not to have, because he’d been doing his damndest to close himself off from their world entirely, but Alastor was relentless.

He was grateful for that, now. 

Almost as grateful as he was that Moody understood his need to have this closure with Peter. 

Peter had been his friend. That was the worst part of all of it. If the person who betrayed them all, who decimated his pack and killed his friends, had been a random former classmate, an acquaintance from the Order, then perhaps it would have all been easier to wrap his mind around. 

|| Never pack || 

Moony had reminded him of the fact over and over throughout the years, but he hadn’t listened—hadn’t wanted to listen, because Pete was so kind to him, so gentle and understanding, and this train of thought is getting me nowhere, he thought.

|| Need in the room. Make the traitor pay. Rip him to shreds. Keep him alive and make him watch us feed on the— ||

“Enough,” Remus groaned, digging his nails into his palms as he squeezed his eyes shut. 

“Lupin, if this is too much…” Moody began, but he cut him off with a swift shake of the head as he forced his eyes to open and blew a long breath out of his nose. 

“It’s not. I won’t hurt him. I won’t risk your job like that, even if Moony wants to…” Remus trailed off, letting the unsaid hang between them, but Moody understood all the same. 

“I think the wolf and I are on the same page,” he responded with a gruff chuckle. “But I appreciate the forethought. It’d be pretty hard to excuse allowing this if you tore his head off. Even if it's what the bastard deserves.” 

“He deserves worse.” 

“Aye,” Moody agreed. Remus rolled his neck and continued to stare through the two-way glass. Peter sat inside a bland interrogation room. His wrists were bound with silver cuffs connected by a thin chain, and beneath the table, Remus could see his ankles bound to his chair. Magic-suppressing devices, Moody had said.

Peter shifted in his seat, nervously tapping his fingers on the steel table in front of him as his eyes darted around. He didn’t seem to be able to stay still, which was one of many changes Remus had noted in the ten minutes or so he’d stood assessing his former ally.

Peter had always been calm. Quiet. Steady. 

The man before Remus now was a strange caricature of the man he’d known. After two years in his animagus form, the physical changes were clear. He seemed shorter, more curled in on himself. His nose twitched every few seconds. His hair was stringy and unkempt. 

He looked like shit. 

Moony liked that.

“Do you need to see the report again before you go in?” Moody asked. 

“No. I think I’ve got it.” Remus sighed. Moody squeezed his shoulder one last time and stepped away. 

“You’ve got five minutes,” Moody informed him. Remus watched the Auror press the tip of his wand to the lock on the door and gave a terse nod. 

“I only need one.” 

The moment he stepped through the door, Peter gasped. His entire body sagged in relief for a split second before he began to fight against his bindings. 

“Remus! Oh, Moony, you’ve got to help me. They think I—” 

“Shut the fuck up,” Remus spat. He stepped up to the table opposite where Peter sat, leaning forward and gripping the edge, if only to keep himself—or, to keep Moony, or both—from launching over the table and throttling the fucking rodent. 

Peter reared his head back, looking shocked for the briefest of moments, but quickly recovered. “Listen, Remus, you have to hear me out. I didn’t do this. I would never hurt James and Lily, little baby Harry. They’ve got it all wrong.” 

“They have reviewed your memories and questioned you under Veritaserum. You were also subjected to Legilimency, ” Remus began, the cool, collected tone of his voice surprising even himself as he stood to his full height and moved to stand to the side of the table. 

Peter’s eyes went wild with fear as he shook his head frantically, shrinking back in his chair. “I — I can explain, if you’d only listen, Remus, I can explain everything.” 

“Fuck you, and fuck your explanations.” Remus rounded the table, looming over Peter as he spoke, “Your cousin disappeared. You went to Mulciber because you thought you could glean information about his whereabouts. He played on your weakness, blah fucking blah, you took the mark and killed our friends because you’re a spineless coward who always cared more about people paying attention to you than the people who actually cared about you.”

He could feel his anger rising with every word, the long-silent wolf inside of him feeling closer to the surface than he ever had before. 

I need to calm down.

|| The rat needs to fucking pay ||

That’s not for us to decide.

“They didn't care about me!” Peter screamed, his face turning a sickening shade of red. “It was always you and Sirius and James, and then Lily, and—the Dark Lord was going to kill anyone who stood in the way of him getting Harry! I…I didn’t know he’d kill them, I just thought he’d take the baby or —”

“Do you think that makes it better! You think the fact that you only meant to sacrifice a fucking child makes a fucking difference?” A deep growl emanated from Remus' chest, and his vision blurred as he shot a hand out to grip the table in front of Peter’s chair. 

He needed to hold it together. He couldn’t lose his cool. There was too much on the line; Hermione and Callum were waiting for him at home, and she’d already lost him—or, some future version of himself—once. He couldn’t leave her alone. Harry’s custody was on the line, and Sirius’s release hinged on Peter being properly convicted. 

But the man before him had destroyed his life. He had decimated his pack. Peter’s hand may not have been the one to raise that wand to James and Lily, but their lives were lost due to his betrayal all the same. Harry, poor little Harry, so timid and scared after two years with the fucking Dursleys. He’d barely spoken, hidden under the table with the baby at the first sign of tension as if he thought Callum needed protecting, and for fucks sake, the poor kid didn’t even know how to eat a grape, because they weren’t taking care of him. 

And Sirius. His Sirius, locked in a cold, damp cell. It was all too fucking much, and Moony was roaring in his ears, screaming about his pup being neglected, his Pack being destroyed.

Before he could think the action through, Remus turned and wrapped his hand around Peter’s throat. He shoved him backwards, knocking the chair over, then pressed a knee to his stomach as he pinned him to the floor. 

Peter began to sputter, fat tears leaking from his eyes as Remus leaned in, glaring at him through the golden haze. 

“I could snap your neck with my bare hand,” Remus warned, low and gravelly. He flexed his hand to emphasise his point, and Peter gagged, struggling weakly in his hold. 

“You killed our friends, Peter. You killed James, who was only ever good to you. You killed Lily fucking Potter, who was the kindest woman who has ever lived. You killed our friends,” Remus repeated. “But more than that? You fucked with a werewolf’s pack.”

Peter whimpered and struggled to speak, but Remus gripped his throat tighter, causing him to gag again. 

|| Bleed him dry. Make him pay  ||

Shut the fuck up. 

|| Coward || 

This isn’t cowardice, and it isn’t mercy. 

“I’m going to raise Harry, and I’m going to get Sirius back,” he continued, squeezing Peter’s throat one last time before he released him and stood back up. “I’m going to live the life that you robbed James and Lily of. 

“And,” he paused and reached down to lift the chair Peter was still shackled to, setting it upright before he leaned back against the table and crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m going to speak at your trial and request that you not receive the Dementor’s kiss.” 

“Oh, thank you, Remus,” Peter gasped, raising his cuffed hands to rub at his throat. “You were always so kind, so gentle, I—” 

|| Why can’t we kill it, exactly? || 

“Shut the fuck up, you spineless rat,” Remus roared. “Do not take this as a kindness. The Kiss would be too easy an out for you. I will not rest until you are sentenced to a lifetime in a tiny, freezing stone room, with the Dementors torturing you every waking minute, just as they’ve done to Sirius for the past two years. You will die in that fucking cell, reliving your worst memories over and over as the Dementors feed on your soul, and when it's all said and done, when your mind cracks and you can’t tell your arse from your elbow, I hope their faces are the only thing you can see.”

Peter whimpered again, shaking his head rapidly as he began to sputter out some other pathetic version of an excuse, but Remus ignored him as he drew his wand to cast a Tempus.

“Oh, look at that, Petey.” He grinned as he tucked his wand away and pushed off the table, hooking his foot around one of the legs of Peter’s chair. “We still have a whole three minutes.”

☆────☆☾☼☽☆────☆

Chapter Text

𝚁𝚎𝚖𝚞𝚜

.·:·.☆☾☼☽☆.·:·.

Remus groaned, flexing his hands as he came to a stop outside of the door of his flat. Moody had mended his knuckles after he’d given in and let Moony take the reins for his last three minutes with Peter, but the ache of the broken bones would linger for a day or two even after a round of Skele-gro and a few healing spells. 

|| Worth it ||

For once, I agree with you. 

|| Mark that on the calendar | | 

“Shut up,” Remus laughed, rolling his eyes as he reached for the knob. 

|| Gone || 

What? 

|| Mate. Pup. Scents are too weak. Gone || 

“No,” he whispered, shoving the door open. He rushed into the flat, his head on a swivel as he took in the empty sitting room and kitchen, then darted down the hall. The bedroom door was open, as was the door to the loo, but Hermione was nowhere to be found. 

Remus’ instincts went haywire in an instant. He could feel his chest getting tight, his vision going hazy as he stomped back out to the kitchen and tried to calm himself enough to look around.

“She didn’t leave a note,” he murmured, reaching a shaky hand into the pocket of his jacket to pull out his pack of cigarettes. 

|| Need to hunt them. Follow their scent ||

“Just calm down for a bloody minute and let me think,” Remus ordered. He stalked across the room, placing a cigarette between his lips as he leaned over the couch to open the window and step out onto the fire escape. 

Lighting the cigarette with a snap of his fingers, he tucked his pack away and ran a hand through his hair as he began to pace back and forth—a futile effort, given that the landing of the fire escape was no wider than a metre, but he had to move before he lost his shit entirely. 

Hermione wouldn’t leave. She wouldn’t take Callum and leave. She was his mate, even if she’d taken that plunge with a man who wasn’t technically him, she understood the bond, honoured it. 

Remus had never expected any of this. In all his wildest dreams, he never could have imagined a time-travelling future wife to show up at his doorstep six weeks ago with his child in her arms, glaring at him like he’d committed some grave sin. 

If anyone had given him a choice in the matter, he would have baulked at the idea, refused to even consider himself a father, a husband, a mated wolf. But they were here, and they were his. He didn’t have the slightest idea what that even meant for them in the long term. All that he knew was that he couldn’t lose her now. He couldn’t lose them, and if something had happened to her, or she left, or… No. 

No. 

He had to stop thinking the worst. She wouldn’t just—

|| There! Pup ||

Remus snapped his head up at the faint sound of Callum’s giggle. He gripped the railing and leaned over, sagging in relief as he watched Hermione approach the building with Callum strapped to her chest. 

He stamped his cigarette out on the railing and climbed back through the window, forcing himself to regulate his breathing as he jerked the rickety glass shut and turned in time to see Hermione standing curiously in the open doorway of the flat. 

“Hi?” Hermione said, more of a question than a statement, as she stepped inside and closed the door behind her, then turned to look at him. “Oh, shit. I didn’t even think.” 

“No, you didn’t bloody think,” Remus snapped. “I came back from dealing with that fucking rat, and you and the baby were just gone, and I—” 

“Nope. We are not doing this, Remus John Lupin.” She shook her head and walked over to the kitchen to set a bag on the counter, then began unwinding the baby wrap from around her chest. “Stop talking right now until you’ve had a moment to calm down, because you’re raising your voice and we will not argue in front of the baby,” she told him, her voice calm and measured as she tended to the task at hand. 

Once Callum was freed with a contented little gurgle, she stepped forward, depositing the baby into his arms. Remus clutched Callum to his chest and sank onto the sofa, running his nose over the crown of the baby’s head as Callum sniffed at his jaw.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, looking up to meet Hermione’s eyes. 

“No, I’m sorry. I should have left a note.” She gave him a sad smile and slipped out of her jacket. Once she’d hung it in the front closet and toed off her shoes, carefully placing them on the rack near the door, she turned to face him with an expectant look.

“Where did you go today?” he asked.

“Sheila came by,” Hermione said with a bit of a sigh. “I was heading out just to take a short walk with Callum to try to calm him down because he was fussy, and I ran into her just as I stepped outside downstairs. I’m not sure how she knew who we were, but she took one look at Callum and declared he looks just like you, so I guess that gave it away.”

“She’s perceptive, that one,” Remus responded with a chuckle. “Fancies herself a pagan witch.” 

“She’s a squib, actually,” Hermione informed him. “Her parents were magical, so she grew up around witchcraft and honours a number of the practices that don’t require inherent magic.”

“What? How do you know that?” Remus asked in surprise. He’d worked for Sheila for months, and she’d never told him. Though he didn’t suppose it would have come up, but still. It was nearly unnerving that Hermione had gleaned so much information from the woman he’d written off as batty in such a short time. 

“She told me,” Hermione replied simply, shrugging her shoulders. “I told her I was about to take Callum on a walk, so she suggested I let her join us. We stopped by her shop so I could take a look around, and got to talking about magic. She asked if I believed it to be real, and I said I knew it for a fact. Then she read my palm and decided I was trustworthy, and we talked about her lineage.” 

“That’s…wow. I sort of feel bad, because I just assumed she was a bit off her rocker,” Remus admitted.

“Oh, she’s definitely that, too.” Callum began to fuss in his arms, and Remus shifted him, trying to soothe him. When the baby began to root against his chin, Hermione let out a small laugh and stepped forward, closing the small distance between them.

“We’re human, Remus. We can fight. That’s okay. But we’re going to wait an hour until I get this starving pup fed and put him to bed,” she informed him, plucking the baby from his arms. “You’re mad. That’s valid. I’m mad that you’re mad. It’ll be a whole thing; a proper row. But not in front of him, alright? Never in front of him.” 

|| Perfect Mate. Protects the Pup. Need to reward her. She’s earned it, boy. Earned our— || 

“Please don’t go there right now,” Remus groaned. 

“Right.” Hermione let out a low laugh, “I’m going to go nurse him and get him to bed. I’ll leave you and Moony to… that.” 

☆─────☆☾☼☽☆─────☆

“Are we going to fight now?” Hermione stepped back into the sitting room and made her way to the kitchen. Pulling out the bottle of firewhisky he kept tucked beneath the sink, she poured him a glass and slid it across the breakfast bar, then turned to begin preparing a cup of tea for herself. 

Remus remained silent as he watched her move about. He hadn’t moved from his spot on the sofa for the entire hour she’d taken to nurse Callum, get him to bed, and then take a shower. 

Instead, he’d spent the entire time arguing with Moony in his head like a maniac, which was par for the course these days. He was becoming more confused by the hour. He couldn’t tell where his feelings ended and Moony’s began. Now, as he watched her lean back against the counter and take a sip of her tea, her legs bare beneath her tiny sleep shorts and the oversized t-shirt she wore, he wasn’t sure how much longer he could pretend the overlap between what the man wanted and the wolf desired didn’t exist. 

“I don’t want to fight,” he sighed. Rising from the sofa, he walked across the room and picked the glass up off the table, settling onto the single barstool as he took a drink. “But it feels…” 

“Unavoidable,” Hermione finished for him. “I know. I understand. You’re dealing with a lot of… frustration right now.” 

“Don’t do that,” he snapped. And there it was. An hour of convincing himself he wouldn’t be a dick, undone in a single knowing glance from her. “Don’t just reduce me to fucking…werewolf instincts.” 

“Right. I forgot,” she mumbled around the rim of her teacup, taking another sip before she set it on the counter beside where she leaned. 

“Forgot what?” Remus narrowed his eyes and took another drink. He wasn’t even sure why he was so angry anymore, but his mouth took on a mind of its own and began to run anyway, “See? You keep doing it. Look, I get that you knew some version of me, and I swear to the gods, Hermione, I’m not trying to undermine or discredit what you and your husband had, but I’m not him! 

“I’m never going to be him, now. Not in the way that you knew him, and you just…you just swoop in here with all your future knowledge and act all understanding about the wolf when you don’t know what this is like for me! Just because you knew what it was like for him doesn’t mean it's the same, and I—I have every right to be upset. I came back from having to stand face-to-face with the man who took everything from me, and then you and Callum were gone. Do you have any idea how that felt?” 

“No. You’re right, Remus. You’re not him. My husband is gone. Don’t you think I know that? Don’t you think I…that I feel that?” Hermione’s voice cracked as she pressed a hand to her chest, shaking her head. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I never would have done that on purpose, because whether you like it or not, I do know at least one half of you. And I forgot, that’s on me. But you don’t have to be cruel.” 

“I’m not—I’m sorry,” Remus sighed and dropped his head into his hands. 

|| You’ve upset our Mate. You need to fix it. Go to her. Scent. Taste. Make her— || 

“You forgot,” he echoed her words as he lifted his head to face her once more. “You keep saying that.” 

“I forgot that you haven’t come to terms with Moony yet. Not entirely. So, of course, my knowledge of him is going to be upsetting for you. In addition to everything else I’ve brought into your life. I don’t mean to be insensitive about that, I just…I just don’t think you realise that this is hard for me, too,” Hermione said quietly as she reached for her mug and took another sip. 

|| Mate is sad? ||

She misses him. 

|| Stupid, idiot boy. He is us ||

“I’m sorry,” he repeated. “I know it has to be impossible for you to be here with me and see so much of him in me, but have it be—” 

“That’s not—” Hermione interrupted, then clamped her mouth shut, casting her eyes to the ceiling. “It’s not just that. I think the lines are beginning to blur. I don’t look at you and see some guy that will never be my husband. It’s different for me, Remus, because everything you are now that was inside the man that I loved. You are him, just…minus twenty years of life experience. But that’s not what I meant, about it being hard for me, too.” 

“What did you mean?” Remus asked. He downed the rest of his whisky and stood, moving to the sink to wash his glass. Hermione didn’t respond, even after he’d washed and dried the glass and then accepted the teacup she held out to him and repeated the action. 

Once he’d put both objects away, Remus turned, leaning against the breakfast bar across from her, and simply waited a minute or two, until she finally spoke again. 

“I’m your mate, Remus. Future, past, it doesn’t matter. You’re so caught up in your head and distracted dealing with Moony that you haven’t even considered it might be a little hard for me to be around you and not… especially when you’re so… well, what I mean is…” Hermione broke off into a frustrated groan. 

Remus could nearly feel Moony strutting around inside his skull as he let out a string of filth Remus refused to acknowledge. 

“When I’m so what?” He moved on instinct, taking a step toward her as he spoke. 

“When you’re so…you, but not you, and you’re young and—gods, it's really fucking unfair that you’re so…and I’m still mad at you,” Hermione huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. 

|| Mate wants to fight. Needs it || 

Remus furrowed his brow, poised to argue, but that damn letter flashed back through his mind again. 

‘You tell that little shit to listen to Moony, because that arsehole is never wrong. And you tell him I said this is his life, now. Don't fuck it up.’ 

Gods, he was trying not to. He didn’t know his arse from his elbow these days, but if listening to the wolf was what he needed to do, if the wolf thought a fight was what she needed, then he’d give it to her. 

“You don’t get to be mad at me for giving a fuck where you and our son were, Hermione,” he told her. Taking another step, he leaned in and braced his hands on the counter next to her hips, caging her in. “You could at least have the courtesy to leave a note the next time you want to wander off without me, or wait twenty bloody minutes for me to get home.” 

“Fine. I’ll leave a bloody note. But I’m not going to just—” She rolled her eyes and clenched her teeth, her jaw ticking as she clearly fought back whatever she wanted to say. 

“What? Whatever you’re holding back, say it. You said we’re supposed to communicate, but how the bloody hell are we to do that if you won’t just…out with it?” 

“Fine," she repeated with a huff. “I spent years in a bloody bunker, Remus. Callum had never even gone above the surface until the night we came back here, and I’m not going to apologise for wanting to take a walk so the baby can get some fresh air. You want me to leave a note, I’ll do it. But how the fuck am I supposed to get out of here and breathe if I wait for you to go with me, when the entire bloody reason I needed to get out of this flat is because everything smells like you?”

Remus blinked in surprise, then winced as he felt Moony howl inside of his head. 

|| You’re neglecting our Mate. She’s drowning in your scent. Needs us | | 

Please, please just fucking stop. 

“Fine!” Hermione declared for the third time as she tipped her head back and glared into his eyes. “You want me to communicate? I’ll fucking communicate. I am your mate. I fucking need you, and this stupid bond doesn’t seem to give a shit what age the version of you who sank his teeth into my neck was, because it doesn’t matter. Now, then, it doesn’t fucking matter, because this—”

Hermione brought her hand up, tugging the collar of her shirt away from her neck to reveal the very thing he’d wondered about so many times, but had never had the courage to ask to see. There, on the juncture between her neck and shoulder, sat two crescent-shaped scars. 

His scars. 

His mark.

The flesh was silvery, almost glowing in the dim light, and he could feel saliva begin to pool in his mouth at the sight. 

|| Need to taste it. Scent. Need— ||

“This is yours,” Hermione continued, her voice shaky as she continued to hold the collar back. “You gave me this, and it—it makes me need you, and it doesn’t matter when or how it happened, when I’m stuck in this flat, drowning in your scent. When I fucking ache for you, but you’re not the man who bit me yet, and you don’t even want—” 

Remus couldn’t stop himself. He couldn’t hear her say it. He wasn’t sure what came over him, but his hand clamped over her mouth before the movement even registered for him. Hermione let out a soft sound, nearly a whimper, and he dipped his head, dragging his nose over the scar on her shoulder. 

|| Mine. Mine. Mine || 

“Mine. Want,” he whispered with a growl as he opened his mouth and began to drag his tongue across her heated flesh. His left hand gripped the counter harder as his right dropped away from her mouth to wrap around her hip. He could feel his cock growing hard, straining against the fly of his trousers, and his hips twitched forward, grinding his erection against her stomach as he continued to lap at the skin of her neck. 

Moony was losing his shit, panting and growling, and Remus could feel his own growl rumbling deep within his chest. He scraped his teeth over her mark—his mark, on his mate—and Hermione whined, high and desperate as she gripped his forearm. 

“Remus,” she sighed. He whipped his head up, locking eyes with her for a split second before he crashed his mouth to hers. 

She tasted like heaven. Like the mint from her toothpaste, the chamomile of her tea, like his and mate and more. Hermione hesitated for a brief instant before she folded and began to kiss him back, one hand rising to fist in his hair as her tongue tangled with his. 

Grabbing her hips, he lifted her to sit on the counter and positioned himself between her thighs, rocking his hips to grind against her as the kiss turned feral. Their teeth clashed and she nipped at his bottom lip as she began to roll her hips. He could feel how wet she was, even through his trousers, as she pressed herself against him, her sleep shorts soaked through with her need, and he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. 

He needed her in a way he’d never felt before. Primal. Moony-fueled, of that he was sure, but it was more than that, because it didn’t matter how she’d come to him, or why, or from where. She was his now, and she was here, and he needed her. 

Hermione moaned his name again. Moony growled, a dreadfully feral noise. 

|| Perfect Mate. So wet and ready for our knot. Smell how her pretty little cunt begs for us, boy? Take her ||

No. Fuck. 

“Hermione.” His voice cracked as he broke the kiss. Reaching up to cup her face in his hands, he tilted her head back to stare down into her eyes. “I’m not him. I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have—” 

“Shut up,” she ordered as she pulled back and ripped her shirt over her head. “I don’t want to think. I don’t want your apologies. I want you to shut up and fuck me.” 

“Fuck,” Remus rasped. His eyes shot down to her breasts, full and heavy, and he let out a low growl as he dipped his head to capture her nipple between his teeth. Rolling the stiffened peak between his lips, he moved his hand down to the waistband of her shorts. 

Hermione was one step ahead of him and, with a wave of her hand, vanished their clothes entirely. His cock sprang free, landing hard and heavy against her thigh, and she reached down to wrap her hand around him. He sucked her nipple into his mouth, groaning at the faint, milky taste of her skin as he slid a hand between her legs and stroked a finger through her dripping folds. 

“Christ, you’re so fucking wet for me,” he rasped as he released her nipple and straightened, slanting his mouth over hers again. He circled her entrance, then sank a finger inside of her, and Hermione moaned against his lips. 

She stroked her hand over his cock and shifted, leaning back so that her shoulders rested against the upper cupboard behind her as she met his eyes. 

“Please, Remus. I can’t…need you,” she whined.

“You have to hold on.” He crooked his finger inside of her, and she sank her teeth into her bottom lip. “You’re so tight, cariad. I need to get you ready to take me. I don’t want to hurt you.” 

“You won’t,” Hermione protested. She grabbed his wrist and pulled his hand away from her cunt, squeezing his cock before she lined his cockhead up with her entrance. 

“I’m your mate. I don’t…this doesn’t have to be anything more than it is, but you do have to at least acknowledge that right now. Because I don’t care how big you are. I was made to take you, and I know exactly how well I do that.” 

“Fuck,” Remus groaned. “Why is that so hot?” 

“That I’m made for you?” Hermione asked coyly, “Or that I’ve come on this cock more times than you could count, and you haven’t even gotten to feel me from the inside yet?” 

“Both,” Remus admitted honestly. "You know I've never...erm, with a woman, I mean, I—"

"Moony things. I know. I was your first, then, too. Now shut up and let me have it," Hermione insisted.

"Okay. Alright. I'll let you have it, I—fuck, I need you." He reached down, batting her hand away, and then grabbed her by the hips. Tugging her forward, he began to sink inside of her with a satisfied growl. “Show me, then. Teach me how well you take this cock, little mate.” 

“Oh, fuck,” Hermione moaned out as he buried himself to the hilt in one fluid motion. 

|| Made for us. Perfect little Mate. So responsive. Craves our cock. Told you she needed her reward || 

Fuck off. 

“Gods, you’re so fucking tight,” Remus grunted through gritted teeth as he dug his thumbs into her hipbones and forced himself to remain still, giving her time to adjust; time she clearly had no interest in. 

“Move. Please, I—fuck, I forgot how full you make me feel.” She reached up, fisting a hand in his hair as she forced his chin to his chest. “See what you do to me?”

Remus’ eyes went wide as he stared down at the slight bulge in her lower stomach, at the sight of her very flesh bending to take on the shape of him. It was unreal, a sort of victory he never even knew he needed to feel until that very moment. There was something so godsdamn obscene about it, and he could feel his cock throbbing, growing even thicker inside of her as his head began to spin. 

Hermione arched her back, highlighting how fucking ruined she looked taking his cock, and he pressed a hand to her stomach. Flattening his palm, he pushed down, and they groaned in tandem at the heightened sensation. 

Something inside of him snapped. He growled again and leaned in to drag his tongue over the scar on her shoulder as he began to move. He used his hold on her hip for leverage, dragging her against him to meet every long stroke inside of her as his other hand remained pressed against her stomach. 

“I can feel myself moving inside of you,” he whispered against her shoulder. “Can feel how deep you take me. Ffycin uffern, you’re so tight. Feels like your pretty little cunt is trying to choke the life out of me.” 

(Fucking hell,)

“Efallai fy mod i,” Hermione shot back with a giggle. The sound of her speaking his native tongue did unspeakable things to his mind, and he nearly broke his concentration to beg her to say something else, but she clenched around his cock, and he lost the ability to think. 

(maybe i am,)

|| Perfect Mate. So bloody responsive. Grips our cock like she never wants to let us go. Need to knot her. Breed her again, and again, need to— || 

“Oh gods,” Hermione moaned, breaking his concentration. “Remus, I’m going to cum.” 

“Yeah.” He kissed her again, hard and punishing as he moved the hand splayed over her stomach down and pressed his thumb to her clit, moving in slow, steady circles as he pulled away to look her in the eye. 

“You’re going to drench this fat cock, and you’re going to scream my name when you do,” he ordered. “And then I’m going to pull out and cum all over these perfect fucking tits.” 

“No,” Hermione protested, shaking her head. “No, please. Inside, I need…gods, you don’t know yet.” 

“Tell me. Tell me what you need. I—fuck, I’m so close. Need to hear you say it.” 

“Your knot, Remus. Please. I fucking crave it. I need to feel you swelling inside of me, I…I feel so empty all the fucking time. I need you. All of you.” Her voice cracked as tears welled in her eyes—whether from emotion or overstimulation or some mixture of the two, Remus couldn’t be sure, but it didn’t matter. 

This girl, his mate, was falling apart beneath him, begging him for his knot, and how on earth was he supposed to resist? He paused for a second, ready to warn her he’d never actually done this part either, but he knew he didn't need to waste his breath, so he pushed the thought aside and began to fuck into her clenching heat harder, faster as he grabbed her by the waist and lifted her arse from the counter. Hermione slapped both hands against the wood and began to rock her hips, meeting every deep thrust as she moaned a string of nonsense. 

“There you go. Fall apart for me,” he grunted. His voice sounded garbled—half man, half wolf, all completely lost in the feeling of her as her cunt began to twitch around his cock. “You can feel it, can’t you?” 

“Yes, gods, Remus, I can feel—fuck, you’re so close. Please, please, I need it. I’ll be good. I’ll be good, I—ohhh gods,” she broke off into a moan. She tightened around him, her cunt clamping down on his cock as her entire body stiffened in his arms before she released, a gush of warm liquid coating his lower stomach and thighs as she came like a tidal wave. 

He could feel every pulse of her orgasm, every twitch of her cunt as she came undone, and the strange throbbing at the base of his cock grew stronger. His movements became stuttered, his hips jerking erratically as his knot began to swell inside of her, and Hermione dug her nails into his shoulders, writhing beneath him as she began to beg. 

“Please, please, need your knot. I’ll be good, please,” she whined as if she were starving for him, and there it was again. I’ll be good. 

|| So desperate to please us. Good little Mate. Perfect. Ours. Tell her || 

“You are good,” Remus praised, thrusting inside of her once, twice, before he buried himself to the hilt and came with a roar. His knot swelled to completion as he filled her, spilling thick ropes of cum inside of her waiting heat. “So fucking perfect. Gods, you’re such a good fucking girl, Hermione. Taking my knot, letting me fill you up, I—fuck.”

He came, and came, more than he ever had in his life as Moony let out a triumphant roar—or he did, he wasn’t even sure he could distinguish the difference in his current state of mind as she melted back against the cupboard. 

Remus let his forehead fall to hers for a moment, then pulled back, relishing the sight before him. She looked blissed out, cock drunk, completely undone. Her hair was wild, her lips swollen, and, gods, she really was perfect. 

“Perfect,” he voiced the thought aloud. “I’ve never…” 

“Never knotted, I know. Mate perks. It’s only ever been for me.” She gave him a wicked grin, and Remus bit his lip as he slowly shook his head. 

“How does it feel?” Hermione asked, the innocence in her voice belying the not-so-subtle shift of her hips as she rocked against him. 

“Like I could go all fucking night if you don’t stop wiggling,” he answered honestly, grabbing her by the hips to still her movements. 

“I don’t know about all night,” Hermione tilted her head thoughtfully. “But I’d say we have at least three more hours before the baby wakes back up.”

|| Insatiable little Mate || 

“So fucking insatiable,” Remus said lowly as he wrapped his arms around her back and lifted her from the counter. 

“Are we going on an adventure?” Hermione wrapped her arms around his neck with a giggle. 

“Aye,” he responded. “All the way to the sofa, so I can lie you down and take my time with you.”

☆─────☆☾☼☽☆─────☆

Chapter Text

𝙷𝚎𝚛𝚖𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚎

.·:·.☆☾☼☽☆.·:·.

“I can’t believe how much we got done in a single day,” Hermione said with a grin as she leaned back against the kitchen counter. She propped her chin on Callum’s head as he lay against her chest, tangling his fingers in her curls. “Poor little guy is worn out. Did you have such a hard time moving, cubby?” 

“Poor baby,” Remus hummed, reaching out to rub the back of Callum’s head. “I think we worked him too hard, for sure. It’s a tough life, lying on Mama’s chest while she tells Daddy where to put everything, hmmm?” 

“The toughest,” Hermione agreed. Callum squirmed in her arms and let out a soft little huff, and she laughed as she thrust him toward Remus. “Here, he wants you. I’m going to make a cuppa. Would you like one? Or a drink?” 

“Just tea is fine, thank you,” Remus responded distractedly. He and Callum were already lost in their own little world, sniffing at each other, and she smiled, allowing herself a moment to take it all in.

She was still hurting, still experiencing random surges of grief or anger, still contending with the feeling of being abandoned, but nevertheless, the more she saw the man before her bond with their son, the closer she was to understanding why Remus had sent her back to this exact time, to this exact version of himself.

He hadn’t just done this for her and Callum, or for the world. He’d also done it for the man in front of her, currently sniffing their son’s head. Remus had gone through so much, been let down over and over, and lost everyone he loved. By the time she—and, subsequently, Callum—came along, he had loved them with all his strength.

But that strength was weary. He was older, in constant pain, living in a bunker with the world ending around them, and there had always been a part of him that had been incapable of relaxing and enjoying the moment because he knew all too well that all good things end. 

Remus, in the present, had lost as well. But he lacked the hardness, the ache that had come with another decade of struggle and solitude. He wasn’t broken; not yet. And as he stood, humming softly to their son, she couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to do this together, with a version of her husband who could still find the good. 

After their dalliance in the kitchen a few nights ago, he’d taken her to the couch and they’d shagged again. They’d paused for a quick break so she could nurse Callum, after which Remus joined her in the shower for round three, and they’d eventually peeled themselves off the bathroom floor and gotten dressed before they climbed into bed with the baby. They woke up the next day and just…didn’t talk about it at all.

But she didn’t need a conversation to know that something had changed between them, and she wasn’t quite sure how to manage all the feelings threatening to bubble over. 

She had loved her husband. She really, truly, entirely loved him, and he had been the best she’d ever had on all fronts. Emotionally, physically, as a life partner in general, future Remus Lupin was the man of her dreams. 

And the sex—gods, the sex. Even before he’d marked her as his mate and knotted her for the first time, the sex had been out of this world. He was big, attentive, gentle, and rough, and everything in between, and it was perfect. 

She loved him, and she’d lost him now, but he was here, and it was all so bloody confusing. She could nearly feel the grief clogging her throat as she tried to rationalise her feelings again. It wasn’t as if she’d cheated; the world her husband had lived in didn’t even exist now, and the only Remus Lupin was right here in front of her. 

Still, guilt clawed at her chest, an awful, tearing sort of feeling. 

It felt like too many things, but the most pressing of the issues was that there was no way to stop feeling as if she had cheated on her husband by sleeping with her husband, and she didn’t have the remotest idea how the bloody hell she was supposed to sort all of that out in her head. 

She had never had sex like she had three nights ago. She had, to put it bluntly, never been well and truly fucked like that. 

It had been desperate and rough, all teeth and bruising hands and hard, punishing thrusts and—

Remus sniffed audibly, a low growl emanating in his chest as his eyes flashed gold, and mortification heated her cheeks as she squeezed her eyes shut. 

“Sorry,” she whispered. 

“Don’t be,” he croaked. “Natural response, yeah?” 

“Right. Natural,” she replied lamely. She pressed her lips into a thin line, watching as Callum wiggled in Remus’ arms, and—desperate for a change in subject—she remarked, “You’re so good with him.” 

“It’s all him.” Remus kissed Callum’s temple, rubbing a hand over his back as the baby’s eyes began to drift closed. “See? He’s a natural at being my kid, aye?”

“Being yours is the easiest thing in the world to be.” The words escaped Hermione’s lips on a wispy, lilting breath, and she immediately felt her cheeks flush. She wished she could suck the air back into her lungs, to swallow the words back down, because she knew that he knew they were no longer talking about the baby.

Remus watched her with a concentration she’d only seen him apply to the heaviest matters of logic. She wasn’t sure what happened next, but she saw it roll through him. His jaw unclenched, his brow relaxed. All the tension seemed to ebb from his body as he mumbled something to himself, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. 

“Hermione,” he began, taking a step forward, then another, until he was standing directly in front of her. He shifted Callum to rest against his shoulder, one hand splayed over his back as the other raised to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear before he cupped her chin, gently tilting her head back to face him. “I think I really want to—” 

Knock, Knock, Knock. 

Hermione jumped at the sound of a heavy fist knocking at the door. Remus’s eyes narrowed, and he tilted his head, sniffing the air. He paused, a look of sheer joy falling across his face, and let out an incredulous laugh. 

“No fucking way,” he whispered. He handed her the baby and grabbed her roughly by the face, kissing her forehead with a wet smack before he wrapped his arms around her, crushing Callum between them. 

The baby let out a discontented whine, and Remus laughed, lifting Hermione from her feet to spin her around as he let out a loud, celebratory whooping noise. 

“Remus,” she giggled as he placed her back on her feet. “What’s going on?” 

He shook his head, still grinning, and crashed his mouth to hers for a kiss so swift and brutal that it left her feeling dizzy when he pulled away. 

“It’s Harry,” he told her as he turned to head toward the door. “They brought him home.”

☆─────☆☾☼☽☆─────☆

𝚁𝚎𝚖𝚞𝚜

.·:·.☆☾☼☽☆.·:·.

The hinges of the door creaked in protest as he swung it open so swiftly that he nearly ripped the entire hunk of wood out of the wall. Typically, Remus had a wonderful hold on the excess strength that came along with his lycanthropy, but right now, he didn’t care, couldn’t take the time to worry about his over-eager puppy dog act, because there he was. 

Harry stood on the front stoop between Moody and Emmeline Vance, clutching his Prongs with both hands. He looked so frail, so anxious, but he was home, and that was all that mattered. 

|| Too thin. Needs new furs, meat. Need to hunt for the pups, for Mate, bring meat back to the den and— ||

He’s perfect. 

| | Scrawny. S’okay. Mate will take such good care of him. Both pups. Best mother. Need to reward her, need to give her — ||

Can we experience one thing without you finding a way to circle back to fucking? 

|| Why? ||

“Sorry,” Hermione’s voice cut through the static in his head, and Remus blinked rapidly, a sheepish smile spreading across his face as he realised he’d just been standing there, staring like a creep.

“Uncle Moony just tends to get a little lost in his head. Please, everybody, come in. Are you hungry, Harry?” 

“My baby,” Harry stated firmly. 

“Those are the first words he’s spoken since we picked him up,” Emmeline said, laughing as she stepped through the doorway and pulled Remus into a one-armed hug. He hugged her back, Moony grumbling in his chest. 

But the wolf could wait. 

Moony never had any real interest in anyone beyond those he considered pack, but Emmeline had been a good friend for a few years now, and it was always nice to see her when she was in the city. Emmeline was a mindhealer by trade, but she worked where, when, and with whom she wanted, and preferred her solitude. Alastor stayed busy through his work as an Auror, but they’d somehow managed to make it all work, and he couldn’t be happier for them.

Or, he would have been happy if he hadn’t been distracted by the way Moony was practically running victory laps in his head. For Moony, in his simplistic view of things, everything was perfect. He’d reclaimed his mate, provided a new den for his pack, and both of his pups were home safe. 

For the man, things were far more complicated. He didn’t know how to navigate things with Hermione, but knew that something inside of him had settled since their night together.

He needed her, and—though he had no clue how it would work, given that he’d known her less than two months—he wanted her. He’d been poised to tell her exactly that, but then the bell rang, and he lost all focus. 

Focus. Right.

“Emmeline, this is—” 

“Hermione,” Emmeline interrupted, stepping forward to pull Hermione into a hug. “Alastor told me everything—and I do mean that, so please believe me when I say I’m so glad you’re here.” 

“Oh, you mean…um, when you say everything…” Hermione began tentatively. 

“Everything,” Moody confirmed. “Sorry. No secrets between us, but you can trust her.”

“I know I can,” Hermione answered quickly. “We met in the…before. You were always so lovely, Emmeline.” 

“Well, let's hope I live up to it now,” Emmeline laughed as she stepped aside to allow Moody to enter the foyer behind her. Hermione turned and extended a hand toward Harry. He looked at it inquisitively before he shifted his stag in his arms and accepted the offer, wrapping his hand around two of her fingers as she led him inside. 

“Callum is back here in the sitting room, having some tummy time,” she chattered to Harry in a soothing tone as she led him down the hall with the rest on her heels. “He’s a very sleepy baby, because we’ve had a big day, but he’ll be so happy to see you.” 

Harry nodded, his steps slow and unsure as they walked toward the back of the house, but Hermione kept pace with him, chattering away in a soothing tone. 

|| Mate sees our Pup’s needs. She’ll raise a strong Pack. Need to hunt for Meat. Fatten big Pup up more. All skin and Bones. Hate that ||

Me, too. 

Harry was so small for his age—or, for what Remus would assume the average three-year-old to look like, as he hadn’t been around many children in the past. He was so anxious, so little and quiet and vulnerable, and Remus’ protective instincts were misfiring, telling him to shove Em and Moody back out the door and recast the wards, to take his Mate and Pups to bed and surround them with blankets and furs and keep them locked away from anyone or anything that could harm them. 

But Hermione had it covered, and that alone seemed to be enough. 

Watching as she led Harry to the far wall of the sitting room, where they’d arranged a small box of toys for him next to the strange blanket she called a play mat, he felt himself begin to relax. 

Harry immediately pulled away from Hermione and sat back against the wall, still clutching Prongs with one hand as the other splayed protectively over Callum’s back. Callum let out a happy little giggle and began to kick his feet as he sniffed at the air, and a small smile broke out on Harry’s face. 

Harry turned, then, lying on his stomach to bring himself face-to-face with Callum, and he began to whisper—almost too soft for even Remus to hear, but he seemed to be making his best attempt at singing a little nursery rhyme. 

It was good. 

This was good. 

After a moment, he tore his gaze away from the boys and turned to find Hermione setting out a tea service as Moody and Emmeline took their seats on the sofa. She glanced up and gave him a reassuring smile, so he took one last look over his shoulder before he moved to settle into the armchair on the opposite wall, positioning himself so that he could still see the boys. 

His boys. 

He felt it, just as much as Moony did. It was one of those matters of instinct where the man and the wolf shared the same opinion. Lily and James were gone now, and it was his job to keep Harry safe. 

He thought they would have liked that he was here with him, now. He knew without a doubt that they would have loved Hermione. She and Lily would have gotten on like wildfire, and James would have adored her. She was the kind of woman they would have wanted in Harry’s life. Sirius was, of course, Harry’s godfather, but Lily and James had both begged Remus to share the role. At the time, he had adamantly refused.

He was a werewolf; he had no business raising a child, and he had certainly never wanted children of his own at all. 

Or, moreover, he never allowed himself to consider it a possibility, which had led to several issues he didn’t even want to think about at present. 

But then he’d met Hermione, and their son, and he’d surprised even himself. He was a good parent, regardless of how he came to be one, and with Hermione’s help, they could do this. He hadn’t the rightest idea how he was going to make ends meet, but for once, he couldn’t bring himself to stress about money. 

They would figure it out. Harry was home and safe, and that was all that mattered right now. 

“Thank you,” Remus finally spoke, looking between Em and Moody. “For bringing him home. I thought we had to wait another week, though? Not that I’m complaining, it's only that we’ve just moved in, and we did set up his bed, thankfully, but we don’t have much for him yet, and—is he okay? The reason he’s home early is everything—” 

Hermione leaned over in her seat and reached for his hand, carefully prying his fingers away from where he’d been gripping the arm of the chair so tightly his knuckles had turned white. She laced her fingers with his and squeezed, grounding him enough that he was able to shut up and take a few calming breaths. 

“What Remus means to say is that we’re so very glad to have him home. We just want to make sure he’s alright, and nothing bad has happened to cause the early delivery,” Hermione said, her voice calm and steady. 

|| Perfect Mate. Tends to our needs. Need to scent her. Put her in your lap || 

Stop being a pervert for five fucking seconds, please and thank you. 

|| Coward. Mate wants to be scented. You never even ask her. She agrees with Moony. Loves her Moony so much. Pretty little Mate || 

Remus groaned softly, and Hermione turned her head to look at him, then rolled her eyes playfully as she whispered out of the side of her mouth, “Knock it off, Moony.” 

“Sorry,” Remus said apologetically. “Moony tends to go a little nuts. Anyway, Hermione is right. We just want to make sure everything is okay with Harry.” 

“Everything is fine, now.” Moody’s eyes slid to the boys quickly, then he sighed, furrowing his brow. “I don’t even know how she did it, but Petunia owled me earlier this evening. Just said ‘if your people want the boy, pick him up tonight at eight’.” 

“She used to write to Lily at school, so she knows how to get to the owl post, I assume. Why didn’t you tell us?” Remus asked—his voice was too sharp, a bit of anger threading through his words, but Moody didn’t seem fazed at all.

“Because I had no information,” Moody said simply. “I didn’t want to involve the department in case things went south, and I didn’t want to get your hopes up. But it worked out, aye?” 

“She had him ready and waiting on the front step when we got there,” Emmeline said. “She looked a bit regretful. I’m sure some part of her holds remorse, as he’s the last thread to her late sister. But there was an anger there. Her husband was in the doorway, losing his bloody mind.” 

“Seems your boy there was playing in the back garden with his cousin. The cousin ‘accidentally,’” Moody said, emphasising the word with finger quotes, “shoved Harry off a play structure.” 

“What the fuck,” Remus growled. It was nonsensical; he knew that. But he wanted to throttle whoever had dared to harm his pup, child or not. Moony didn’t give a shit about societal rightness or propriety, and the urge to lock everyone away was gnawing at his insides, clawing and tearing at every ounce of restraint he possessed. 

But then she was there, with a simple squeeze of his hand as she murmured, “It’s alright. Harry isn’t harmed, see? The pups are safe, Moony. We will keep them safe.” 

We. 

|| Good Mate. Tell her. So good ||

Remus bit his lip, nodding as his eyes locked back on the boys. Safe. 

This new, nearly primal sense inside of him, that thing that had bloomed deep beneath his sternum when she showed up at his door, was far bigger than anything he’d felt before. In the past, he had felt it—that intrinsic need to protect those his wolf saw as pack. 

But this was deeper, almost darker. Before, his pack had consisted of equals. Friends who became family. Now, his pack was fragile. His mate, their pups, it was all a bit heavier. Hermione herself wasn’t fragile by any means—he was quite certain she could kick his arse, and he’d gladly let her try—but she and the boys were his to protect, more so than anyone else had ever been.

|| So close. You’re starting to understand, aren’t you, boy? Moony’s so proud, like a papa wolf ||

Shut up. 

Remus suppressed the urge to roll his eyes and drew in a long breath through his nose, taking in the scents surrounding him—Mate. Pups. Den. Home. 

The haze that had fallen over his vision lifted, and he cleared his throat. 

“Sorry,” he repeated. “He wasn’t injured?”

“Nope. Right as rain when we got there, though he was a bit…well, as Emme said, he wouldn’t speak. Anyway, the Dursleys were all out of sorts because when their snot-nosed punk shoved him, Harry floated a bit before he hit the ground, and then their kid fell off the structure, so…” 

“So his magic reacted. Protected him and pushed away a threat,” Hermione surmised. “And they lost their shit because their kid fell, what, a metre or so, if it's a toddler toy?” 

“Exactly. I suppose they would have eventually calmed down, but thankfully, she stayed mad long enough to owl me, and here we are.” Moody looked over at Harry, sighing heavily. “Gods, he looks like Jamie, aye?”

“Spitting image,” Emmeline agreed. She watched the boys for a moment, grinning in that way women with baby-related goals often did, and Remus watched Moody watch her as he wondered what could have happened between them. 

Hermione had mentioned the only reason she’d known Alastor and Emmeline had been together once upon a time was because his older self had mentioned it, which surprised him. They weren’t a typical couple by any means, but he’d always thought they were solid.

He couldn’t help but hope that somehow, Hermione being here set them on the path to stay together. They deserved it. 

“The baby is adorable,” Emmeline cooed. 

“He looks like you spit him out yourself, Remus. Poor kid,” Moody teased. 

“He really does,” Hermione laughed before she gently set the conversation back on track. “So, Harry’s alright, then? No injuries or issues beyond what we would expect?”

“He seems okay, aside from what I expected to see, yes,” Emmeline responded. “They didn’t send any clothing or toys along with him, save for that stuffed deer he was clinging to. If you guys need help getting anything for him, I have a ton of resources to assist with that sort of thing. And we owe you a housewarming gift, anyway.” 

“Oh, that’s not necessary. You’ve already brought the best gift we could have asked for. I went out just yesterday and picked up a few days' worth of clothing to have on hand for when he arrived, and we’ll get whatever else he needs.” Hermione leaned forward to pick up her teacup and took a drink, her eyes sliding to the side to study Remus for a moment before she looked back toward the sofa. 

“How does this work legally? Will we be able to keep him until the paperwork comes through? I don’t—I won’t have him taken away again now that he’s home, even for a day or two, so if I need to take him and disappear for a week or two, I need to know tonight,” she said, worry clouding her voice as she shifted in her seat. 

|| Pretty little Mate, so protective of her Pups. Need to bree— ||

La la la, I can’t hear you. 

|| Stupid idiot boy ||

“That’s not necessary.” Moody leaned forward and dug a small parcel out of the pocket of his robes, then placed it on the tea table and pressed the tip of his wand to the centre. Once he’d returned the shrunken item to its full size, he opened what Remus could now tell was an ordinary manila envelope and fanned the papers out on the table for them to see. 

“I was almost done, but when I got Petunia’s owl, I put a bit of pressure on my friend in records,” he explained. “So all your documentation is there. The guardianship form has been signed and stamped, and you’ll get a copy in the next few days. Then you’ll take that to Gringott’s and, well, I’m sure you know the rest.” 

“I do, thank you,” Hermione responded. She scooted from her chair to sit on the floor in front of the table and began sorting through the documents, passing them to Remus one by one. 

The paperwork all looked legitimate. A marriage license, school records, other forms of identification, it was all sealed in black and white, filed with the Wizengamot, and irrefutable. 

She was now, as far as the paperwork was concerned, Hermione Jean Lupin, nee Evans, a first cousin of Lily’s through both of their fathers. 

A blood relation, so that Dumbledore couldn’t protest her having guardianship over Harry—or at least, couldn’t object for any reason that held a shred of validity. 

The back story had been easy enough to concoct, thanks to Hermione’s clever mind. For all anyone would know, she was a Muggleborn witch and a first cousin of Lily’s through their fathers. Hermione’s father took a job in the States when she was young, so she attended Ilvermorny and kept in touch with her cousin through letters—which, using a handful of old notes Remus had kept, Hermione had been able to forge using a replica of Lily’s signature. 

From there, the story went that after she received news of Lily and James’ deaths, she came to London in November of 1981 looking for answers, and tracked down Remus, whom Lily had told her about over the years. In their shared grief, she and Remus bonded, then fell in love. 

They were married in a private ceremony the following July, conceived Callum a few short months after tying the knot, and the rest was history. It all fit around the gaps where Remus knew nobody could argue over his whereabouts or what he was doing, and it was a solid story. 

Believable, and now, sealed and irrefutable, thanks to Moody’s connections. 

Thank fuck. 

|| I love that word. Fuck, fuck, fuck. We should take the Mate and— || 

“Christ, Moody, this is unbelievable,” Remus muttered, shoving away Moony’s lascivious thoughts as he handed the documents back to Hermione. 

“My guy does good work. It’s all verifiable and airtight,” Moody replied with a nod, “so everything should be squared away.” 

“Thank you so much.” Hermione carefully stacked the papers and placed them back into the envelope before she took her seat again. 

“Now that the official part of things is out of the way, I’m afraid there’s more,” Moody continued. “Harry, he isn’t…” 

He trailed off, his brows pinching together, and Emmeline leaned over, squeezing his thigh as she took over. 

“Harry has been neglected,” she said bluntly. It was no secret; even if Hermione hadn’t possessed all her future Harry knowledge, the neglect and abuse he’d faced in that house was written all over the way he looked, the way he behaved. 

Even knowing, Remus still felt his hackles rise, but he shoved it down, doing his best to block Moony out as he focused on Emmeline’s words. 

“It’s clear there has also been some mistreatment, and at this stage in his development, it can all be extremely detrimental to his long-term wellness. While I would never diagnose a child, or any trauma patient, without putting in the work, I think it's safe to say that I see some concerning signs, and I think it would benefit him to see a mindhealer. I don’t work in paediatrics, but I have a colleague I can recommend.” 

“Yes, please. I’ve thought of that, so the recommendation will definitely help. I also want to take him in for a full physical. He’s clearly malnourished, so I’m already planning ways to introduce more protein and carbohydrates into his diet, and fresh fruit and vegetables, of course. I also plan to start him on a multi-vitamin, and I’m—babbling, I’m sorry.” Hermione gave a self-deprecating laugh as she nervously tucked a curl behind her ear, and Remus bit the inside of his cheek again as Moony demanded to be heard, spewing a fresh string of praise about his Mate that had Remus’ cheeks heating. 

“Don’t apologise,” Emmeline reassured her kindly. “You’re a mother, and taking on the care of a child who means the world to you as well, so you’re going to worry. That’s natural.”

“And speaking of… well, the whole mindhealer/medical assistance thing…” Moody trailed off, shifting nervously in his chair before he cleared his throat. “I suppose it’s a good thing you went with a bigger place, because Sirius will be released soon. I’m assuming you’re willing to take him in?” 

“Of course,” Hermione replied immediately. 

“Soon?” Remus’ voice cracked, and he nearly felt dizzy, his vision darkening around the edges as a wave of emotion crashed over him.

“Aye. Now that we’ve got the rat locked away and all healed up, seems he thrashed around so much when I left him alone in the interrogation room that he tipped his chair over and bashed his face all to hell on the floor. Unfortunate, that.” He shot Remus a smirk, then continued, “Anyway, we’ve got the ball rolling on his release. There’s a mountain of paperwork, but I’d say Black should be home by Christmas.” 

“Christmas? That’s…that’s less than three weeks away,” Remus croaked. 

“Oh, Remus, that’s perfect. Everyone will be home for the holidays,” Hermione said, her tone wispy and buoyant in a way Remus had never heard before. “Have you heard anything about how he’s doing, Moody? Does he know he’s getting out, or that he’s coming here, or…well, is there anything you can tell us about how he is? Please.”

Remus sank back in the chair, bouncing his leg as he focused on trying to keep the unavoidable emotional spiral at bay. He was thankful Hermione was asking the questions, because he wasn’t sure if he could have handled trying to speak at all.

Moony wasn’t freaking out like Remus had anticipated he would. He was merely listening in, attentive and patient, as a satisfied sort of purring resounded in Remus’ head. 

Content. The wolf’s feelings about Sirius had always been that way, if not leaning toward neutral. Moony, in all his simplicity, didn’t see the point in Remus being with Sirius, but only because he was so hung up on his never-ending insistence that they go find a mate and make pups. The wolf had never disliked the man; he was pack, and with James and Lily gone, this was pack, now. 

His mate, their pups, and his… Sirius. Whatever he was now.

“He’s doing as well as can be expected,” Emmeline responded. “I got to see him just this morning to tell him the news. But he’s…Remus, I’m sorry, but I have to ask something very big of you. Of both of you.” 

“Anything,” Hermione answered. “If it’s best for Sirius, then we’ll do whatever it takes. 

Gods, he didn’t know how she could be like this. So calm and open, so trusting, but he was infinitely glad she was. His own feelings were hard enough to pluck apart and analyse without having to worry about her disagreeing with things such as Sirius living with them while he got on his feet. 

“Yes,” he finally spoke up. “Whatever we need to do, it’s fine, Emmeline.” 

“Good.” She gave him a sad smile, looking between him and Hermione as she continued, “Because I need you both to lie.”

☆─────☆☾☼☽☆─────☆

Chapter Text

𝙷𝚎𝚛𝚖𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚎

.·:·.☆☾☼☽☆.·:·.

“What are we going to do if this continues?” Remus asked, leaning over to whisper low enough for only her to hear.

“We give him time,” she said back out of the corner of her mouth. “Everybody needs a little time, sometimes. It’s his first night in a new place, and we may know him, may love him, but it’s still new for him.” 

Remus nodded, his hand idly rubbing back and forth between her shoulder blades as she stood near the cot, clutching Callum’s nappy and sleeper. She needed to get him fed and put him to bed, but for now, she was too enamoured with the sight in front of her to move. 

It was surreal. 

Harry sat on the rug in the centre of the room they’d set up for the boys, toying with his stag as he watched a happy, post-bath Callum babble and roll around, sleepy little giggles filling the room. Even Harry had a small smile on his face as he reached for Callum’s little wolf and began dancing it about above the baby so he’d reach for it. When Callum did manage to get his hands on the little ball of fur, he let out a shrill, excited screech, and Harry tensed slightly, then nodded as he patted the baby’s tummy as if to say ‘good job.’ 

Harry did that a lot. Even in the few short hours since Moody and Emmeline had left, Hermione had noticed the habit. He’d always been rather jumpy when she knew him, and while, logically, she knew it was a product of the neglect and abuse he endured, it was something else entirely to see it all play out on such a small child. 

Such a tiny, nervous version of the boy who had been her best friend, her brother. 

Harry had filled a number of roles in her life. They had this way about them, from the very moment they became friends, where they shifted with the tides, became whatever the other needed, whatever they both needed, and then shifted again, over and over.

He had been her everything, her rock, in more ways than she could even begin to weigh and measure. And now, he was this tiny, fragile thing. And he was hers, just as he had always been.  

She’d always felt this intense urge to protect Harry from the second she stepped into the train compartment and noticed his shaking hands and nervous eyes. Even at eleven years old, she’d wanted nothing more than to storm across the small space and pull him into her arms and declare that she’d take care of him now. 

But she had a toad to find, and she didn’t quite fancy the idea of being labelled as a barmy witch before they even reached the school, so she’d repaired his glasses instead, just to quell the urge to do something to make it all better for him. 

Which, needless to say, became a running theme. There was truly nothing in this world she wouldn’t have done for Harry James Potter. In this life or the next, in the previous, in any timeline, he was hers to protect. And now, he was hers. Signed and sealed with the ministry. She would raise him as her own, right alongside Callum; she would show him the love of a mother, even as she held space for his real mum. 

And, she would get that damn kid into the bathtub, but it would be on his terms, when he was ready.  

Tonight, the cleaning charms would have to do. 

“Here,” she said, passing Callum’s things off to Remus. He accepted them and moved to the rug, kneeling next to the baby to ready him for bed. Hermione grabbed the second set of pyjamas from the top of the dresser and moved to crouch beside Remus, reaching a hand out to stroke a finger over Harry’s stuffed animal. 

“Hi, Harry,” she said, sure to keep her voice soft and soothing. “We don’t have to worry about the bathtub, but we do need to get you clean and into your jammies for the night. Do you remember when I said there’s good magic, like with my special bag?” 

Harry nodded, his eyes darting nervously to Callum before he looked back up at her. 

“Good,” she smiled. “So, magic really is so very good, Harry. It can do wonderful things. It can even get us clean when we don’t have a bath. Would you like me to show you?” 

Harry furrowed his brow, seemingly considering her words, then extended an arm to point a finger at Remus, who had settled down next to her with Callum in his lap.

“You want me to clean up Uncle Moony?” Hermione asked, giggling softly. “Well, he’s not very dirty right now, is he?” 

Harry let out a little puff of air at that, his eyes scanning Remus before he braced a hand on the floor to push himself up. He side-stepped Hermione and walked out of the room without saying a word—hadn’t, really, save for ‘my baby’ and ‘my baby is crying’ and ‘no bath,’ since he’d arrived.

Remus moved to stand, but she placed her hand on his thigh and shook her head. “He’s okay. You have to remember he’s rather independent, Remus. Give him a moment, yeah? I think maybe he needs to show us whatever he’s thinking since he can’t say it right now.” 

“Okay.” Remus nodded and looked down, busying himself with Callum as the baby began to grab at his hands. He wrapped a pudgy little fist around Remus’ forefinger and gave it an experimental tug, then repeated the action with his thumb before he lifted the hand to his mouth and began to gnaw at Remus’ knuckle—with a growl.

“Oh, so vicious, little cubby,” Remus crooned.

“The meanest little wolf. Better watch out for when those teeth come in,” Hermione warned. 

“Here.” Harry walked back into the room, holding a tube of toothpaste out as he came to a stop in front of them. Hermione gave him an inquisitive look as she accepted the toothpaste, but understanding dawned when he pointed at Remus again. 

“You want me to put the toothpaste on Uncle Moony so I can show you how the cleaning magic works?”

Harry nodded eagerly and sat in front of Remus, holding his hands out expectantly. Remus shook his head, a small laugh slipping out as he obeyed and settled Callum into Harry’s lap. As soon as the baby had been positioned, Harry scooted back about half a metre, then pointed at the toothpaste again with a frustrated sigh. 

“Alright, alright, Harry,” Remus chuckled. “Do your worst, ‘Mi.” 

Hermione giggled as she opened the toothpaste and squeezed a glob out onto her finger. She pressed the digit to Remus’ lips and began smearing it across his closed mouth — slowly, and with far more reverence than the situation called for. Their eyes locked, and she quickly looked away, blushing as she fumbled to place the cap back on the tube. 

“Okay, Harry. Now, this is called a charm. Can you say ‘Charm’?” she asked. 

“Yes,” Harry replied. She waited a beat, but he merely stared at her expectantly, as if waiting for her to continue. 

Tough crowd, she thought, suppressing another laugh as she responded, “Ohhh-kay, then. So, when we cast magic, there are special words we say to make the magic work. They’re called incantations. When we say the incantation, it helps to make the spell work. And this,” she paused, pulling her wand out of the pocket of her cardigan, “is called a wand. Can you say wand?” 

“Yes,” Harry nodded.

“Very good, Harry. You’re such a great listener,” Remus praised. Hermione wrinkled her nose, fighting back yet another laugh as the action caused a little glob of toothpaste to be stretched stringy between his lips. This was really all so ridiculous, but Harry was receptive to the moment, listening intently as Callum babbled happily in his lap. If it took toothpaste and charms lessons to help him grow more comfortable with the concept of magic after he’d undoubtedly heard it spoken of in the worst ways, then she’d buy out the entire dental hygiene aisle at the chemist’s shop. 

“Well then, I think we’re about ready,” she said, smiling at Harry as she raised her wand. “I’m going to use a wiping charm on Uncle Moony. It’s different from the charm I’ll use to clean you up, because if we use the big cleaning spell, it’ll make soap bubbles come out of his mouth, and that wouldn’t be very fun.” 

Harry gave her a puzzled look, then tilted his head to assess Remus for a moment before he nodded. 

“I think I’m going to pull rank on that one, Harry. I’ve found I don’t favour the taste of soap,” Remus interjected playfully. Harry attempted to roll his eyes as he waved a hand dismissively, but it came out as more of an odd fluttering of the lashes. 

Hermione nearly cried at the sight, nonsensical as the ball of emotion clogging her throat may have been. One of the things she’d always loved most about Harry—and, coincidentally, one of the things she felt others tended to overlook the most—was his sass. 

He’d always had the quickest wit, throwing out a comeback before her mind even processed whatever the offence had been, and she’d loved it. Although on this side of things, in the role of a caretaker to him as a young boy, she thought she was definitely in for it. 

That sass would be turned on her through years of child-rearing, and she couldn’t wait—even though she knew she’d regret that thought in a decade when they had two pubescent boys stinking up the house with their sweaty socks. 

“Hermione,” Remus whispered, grabbing her attention. “You’re all dopey and misty-eyed, and as cute as that is, this toothpaste is starting to burn.” 

“Right. Sorry.” She shook her head and gave Harry another encouraging smile. “So, I raise my wand, just like this, and I’ll point it at Uncle Moony’s face. And then I just say…Tegero.”

Harry let out a shocked gasp as the toothpaste coating Remus’ mouth disappeared, the spell causing it to look as if someone had swept a flannel over his mouth to wipe it away. 

“See?” she looked back toward Harry. “All clean.” 

“Magic,” Harry whispered in wide-eyed wonder. “More magic, please.” 

“Okay,” Hermione laughed. “One more spell, and then you’ll let me use the spell that gets little boys all clean so they can get into their jammies, deal?” 

“Deal.”

☆─────☆☾☼☽☆─────☆

After Hermione cast an Avis, causing Harry to descend into a fit of giggles as he watched the little yellow canaries she conjured flit about around his head, and Remus followed it up using a spell Sirius had shown him that cast constellations across the ceiling, whilst she Scourgified Harry and helped him dress, Hermione had been certain bedtime would go off without a hitch.

She had, certainly, been wrong about that. 

“No.” 

“Harry, you have to get into the bed, love. It’s so late,” she urged softly. 

“No bed. My baby,” he argued, stamping a foot as he pointed toward where Remus sat in the chair in the corner, rocking Callum to sleep. 

“Callum has to go night-night too, washi,” Remus said quietly. Callum let out a yawn, as if on cue, and Remus continued, “See? He’s all clean and has his belly full, so he has to get some rest now.” 

“I stay up,” Harry declared, crossing his arms over his chest as he plopped down onto the edge of the mattress. “Watch my baby. Bye, now.” 

“We can’t leave until Callum is safely in his cot and you are tucked into bed, honey,” Hermione told him sternly. “What if we read a bedtime story? Wouldn’t that be nice?” 

“No.” 

“Maybe I could lie down with you, too?” 

“No.” 

Hermione sighed in exasperation, brushing her hair out of her eyes as she glanced around. This was to be expected. It was nothing she couldn’t handle, and a three-year-old fighting bedtime would hardly be the worst matter they had to contend with in the coming months. But she was tired, and losing her patience, and she wanted to snap. The only thing that kept her from pushing the issue and demanding he listen was the knowledge that he’d been through enough force and anger to last a lifetime.

“Hermione,” Remus said softly. She looked over at him, and he held a hand out, offering up Callum’s wolf. Giving him a grateful smile, she accepted the proffered toy and turned back to Harry, crouching down in front of where he still sat, pouting. 

“Harry, I know you don’t want to go to bed. But I could really use your help,” she began, holding the toy up. “Callum can’t have his wolfy with him while he sleeps. It's not safe for a baby to have anything in his cot, so we have to hold on to Wolfy at night so he can get his rest. Now, usually, Uncle Moony snuggles the wolf, so the baby knows he’s being taken care of,” she said, shooting a teasing glance toward Remus before she turned her attention back to Harry. “But I thought if you get laid down and under your covers, maybe Wolfy could snuggle with you and Prongs tonight? You’ll keep him safe for Callum until morning, won’t you?” 

Harry eyed her skeptically, then stared at the wolf for a moment as he twisted his fingers around one of the thick, soft antlers of the stuffed deer. Finally, he moved without a word, turning to climb to the centre of the bed, where he sat expectantly, leaning back against the pillows and holding a hand out. 

“Oh, thank you so much, Harry,” she sighed in relief as she handed the wolf over. Harry accepted it, positioning it in the crook of the arm that wasn’t cradling his stag, then proceeded to lie down. 

“An’ Mimi?” he asked softly as she reached for the quilt to tuck it around him. “Why I’m here?”

Hermione stilled. 

She’d expected the question, prepared for it, but gods, it was still so hard. It was natural, of course, that he would wonder. But she supposed that, given that taking him in was the most natural thing in the world for both her and Remus, she’d been so worried Harry would hate it. That he’d be unhappy, that he wouldn’t want them. 

Before she could respond, she heard the chair squeak as Remus stood and gently laid Callum in the cot. He stepped up beside her, placing a hand on her shoulder as he whispered, “Let me, yeah?”

Hermione nodded and moved to sit on the edge of the bed as she watched Remus open the drawer to Harry’s nightstand. He pulled out a picture frame—one she recognised, by the wood alone, from where it used to sit on the dresser of his flat—and then turned to kneel next to the bed as he handed it to Harry. 

“Harry, this is a picture of your Mummy and Daddy,” he began. “That’s Lily, here, and that’s James. We called him Prongs.” 

“My Prongs,” Harry hummed, a little V forming between his eyebrows as he stared down at the picture. 

“That’s right. We called your Daddy Prongs, so as soon as we found out you were growing in your Mummy’s tummy, we…your Uncle Pads and I went out to the shops and bought you a little stuffed stag, just about the size of Callum’s wolfy.” Remus cleared his throat, darting his eyes up to Hermione, and she gave him an encouraging nod. 

"Your mum and dad, they were my best friends. Like how Callum is your best friend,” he continued. 

“My baby.” 

“Exactly,” Remus laughed softly. “And I loved them very much, just like you love the baby. So when you were growing in your Mum’s tummy, I loved you already. And when you were born, you were the greatest thing I’d ever loved.” 

“So loved,” he whispered as he ran his finger over Lily’s face through the glass of the frame. Remus furrowed his brow in confusion, and Hermione reached over to squeeze his hand, trying to ground herself as she nodded. 

“Yes, Harry. Very good. That’s what Mummy said to you before she had to go away, isn’t it?” She took a breath, steeling her resolve as she called forth the words Harry had told her from the few memories he retained of his parents. 

“She said, ‘Harry, you are so loved. Mama loves you. Dada loves you. Be safe," she whispered. 

“Be strong, Harry,” Harry added. 

“That’s right,” Hermione’s voice cracked. “And that’s why you’re with us. Because you are so, so very loved, Harry. So many people—nice, kind people, they love you, and will love you. And Uncle Moony and Aunt Mimi, we love you so, so much that we wanted you to come live with us so we could keep you safe, and help you be strong, just like your Mummy said.” 

“And my baby,” Harry added. 

“Yes, washi. And your baby,” Remus said, whisper-soft. “We’re going to keep you both safe.” 

☆─────☆☾☼☽☆─────☆

𝚁𝚎𝚖𝚞𝚜

.·:·.☆☾☼☽☆.·:·.

“He’s about eight and a half kilograms, and seventy-two centimetres long,” Healer Henderson informed them as she wrapped the blanket back around Callum’s nappy-clad form and handed him back to Remus. 

“Is that good?” he asked nervously. 

“It’s impressive, is what it is,” she laughed. “He’s about a kilogram and a half larger than most his age, and two centimetres longer to boot. So it’s definitely good. It means Mum is feeding him well, and he’ll be tall like his Dad.” 

|| Mate does so well. Needs to be rewarded || 

Remus ignored the utterings of the lunatic in his mind and shifted the baby on his lap as he watched Healer Henderson turn her attention toward Harry. He sat rigid, listening intently to the healer’s directions as he turned his head this way and that, stood and touched his toes to let her examine his spine, and then nodded when she asked if he wanted to colour a picture at the little table in the corner. 

Healer Henderson pulled a stool up in front of where Remus and Hermione sat, drawing her wand to cast a silencing charm before she gave them a small, apologetic smile. 

|| Something’s wrong. Don’t like this || 

Remus sat up straighter in his chair, shifting Callum in his lap as his thoughts began to race. Had she seen something wrong with Harry during the physical examination? Was she about to tell them he had some strange illness or ailment they couldn’t cure? 

Gods, and he didn’t even want to begin to think about how he would manage to afford to cover any intense medical treatment he may need for whatever was wrong. He was only working a few days a week at Sheila’s shop, and yes, they’d pulled money from the Potter vaults to pay up six months worth of living expenses and furnish the house, because Hermione had been right; even if he’d been too tense to admit it without a fight at the time, it was what James and Lily would have wanted. 

And the vaults were an option if Harry were sick, of course. But he was supposed to provide for them, and he couldn’t, and it stung. He couldn’t even hold down a normal job, and there would be years of doctors, and that damned muggle tooth healer Hermione had decided Harry needed to see for some reason, and Callum just kept growing, and they’d need to replace his entire wardrobe soon. 

Harry would grow quickly, too, so that would double, and then later there would be brooms to buy and schoolbooks and trunks and—he stifled a yawn as the healer pulled a pad of parchment out of her pocket, studying her notes before she unleashed whatever terrible news she had on them. 

“Harry has an exceptionally strong magical core,” Healer Henderson began. “His physical development and fine motor skills all seem to be on par with what we like to see at his age. Of course, there are concerns.” 

“Yes,” Hermione spoke up. “We have some concerns, too. As I mentioned, he’s only recently come to live with us. The household he was in before was both neglectful and emotionally abusive. There was physical abuse as well—mainly a lot of jerking him around more than actual hitting, but enough that it certainly left its mark. He was also kept in a small space—a cupboard, beneath the stairs, if you can believe that. So he’s showing nervousness in open spaces, such as the park. He’s clearly malnourished and has nightmares. He wets the bed, and he often just stops talking entirely. And then there’s the bath thing.

"We’ve managed to talk him into the shower a few times, but he has a major aversion to the bath. He’s convinced the water will be ‘ouchy cold,’ which gods, those fuckers couldn’t even give him a warm bath. He definitely needs to have his vision checked. His appetite is fine, though sometimes he doesn’t seem to know what to do with certain foods, and he—” Hermione clamped her mouth closed the second Remus reached over to place a hand on her leg. She let out a nervous laugh, her cheeks tinging pink as she softened her voice. 

“Sorry,” she said sheepishly. “I’m just…I just want to make sure nothing is overlooked. I want him to have the best of care, and to give him the childhood that he never—um, never would have gotten, with the Dursleys.” 

“Don’t apologise,” Remus told her. His voice was almost too sharp, a bit commanding, but he didn’t care. “Don’t. You are a mother. We may only have guardianship thus far, but you and I both know there is nobody on this earth more suited to raising that little boy over there than you. That goes for both our boys.” 

|| Learning, boy. See how she sank back into her chair? How her pretty little face relaxed as soon as you praised her? Need to tell her she’s good more. She needs it || 

I’m trying, if you’d stop interrupting for five bloody seconds.

“You’re so good at this, Hermione. And I’m sure Healer Henderson has seen worried parents before, right?” He asked, looking over to the healer for reassurance.

“Exactly,” she nodded. “A worried parent or guardian is one of my favourite things to see. I hear all of your concerns, and they’re valid, given what Harry has been through. I saw in the Mediwitch’s notes that you’ve already spoken to someone about getting Harry in with a paediatric mindhealer?” 

“We have,” Remus answered. “A good friend is in the field, so she recommended a mind healer who operates out of a private office not far from our home. His first visit is…I’m sorry, the date escapes me.” 

“December 27th, right after Christmas,” Hermione supplied. 

“Good. See? You’re on the right track. Now, Harry is a bit underweight for his age. We’d love to see him around thirteen kilograms at this age, and he’s sitting at ten point…sixty-six,” Healer Henderson said, casting a glance down to her notepad. “I’d like him to see a nutritional specialist just to make sure he’s getting enough of the right nutrients to get some weight back on him as he recovers from the malnourishment. We’ll get his eyes checked as well, and then from there I’d like to see him every eight weeks through the next year just so we can address anything we may need to as it comes up through his specialist appointments.” 

“Thank you so much.” Hermione sounded so relieved that he had half a mind to pull her into his lap. How the two correlated, he couldn’t be sure, as he was currently making a concentrated effort to ignore all the filth about breeding the good Mate and giving her more pups to nurture that Moony was spewing. 

But the urge was there nevertheless, and his hand was still on her leg as his other arm cradled a now-snoozing Callum. In lieu of acting wildly inappropriate for their current setting, he kept his hand on her thigh as he watched the doctor cancel the silencing charm and spin on her stool to scoot toward Harry, who had been diligently colouring away on a blank piece of parchment. 

From Remus’ vantage point, it looked to be a crudely drawn, boxy little house with a number of stick figures standing off to the side. 

“That’s a lovely picture, Harry. Can you tell me who you drew? This little guy right here, is that you?” Healer Henderson asked as she leaned over the little play table and pointed to a little blue stick figure that appeared to be holding a crudely drawn ball of yarn. 

“Me and my baby,” Harry nodded, then pointed to the two slightly larger stick figures, “Aunt Mimi and My Uncle Moony right there, see?” 

“I do see. That’s so well done! Why don’t you take your picture with you, and I’ll get you a lolly for the road since you were such a wonderful patient today?” Healer Henderson stood up and turned to face Remus and Hermione, snapping off her gloves as she spoke. 

“You have a wonderful family, Mr. and Mrs. Lupin. Clearly, little Harry thinks so, too. Kids only draw pictures like that when they feel safe and secure with the people they love, and that baby right there is fat and happy, as they all should be. You’re both doing your best, and your best is phenomenal. Don’t sweat the bumps in the road. I’ll owl with information for the specialists, yeah?”

|| Oh, I fucking love this. Strong pack. Good family. People SHOULD see it. See how well our Mate cares for the young ||

Yeah. I love it, too, Remus confessed.

☆─────☆☾☼☽☆─────☆

Remus yawned again, covering his mouth with his hand as he resisted the impulse to curl up on the floor and take a nap. 

The full moon had been two nights prior, and he hadn’t been sure about coming in to work today, but he figured a few hours wouldn’t hurt. It wasn’t all bad to get a bit of a break from diapers and playtime anyway. 

He made a mental note that he needed to do something for Hermione, like send her off to the library or the bookstore for a few hours, maybe convince her to treat herself to lunch. For as much as he felt like he was drowning in parenting responsibilities—love it as he may—and for as often as he tried to take over and manage things so she could have a break, the woman seemed hellbent on doing everything for everyone, always. 

It seemed to be a habit of hers, and he couldn’t help but wonder if that was a running theme for her. Either way, she deserved a break.

Remus himself had needed just a little time away, and it was helping so much already. He’d been so worried lately. Stressed and exhausted, because Callum was teething and Harry had nightmares, and the full weight of this parenting thing was finally settling onto his shoulders now that they had two lads to care for. 

But it wasn’t all bad. He had to admit that—had to, lest Moony start a riot. Hermione was brilliant with the boys. She was so soft, so sweet and gentle, and she took care of them, took care of him like it was the most natural thing in the world for her. 

He supposed it was, given the bond. Everything with her was natural. They were getting closer all the time, and he didn’t know how to even think about it all. They hadn’t slept together again, but they did sleep together every night now. 

Remus couldn’t even explain how that happened, but he certainly had no complaints. 

The first night after Harry had come to live with them, they’d put both boys to bed in the nursery. He hadn’t expected Callum to sleep well in there since he had grown accustomed to sharing a bed with Remus and Hermione, so they’d both gone to their room and gotten ready for bed, just as they’d been doing every night for weeks—just without the baby between them. 

After they’d laid down, they’d talked over the events of the day and the news of Sirius’s impending return. The fact that he would live with them hadn’t even been a question in either of their minds, even if Remus himself was anxious as hell over how on earth it would all work.

Especially considering the fact that they had to lie to him. It made sense; Remus couldn’t deny that. Emmeline had explained it all in a clear and concise manner, riddled with facts. The mental strain of being imprisoned at all, let alone falsely, and immediately after the deeply traumatic event of losing James and Lily, had made an impact on Sirius. He was anxious and not entirely well. 

Per the terms of his release, he needed to see a mindhealer twice a week as he adjusted to life on the outside, and Emmeline was managing his care, which Remus was eternally grateful for. There were no better hands for his mental well-being to be in. 

But because of the state he was in, and due to an array of statistics and mind-healing terminology he didn’t quite understand, Emmeline thought it best that they omit the time-travelling facet of Hermione’s existence in Remus’ life. 

Sirius would have too many questions. Questions he may not be in a well enough state to handle the answers to. While Remus couldn’t deny that it made sense, and while he knew, even through his confusion, that he would do anything he could to help Sirius recover from what he’d been through, it all felt so dirty, so wrong. 

And now, even though the baby had been nearly entirely broken of the habit of cosleeping, save for fussy nights when he had a tummy ache or his gums ached, they just continued to share a room. It was the best choice, anyway, he supposed. They would have a hard time getting Sirius to buy the ‘perfectly ordinary marriage’ bit if they had separate rooms. He knew Moony far too well to ever buy that.

Everything was in order for Sirius’s return. They had their routine down, and the house had been completely done up. Remus, for all his initial reluctance about leasing such a big place, couldn’t deny that he loved the way it had all come together. 

It was a true and proper home. The ground floor was organised and set up well, including an old single bed with a ton of pillows and blankets in the conservatory for Hermione and the boys during the full moon. The floor where the boys' nursery sat also housed a small playroom alongside the study. Moony liked that the boys were up on the second floor, the farthest from any points of entry, and Remus agreed.  

The only issue to be found was that their room—the room he shared with his wife, who, for all intents and purposes, Sirius needed to believe he shared a traditional relationship with—was in the middle, directly across from the one they’d set up for Sirius. 

How the bloody hell he was going to handle sleeping across the hall from his ex-boyfriend while he shared a bed with a time-travelling girl who was his mate and wife while they faked a relationship, he had no idea. 

But Sirius was coming home. 

Hermione kept saying that it was a good thing. Those words, over and over. This is a good thing. 

Sometimes, he wasn’t sure if she was trying to reassure him or herself.

Gods, he needed to stop spiralling and get some actual work done, but the clock was ticking, and he didn’t know how to process any of it.

“Well, I gave you time, but you still haven’t talked to me about it, and I know that you know I met your wife,” Sheila interrupted bluntly. Her voice pulled Remus out of his trance with a start—he’d been so lost in his thoughts that he hadn’t even heard her come in.

“Ah. I wondered when I was going to get called out,” he said, the tips of his ears burning with the flush of embarrassment as he watched her take a seat on a large box next to where he’d been working on the shelves in the back room of the store. 

He knew he’d have to talk to her about it eventually. Moony had been riding his arse over the fact that he didn’t brag about his mate and the pups, but really, he didn’t interact with a lot of people beyond Sheila, and he didn’t know how to explain never having mentioned them before. It wasn’t that he was ashamed—quite the opposite, in fact. 

It was just… a lot to explain. He sighed, running a hand through his hair as he waited for Sheila to respond. When she didn’t, he took a breath and added, “I’m just, erm…a private person,” he explained. 

Sheila merely glared up at him over the top of her half-moon spectacles, waiting expectantly. Clearly, he wasn’t going to get out of this without giving the old gossip something. 

“Hermione — my wife, she and I, we, erm, just got custody of our nephew,” he began. “Well, it’s…a long story. Not quite a nephew.” 

“We have time,” Sheila intoned as she pulled an emery board from somewhere within the depths of her flowing skirts and scarves. “Magical adoption or Muggle?” 

“Ma— h,” he let out a low laugh. “I forgot you’re a squib, Hermione said. It’s, erm, magical guardianship for now. We intend to adopt him, but have some logistics to work out first, of course.” 

“Not quite a nephew?” she prompted. 

“His parents were my best friends, and his Mum was Hermione’s cousin. After they died, he went to live with his maternal aunt, but it was a shitty situation, so…” he trailed off for a moment as he bent to open another box. “He’s good now, though. We’re adjusting, slow as it may be. He really likes the baby, so that’s been a blessing, even with all the difficulties.”

“I’m sorry he’s struggling,” Sheila said. She took a moment, tucking her emery board back into the folds of her skirt as she gave him an assessing look. “What are the difficulties? You know, I’ve a whole mess of nieces and nephews. My great-niece just had her seventh, year before last. I know a thing or two about little ones.” 

“Seventh?” Remus blinked in surprise. 

|| Strong numbers. We could have seven. Ten. Keep growing the pack. Mate could take it || 

I can’t stand you. 

|| There’s a chair right over there, then ||

He shook his head, turning back to the shelf. Difficulties. It seemed like such a stiff word, one laden with angst and trauma, and as true as that may have been, he regretted the use immediately. 

“Not, erm…difficulties is such a tough word. He just has some aversion. Namely, bathtime. That’s been our big struggle.” 

“Oh, that’s easy enough,” Sheila said as she smoothed a hand over her skirts. “How old is the boy?” 

“Three and a half.” 

“Perfect. Kids at that age love to feel like big kids. Give him a very big boy job, helping bathe the baby to get him used to the water. Once he sees the little one splashing around, he’ll want to join him,” Sheila told him.

“That’s—you’re brilliant, actually.” 

“True,” Sheila nodded. “I’m going to go dust the bong shelf. Let me know how bathtime goes next time you come in. And bring that wife or the littles sometime.” 

“I’m not bringing my kids to a head shop,” Remus laughed. “That’s so fucking weird. And they’d wreck the shop, anyway.” 

“Weird surroundings build resilient kids, and don’t think I don’t know that you’ve charmed the shelves so nothing falls and breaks when I’m bumping into everything, Remus.”

☆─────☆☾☼☽☆─────☆

𝙷𝚎𝚛𝚖𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚎

.·:·.☆☾☼☽☆.·:·.

Harry watched with rapt attention as Hermione ran the flannel over Callum’s left shoulder. He stood next to the tub, mirroring her movements as he ran the cloth down the baby’s right arm, nervously looking over his shoulder to where Remus stood leaning back against the vanity. 

“Just like that, washi. Gotta get our blaidd bach nice and clean, yeah? You’re doing a wonderful job helping Aunt Mimi,” he said in an encouraging tone. It picked at something in her brain, reminding her of the way he always sounded in his lectures when he’d taught her, but she refused to go there right now. 

“Blah blaahh?” Harry scrunched his face up in confusion. 

“Blaidd bach. It means little wolf,” Remus explained. “Maybe cubby is easier for you. Or Callum, of course.” 

“No, thank you,” Harry said bluntly. “My baby.” 

“Perhaps we’ll just go to the ministry and change his name to ‘my baby’, hmmm?” Hermione said playfully as she reached for the baby soap. Remus took the cue they’d discussed and stepped toward the tub. He bent down, holding out one of the little yellow duckies Hermione had bought for bathtime, and Callum let out an excited squeal as he lunged for it. 

He began to bat it against the bubbles, babbling away, and Harry let out a small, almost imperceptible giggle as he observed, “My baby is being silly.”

“Yes, he is. And so wiggly,” Hermione laughed, bracing a hand on Callum’s back. “It’s a good thing I have you here to help, Harry. You’re such a great helper, do you know that?” 

"Yes." Harry nodded, but he didn’t look at her. His eyes were still trained on Callum’s hand as he continued to wave the duck around erratically. Hermione glanced up at Remus to find him grinning down at the scene. 

Progress. Harry hadn’t even wanted to step through the doorway to the bathroom the first time they’d tried to bathe him, but, per Remus’ advice from Sheila, the second they’d suggested he help with Callum like a big boy, he’d been game. 

“He certainly loves bathtime, doesn’t he, Harry?” Remus asked. 

“Yes.” Harry nodded and reached a hand out to poke at the bubbles. Callum clapped his hands, splashing water over Harry’s arm, and he sucked in a breath, stilling for a minute before he relaxed. “Not cold.” 

“Nope! Remember, washi, Aunt Mimi said all baths are warm and bubbly in this house,” Remus replied. 

“I like the bubbles.” Harry stood straighter, chewing his lips as he swivelled his head to look up and down the length of the tub as he repeated. “Baths are warm. Always warm?” 

“Always. Do you want to put your hand in the water and feel?” Hermione encouraged. Callum let out an annoyed howl as his duck slipped out of his soapy hands and lunged for the toy. He slipped slightly, causing Harry to gasp, but Hermione caught him in time.

“Not safe. Get him out,” Harry commanded. 

“Well, we can’t do that, buddy. Not until he’s all clean. Though…” Remus trailed off, as if he were lost in thought. “Gosh, that sure does look fun, doesn’t it? I suppose it's a shame the tub is so small for big people like me and Auntie Mimi.” 

“It is,” she agreed. “I bet he’d love for someone to come in and play with him. Oh! I just had the best idea.” 

She turned her head to look at Harry, who eyed her curiously. 

“Harry, maybe you could get in the tub!” she gasped excitedly. “That way, you and Callum could play together while we get you all clean, and then we’d have more time to make the magic stars tonight since I won’t have to use my wand to get you clean for bed.” 

“I…I could play? And it's warm?” Harry paused, considering, then reached for the hem of his shirt. “Play first. Then clean.” 

“Absolutely, little man. You’re the boss,” Remus said as he bent to help Harry pull his shirt over his head. Once he was undressed, Remus lifted him into the tub. Harry gasped at first, panic etched across his features, but Remus kept his hands braced on his back and chest, murmuring words of reassurance until Harry relaxed. 

Callum lost his mind at the new tubmate, screeching as he chucked his duck at Harry, and Harry giggled as he picked it up to boop Callum’s nose with the little beak.

Hermione sat down, pulling her legs out from under her to settle onto her arse on the floor as she watched the boys play. It was good. A huge victory—one she wanted to scream from the tops of the tallest mountains, but she remained silent. 

Harry didn’t need any upsets. He didn’t need them to draw attention to these little successes. He just needed them to keep guiding him without any big fanfare or to-do that would only serve to spook him, so she simply watched. 

After a moment, she saw Remus settle onto the floor next to her, one hand moving to the small of her back as they took in the sight before them. 

“We did it,” she whispered. “I think we’re all going to be alright.” 

“I think so, too,” he confessed as he looped his arm around her shoulder, tugging her closer to his side.

☆─────☆☾☼☽☆─────☆

Chapter Text

𝚁𝚎𝚖𝚞𝚜

.·:·.☆☾☼☽☆.·:·.

“Hi,” Hermione said softly as she stepped up to the side of his chair. She raised her hand, threading her fingers through his hair, and began to gently massage his scalp. Remus sighed, leaning into her touch as his eyes drifted shut.

|| Sweet Mate. So gentle with us. Always knows what we need. I can smell her cunt again ||

“Fucking hell, Moony, you almost had it,” Remus murmured aloud. Hermione giggled and moved to stand between his spread legs, her fingertips still running over his scalp. He tilted his head back, placing his hands on the back of her thighs to anchor himself as he simply watched her face for a lingering moment. 

“Did you get the baby back down alright?” he asked. 

“Finally, yeah. How does it feel?” she asked, then clarified, “To know that he’s coming home tomorrow?” 

“I don’t know,” Remus confessed. “I feel so happy, and terrified. Guilty, worried, I—I don’t know.” 

“What does Moony have to say about it?”

“I’m not sure you want to know.” 

“I think you underestimate me, still. I promise, I’ve heard all of Moony’s filthy ramblings a million times over. There’s nothing he could say that would faze me at this point.” 

“If you say so.” Remus laughed, then winced. “He’s happy. Content. His entire pack—er, new pack, I suppose—will be together under one roof.” 

“In his den,” she said, a satisfied sort of hum to her voice. “He must love that.” 

|| She gets me ||

“And for the thoughts that keep making you blush?” Hermione pressed, a hint of amusement in her voice. 

|| She REALLY gets me || 

“He, erm… well, to put it bluntly, he’s just sort of…” Remus sighed, “His response is something to the effect of ‘you can have the dog back, just keep the mate’, but it's more…” 

“Moony?” she offered. 

“Exactly,” he laughed. They grew quiet again, her hands steadily running through his hair. It was nice. He wasn’t sure anyone had ever done this for him, and he felt… too much. 

Too many things he shouldn’t be feeling, things he didn’t even know how to discuss. 

They hadn’t talked about their night together, but it didn’t bother him as much as he would have assumed. She needed time to process. She’d lost her husband, or at the least, her husband as she’d known him, and he knew this was all overwhelming for her. 

If he were honest, it was overwhelming for him as well, and he thought that, perhaps, it wouldn’t hurt to just…be, and exist together. To keep building the foundation of whatever this was. They’d promised to communicate, and they would. 

But there was about to be a Padfoot-sized wrench thrown into the middle of things, and he would have been a liar if he said he thought the transition would go smoothly at all. 

He had loved Sirius, and then spent two years hating him, hating himself for having ever loved him at all. And now, he didn’t know where those feelings landed in the slightest, and then there was the Hermione of it all. 

She was his mate. The mother of his son—his sons, and he couldn’t lose her. But what if Sirius stepped through that door and brought all the love they’d lost alongside him? What if he had to choose? What if, worst of all, he couldn’t choose? 

“Hey,” Hermione whispered, pulling him from his mental spiral. “I’m going to do something that will help. Please do not resist.” 

“Okay…” Remus said skeptically, raising an eyebrow. Hermione gave him a cheeky smile and pressed a hand to his shoulder, pushing him back in the chair. She pressed her knee to the cushion beside him, then brought the other leg up, straddling his lap as she settled against him. Remus placed one hand on her thigh and one on the small of her back, and watched as she twisted her hair up into a giant mess atop her head. 

“I’m not trying to fuck you,” she said bluntly. “But we’re both feeling a lot of really big things right now, and I think it will help if you hold me. If anything, Moony might settle enough that you can think straight.” 

“Gods, you have no idea what that does to me. That you understand the wolf so well. It’s…” 

“I know.” The corners of her mouth turned down into a slight pout, but she quickly schooled her features and set about her task.

“Moony,” she began sternly as she pressed a hand to the centre of his chest. He felt it again, then. That sort of pull, like she was dragging his wolf to the surface. It wasn’t scary, though; It just felt like healing. 

“How do you do that?” he asked. 

“Hold, please. Moony and I are having a conversation,” she replied cheekily, then repeated, “Moony, this is not sexual.” 

|| I could make it sexual, little Mate. || 

“Tell me,” Hermione said as she looked into his eyes. “When I do this, and you can feel him more strongly, tell me what he says. It helps to just sort of…have a direct conversation with him.” 

“Okay.” Remus stroked his thumb over the little sliver of skin that was bare between the waistband of her trousers and the hem of her shirt as he drew in a breath. “He said…‘I could make it sexual, little mate.’” 

“I think we both know that you can make anything sexual when it comes to me, Moons." Hermione laughed. "But right now, Remus is dealing with a lot, and I need to help him.” 

“I could think of a few ways to help,” Remus parroted Moony’s words. He didn’t deliver them with the suggestiveness the wolf possessed, but she understood all the same. 

“Moony,” Hermione scolded. “This is comfort. That’s my job, right? So for tonight, I need you to calm down and let me nurture my mate.”

“He said…;Perfect Mate’,” Remus swallowed roughly, a flash of gold drifting across his vision as he whispered, “‘Mine'." 

“Yours, Moony. Just let me take care of you.” 

She paused for a moment, running her hand through his hair again. “Remus, just focus on me, okay? This isn’t sexual…or, it can be, but it's not right now. When Moony says he wants to scent me, you feel the urge to lick, sometimes, right? It's so that your scent is stronger on me. It’s sort of…it will help you feel more settled. Would you like to try?”

“You want me to lick you?” Remus asked with a disbelieving laugh.

“I want you to scent your mate. We’re both feeling a lot of really big emotions about Sirius coming home. I don’t think I’ve even worked it out enough in my head to be able to talk about it, and I’m sure the same goes for you. But this will help. I promise,” she reassured him. “Don’t overthink it, okay. Just…here.” 

Hermione sat up straighter in his lap and undid the first few buttons of the oversized shirt she wore like a nightgown. Remus’s breath caught in his throat as the top swell of her breasts became visible, but when she tilted her head to the side, exposing the smooth column of her throat, he lost all sense of reason.

The action, the slight tilt of the head that wouldn’t have even registered from anyone else, set fire alight beneath his skin.

|| Mate needs us. Presenting herself to her Moony. Fucking begging for it, needs our knot, our teeth || 

“Moony,” Remus groaned.

“Behave, Moony,” Hermione ordered. She undid another button on her shirt and then reached up to slide the fabric off her shoulder. Remus gritted his teeth, a growl rumbling in his chest at the sight of the mark at the base of her neck, and Hermione let out a soft giggle. 

“Sorry. I know it’s a lot to see it. But I swear this will help. You can just, um…your mouth, you know?” 

“Yeah. Yeah, I know.” Remus lifted a hand, tracing a single finger along the smooth skin next to the mark. He watched, transfixed, as gooseflesh rippled across her skin. “Are you sure?” 

“Please.” Hermione’s voice came out nearly a whimper, and she cast her eyes to the ceiling, inhaling sharply through her nose before she tried again. “It…it will help both of us. You need this right now, and I…honestly, Remus, I do, too. Please.”

|| Give her what she needs, boy. So warm in our lap, begging us || 

Fuck. 

“Okay. It’s okay, cariad. I’ve got you.” 

Remus leaned in, dragging his nose along the curve of her jaw, and then moved to her throat, drawing in her scent with deep, greedy breaths as Hermione settled further into his lap. She braced a hand on his shoulder and tilted her head back, granting him better access as his mouth found the scar on her shoulder. 

The first lick was tentative, a light brushing of the tongue over her scarred flesh, but the result was instantaneous. It was like a million little fireworks ignited beneath his skin as his senses homed in on the sensation of his mouth, right there. 

Everything else melted away. There was only this, and only her.

“Mate,” he whispered, layering reverent kiss after worshipful flick of his tongue against her flesh, over and over. “Mine.” 

Not sexual. Not sexual. Not sexual, he repeated in his head like the steady thrum of a baseline. 

|| Liar || 

He hadn’t meant to push it farther; he truly hadn’t, and he knew she hadn’t either. Her intentions had been good, because yes, this soothed him, settled something inside of him, and cleared his mind. 

It had only been three days since he’d had her, and the memory of the way her cunt had choked the life out of his cock was so vivid he could nearly feel her wrapped around him, squeezing him as she fell apart, and it was too much. 

If things were different, then he could see it. This could only be what it was: him, layering his scent over her mark, honouring their vow, praising her in silent devotion. If they were in her world, where she and her husband had likely fucked so often, and with such fervour, that they could be this close without it devolving into a mess of limbs and words they’d never say come morning light, then this could very much be not sexual. 

But then she spoke, a single, damning plea as she whispered, “Remus,” and his control faded into the ether. He was so hard, his cock throbbing against his zipper as she began to rock her hips, and Moony was screaming || Fuck || and || Knot || and || Breed || on a constant, persistent loop, and it was all too much, and not nearly enough.

He couldn’t go too far; He wouldn’t sleep with her again, not when their entire lives were about to be upended, and they hadn’t even had the guts to talk about what had already happened between them. But gods, she was so warm, so in need of him that he could feel her cunt dripping onto his lap, staining his trousers with her slick heat, and he had to give her something, had to quell the ache building in his chest. 

“Tell me I can touch you,” he ordered gruffly, scraping his teeth over her mark. 

“Please. I’m sorry. I tried, I just…gods, you’re so hard.” She broke off into a whine, rocking her hips to grind her needy little cunt against his rigid length through their clothing, and he had to give her something. 

He had to. 

It wasn’t just desire. It was something deeper, something ancient and primal, because his mate was in his lap, and every fibre of his being was shifting and contorting to wrap around the need to care for her. 

And so he did, with a trail of his fingers up her thigh, with a press of his palm against the soaked cotton of her knickers, Remus gave in to the wolf as he nipped at her scar.

“Please, please, please,” Hermione chanted breathlessly. 

“Shhh. It’s okay. Let me take care of you,” Remus whispered. He pressed his mouth to her shoulder and let it rest there, grounding himself in the feeling of her scar against his lips as he moved his hand. 

Sliding her knickers to the side, he dipped two fingers between her swollen lips and trailed them up to circle her clit. 

|| Soaked. So warm. So fucking needy for us || 

“So fucking wet for me.” 

Hermione whimpered in response, and he thrust two fingers inside of her, a growl tearing free from his throat at her responding scream of his name. 

“Shhhhh. We have to be quiet, yeah?” He pulled back to watch her face as he curled his fingers inside of her. Hermione’s eyes rolled back, her fingers digging almost painfully into his shoulder as she began to roll her hips, slow and steady. 

“There you go. Ride my fingers just like that,” he coached, pressing in so that the butt of his palm stimulated her clit with every grind of her cunt against his hand.

“Feels so good, Remus,” Hermione rasped. Her teeth dug into her bottom lip, and he reached up to tug it free, swiping his thumb over her mouth before he moved to grip her hair and pull her face toward him. 

Her lips met his with a fiery desperation, and he responded in kind, sliding his tongue into her mouth as she let out a high, keening whine. 

“Perfect,” he murmured against her lips. Breaking away, his mouth sought out that sweet spot below her throat, and he sucked the skin into his mouth, flicking his tongue over the faint ridges of his fucking teeth, because this was his mark, his mate dripping all over his hand as she fucked herself on his fingers, and it was all far more than he deserved. 

But gods, did he want to keep it, to take her, over and over, until she belonged only to him, now, in his time. 

Hermione began to move faster, every slide of her cunt against his hand slicker, hotter as she began to tighten around his fingers, and he growled again, releasing the flesh of her neck.

“Let me feel you, baby. I need to feel this pretty little cunt drench my palm. You’re so close, yeah? Doing so fucking well for me. Perfect little mate,” he rambled, his voice distorted, thick with need. 

Every move she made dragged the back of his hand over the bulge in his trousers. He could feel himself so close to tumbling over the edge with her, the head of his cock leaking against his pants, and before he knew it, his breath was coming in quick, strangled huffs. 

“Fuck, you’re going to make me cum just like this. So fucking hot in my lap, so fucking...” 

|| Mine ||

“Yours,” Hermione gasped. “Yours, oh, fuck, Remus!” 

“Mine,” he agreed with a growl. Her cunt clamped down on his fingers, pulsing and hot as she came, and he bit the inside of his cheek to keep from moaning like a whore as he fell with her, damp, sticky heat flooding his pants. 

Hermione collapsed in his hold, her forehead pressing against his shoulder as their chests heaved in tandem. She didn’t move for a minute, didn’t speak, and neither did he. 

Even Moony seemed, for once, to respect the sanctity of the afterglow. Once their breathing had evened out, she leaned in, a faint, rosy hue staining her cheeks as she cast a quick Scourgify over their laps. 

“I really did mean for that not to be sexual,” she stated plainly, then quickly added. “Not that I regret it. I just mean… we need to talk about things, and I didn’t mean to derail us.” 

“It’s not your fault. It’s…this, yeah?” Remus asked, pressing a hand to his sternum. “We’re doing our best, cariad. I think it's inevitable that we lose control sometimes.” 

“You’re right.” Hermione chewed her lip for a moment before she added nervously, “He called me that. Cariad.” 

“Oh. Christ, I—I saw that in the letter, I suppose, but he called you several terms of endearment, so I didn’t think about it. I won’ —” 

“No,” she quickly interrupted. “No, I like it. He did use a ton of little nicknames, but that was always the one he circled back to. It’s…Welsh, and it’s yours, because you were in him, too, and it’s all…just, it’s alright, if you call me that. I like it.” 

“Alright,” Remus agreed. “I can work with that.” 

“We really do need to talk,” she sighed. “But it's…you feel it now, yeah? The clarity?” 

Remus responded with a nod. He did feel it. The first slide of his tongue against her mark had settled something inside his head. He didn’t know what, or how to name it, but it was almost as if he’d been trying to squint through a dense fog to try to read his own feelings, and now they were laid out before him in big, bold lettering.

“Yeah,” he confirmed aloud. “I feel it.”

“Good. Just sit with it for a minute. Take all the time you need.” She leaned in until they were chest-to-chest, resting her head on his shoulder, and Remus felt his entire body melt beneath her as he wrapped his arms around her.

Hermione returned the favour, banding her arms around his back, and he let himself relax, to sink into the weight of her in his arms as Moony rumbled contentedly. After a few minutes, she turned her head to press her lips to his shoulder, and Remus moved a hand to the back of her head, simply clinging to her. 

“I’m scared,” he confessed. “Even if we remove anything that he and I were to one another, this is still so bloody complicated. He was my best friend, and I believed him capable of the worst crimes. I let him sit in there. I never wrote, I never even really tried to find out the truth. I just accepted it so easily. He could hate me. He has every right, and if he doesn’t already hate me for that…” 

Remus trailed off because he hadn’t the slightest idea how to put it all into words, but Hermione, as always, understood him anyway.

“You’re especially worried he’ll hate you for me. Or, because of me, rather. And Callum.” 

“I am,” Remus agreed. “And I don’t know how to handle that, or if…if Moony can handle that. I don’t want him to become someone that gets shoved into that box labelled ‘threat,’ you know?” 

“You don’t want to view him as an enemy.” She nodded against his shoulder and turned her head, pressing her cheek to his chest as she squeezed him tighter. It really did help—he shouldn’t have been surprised that she was right, but she had a habit of surprising him with how well she could manage him. 

“You’re so good,” he murmured, kissing her temple. Hermione let out a contented little sigh, and he couldn’t help but smile. She was so soft, so warm. When he’d had her, the night before they began packing up the flat, it had been transcendent. 

Remus had never been a religious man, nor was he one for overt romanticism, but in a single night, Hermione had made him feel as if he knew the faces of the gods, as if they’d looked him in the eye and sent him to this world for the sole purpose of finding her, of making her his. 

He had never experienced sex in the way he had with Hermione. That wasn’t to say he hadn’t been well and properly fucked, or well and properly fucked anyone else. But for as feral as they’d been, that, with her, had been the farthest thing from fucking. 

Just as what they’d done a mere few minutes ago wasn’t sexual. Sure, in the general sense of the word, cumming in his pants while she rode his fingers was a sexual act. But it had been more than that. It had been healing, a tethering of sorts that planted his feet back on the ground.

It was in a category all on its own, and he didn’t even know what to call it, or what to call them, now. 

She was different, and she was something he couldn’t lose, and he was beginning to think the mating bond had very little to do with the way he felt at all. But now, there was this. 

Sirius was coming home, and they had to lie to him. 

Emmeline had explained it well enough, but the entire concept of lying about how Hermione and Callum came to be his had Moony in a right state, grumbling about how they should be proud of their mate, not ashamed of her. The thought of lying to Sirius twisted his insides to shreds. 

But Remus had failed him. The man that he loved, at least once. The man he still loved, thought he didn’t know how to process the intricacies that love was now wound up in. And if lying to him was what Sirius needed, then it was the only solution. He owed him a real, fighting chance at getting some semblance of a normal life back. 

As Remus ruminated on the situation at hand, Hermione remained in his lap, pressed so closely that he could feel her breath on his neck, her heart thudding against his chest, and that urge rose again. He wanted to protect her, to keep her close, to live the rest of his days with her in his arms, just like this, but he didn’t know how to navigate this thing for her. 

To her credit, Hermione didn’t seem to need answers. She wasn’t asking him to promise her the world, wasn’t demanding they be together. She was just there for him, infallibly, and he thought, then, that he had no idea how the hell that future version of himself became lucky enough to find her, but he couldn’t let this go. 

He couldn’t let her go. But he’d never really let Sirius go at all. 

“Hey.” Hermione’s whispered interruption pulled his attention back to the present. She sat up in his lap, running a hand through his hair as her eyes moved rapidly over his face. 

“Hi,” he croaked. 

“Hi,” she repeated, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “He’s coming home, Remus. That’s a good thing. It’s not going to be easy to lie to him, but it's only temporary, yeah? As soon as Emmeline thinks he’s well enough, you can tell him the truth, and he’ll understand.” 

“I know.” Swallowing through the lump in his throat, he lifted a hand to brush a lock of curls off her face before he rested his palm along the curve of her jaw. 

“I know it's for the best. I know it will be alright, somehow. I just don’t know…” Remus sighed, pinching his brows together as he searched for the words to convey the torrent of emotions he was grappling with. 

Hermione turned her head, placing a kiss in the centre of his palm, then pulled back to smile at him as she repeated, “He’s coming home, Remus.” 

“He’s coming home,” Remus whispered back. His voice cracked on the last syllable, tears stinging his eyes as the full weight of everything finally sank in. Harry was home, sleeping soundly upstairs, a metre away from where Callum rested in his cot. 

Hermione was here with him, in her gentle, unwavering support. Her scent was all over him, and she smelled even more like him than she normally did, and Sirius was coming home. 

|| Good thing. Pack all together. Pretty little Mate is never wrong || 

“You’re so good,” he repeated. “How are you so good?” 

“You make it easier to care about you than you think, you know?” she replied, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. “I know you can’t see that right now, but I’ve gotten through that thick skull of yours before; I’m confident I can do it again.” 

“Oh, so you think I’m thick, little mate?” Remus teased back. He hadn’t meant it like that, but it slipped out all the same. The double entendre seemed to register in both their minds at the same time. He felt his face begin to flush as Hermione let out a strangled squeak and hurriedly climbed from his lap. 

Right. Too much. 

She’d just drenched his fingers, but that moment had passed, and he knew she needed time to process. Just as she had before. The tenuous something that was building between them held so many layers of difficulty and grief and longing and worry that he was quite certain they might never sort it out. 

He didn’t know what this would be. He kept circling back to the thought, but he couldn’t help himself, because he didn’t fucking know. But he knew she needed space to sit with her emotions, even if every instinct inside of his body was screaming to pull her back into his lap and keep her there.

“I think I—I should check on the boys,” she stuttered out, promptly turning on her heel to make a mad dash toward the staircase. Remus stifled a groan as he sank down in his chair, covering his face with his hands.

|| I think that was a yes || 

Gods, you’re so insufferable. 

|| And thick. Don’t forget thick. Mate thinks so ||

Okay? So she has eyes. Congratulations, I guess.

|| Why think? Only chase ||

“Oh, come off it,” Remus groaned. 

|| No, you || 

“I’m not…on.” 

|| You’re not listening. Supposed to listen to me. Old boy said so || 

And why the bloody hell should I listen to you when all you do is spew horny bullshit? 

He really had been making a concentrated effort to listen to the wolf, but he could hardly reduce himself to some sort of feral beast, which is exactly what would happen if he gave in to Moony’s more…whorish thoughts. 

|| Having the mind of a whore doesn’t render me incapable of being right, boy. Moony knows. The bond is mine, boy. Ours, but mine. I know what our mate needs, and you don’t listen ||

“Oh, suddenly he’s full of wisdom,” Remus snarked. 

|| I’m always wise. You just write me off as stupid or primitive because you don’t want to listen. Old boy said to listen. Mate is telling you exactly what she needs. Listen to her if you don’t want to listen to me, stupid idiot ||

What do you mean she’s telling me? She clearly needs space. 

|| So fucking stupid || 

“For fuck’s sake, Moony, just tell me what I’m supposed to do. I don’t—I don’t know how to do any of this, and Sirius is coming home tomorrow, and—”

|| And how do you think our Mate feels about that? Did you even care to ask? You’re supposed to take care of her, you know. Honour the bond. Where is her comfort? || 

“I’m trying,” he whispered brokenly, casting his eyes downward to stare at the ground. “I don’t know how to do this.” 

|| Knot || 

Not everything is about sex, for fuck's sake. 

|| Weren’t you just thinking about how it was more than that? I believe it was right before you came in your pants, after our Mate asked you to scent her. Need to chase || 

“How the fuck is listening to you supposed to help? You just keep telling me to fuck her!” 

|| Because she is our MATE! || Moony roared inside of his head, and Remus could feel his chest rumbling as a growl threatened to break free. His skin prickled as his vision tunnelled slightly, and he gripped the arms of the chair, digging his fingers in as he fought the urge to surge to his feet.

|| There. Feel that. Mate. Our Mate. She needs us. How do you think she feels about the dog coming home? Use your fucking head. Mates crave their wolf’s scent. Tell me why that is || 

“Because it’s…comfort, right? It helps her feel grounded, I suppose. Clarity, like she said?” 

|| That. But it's more. You feel it. Mate needs to be rewarded with your scent so everyone knows that she’s yours. Needs your knot to help her feel secure. Mate needs to know you accept the bond, but you keep acting like you don’t know if you will keep her, and she feels that, too ||

Keep her? 

“Of course I’m going to keep her,” he snapped. “I—she’s my mate. And she’s more than that, she’s…of course I’m going to keep her.” 

|| So go fucking show her that, dumbarse ||

☆─────☆☾☼☽☆─────☆

“You can smell me,” Remus said, softly closing the door as he stepped into the room. “My scent, it’s important for you. And you can smell me with a keener sense than most humans possess.”

He moved toward the bed as he spoke, peeling off his shirt as he kept his eyes trained on her back, where she lay facing away from him. As soon as he pulled back the duvet and slid in behind her, Hermione shifted toward him, but he resisted the urge to pull her back against his chest and pressed a hand to her shoulder, gently guiding her to her back.

He settled onto his side, his upper body curled over hers, and placed his hands on the sides of her face. “That’s the bond, right? Being my mate changes you.” 

“Only for you,” Hermione whispered. “It changed me, yes. My senses are heightened, my emotions and…needs, they're all more intense. But it's only where you're concerned. Everything else sort of…dulled, and you shone brighter, after the bite.”

 She sniffled softly, and he looked down into her eyes—red-rimmed and watery. She’d been up here crying, alone, while he was downstairs playing another round of the never-ending self-pity game. 

He was failing her. Failing them. Because Moony was right. They needed each other, and she needed him to take the lead. He wasn’t blind to the effects of the bond, to the dynamics it brought. He’d read the books and lived with the wolf in his head for nineteen of his twenty-three years on this earth. 

“My sweet girl,” he hummed, brushing his thumbs over her cheekbones. “This is all so hard on you. And I don’t—I swear, Hermione, I don’t want to fuck this up. What we’re building here is… necessary, yes. But it’s good. And now he’s coming home tomorrow, and I don’t know how I feel, or where this all ends up. But I’m here now. Tell me what you need. Help me learn how to take care of you.” 

Hermione stared up at him, her eyes boring into his as if she could see through to his very soul, and gods help him, the logic could get fucked, because he knew some part of her could do exactly that. 

She could reach inside of him with a delicate hand and pluck out whatever issue or problem was churning in his gut, run her fingers over it and remould it into something soft and pliant, infuse care and healing into every glance and slight touch, because she was made for him. 

It wasn’t love. Not yet. He held no delusions about that, because he hadn’t even known her for two months, and he didn’t even know if his love still lay elsewhere, didn’t know if his love was big enough to wrap around both of the people he felt so torn between. 

But what he felt for her existed. It pulsed inside of his chest, this living, breathing thing. It grew hotter every time she touched him with a gentle caress or told him it would all be okay. She was healing him, stitch by stitch, and he’d been blind to it for weeks. 

But no more. 

He angled his body to settle between her legs, his hands still cupping her face as he repeated, “Tell me what you need.” 

“You.” Her voice cracked, weighed down with the emotion he could feel thrumming between them. 

“Okay.” His response was so quick that he even surprised himself, but he pushed through the momentary shock and pressed his lips to hers. Hermione let out a quiet little whimper, and one hand fell away from her face to trace the scarred flesh at the base of her throat as he pulled back to meet her eyes. 

“Mine,” he whispered, low and reverent. “My Mate. I’m going to take care of you. Make you feel so fucking good.” 

“Please,” she sighed as she dragged the heel of her foot up the back of his thigh. Remus stuck a hand out to summon his wand and vanished their clothing. His cock sprang free, landing hard and heavy against her stomach, and he began to roll his hips, smearing precum across her flesh as he leaned in to nip at her ear. 

“You sound so pretty when you beg, little mate,” he whispered. “But you don’t have to plead for it. I’m going to give you what you need.”

He reached down between them, brushing his fingers through the little thatch of curls between her thighs before he wrapped his hand around his cock and sat back on his heels. 

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmured, slowly stroking himself as he slid a hand up her stomach to cup her breast. He pinched her nipple between his thumb and forefinger, slowly rolling it between his fingers, and inhaled sharply as he watched milk begin to bead atop the stiffened peak.

He brought his hand up, sucking his thumb into his mouth, and groaned as the taste flooded his senses. “And so fucking sweet.”

☆─────☆☾☼☽☆─────☆

𝙷𝚎𝚛𝚖𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚎

.·:·.☆☾☼☽☆.·:·.

“You can taste it,” she whispered. “You can have more.” 

“Fuck,” he groaned as he reached for her breast again, fondling it softly. His eyes flashed gold, and he gave a slight shake of his head. “Moony hates this.” 

“He does,” she laughed. “It’s for the young. Did he tell you to stop being greedy?”

“You guessed it.” He laughed as well as he brought his hand back to his mouth to taste her again. Hermione shivered at the sight—there had always been something so provocative about this little act. It was something she’d seen him do dozens of times, even if not in the present time. 

Something her husband had said to her once surged to the forefront of her mind, and she felt a little twist of guilt in her stomach as her clit throbbed at the memory. 

I did this to you. I don’t give a shit what the wolf says. You’re mine. Swollen and leaking all for me.

“You did this to me.” The words slipped out unbidden, and she quickly tried to reel them back in. “Sorry, that’s… future stuff, that has to be weird. I don’t know how to…I don’t know what’s appropriate or—” 

“Don’t.” Remus shook his head as he leaned in and began to press the thick, leaking head of his cock inside of her. “Don’t do that. Don’t pull back or feel bad when you think of him. Even like this. It’s all me. I was in him, you said it yourself. And you’re right…” 

He moved his hand and rocked his hips forward, impaling her on his cock in one brutal thrust, and Hermione gasped as her hands flew down to grip the sheets beneath her. 

"I fucking did this." Remus sat back on his heels and slid both hands beneath her to grip her arse. Digging his fingers into her flesh, he lifted her lower half from the bed. Hermione moaned as the new angle caused his cock to nudge against her cervix, a sharp, delicious sort of pain shooting across her lower stomach. 

He grinned, looking nearly feral as his eyes shifted, the faint golden glow shining down on her through the darkness. He hooked both arms under her legs and lifted her higher as he rose to his knees and ordered, “Say it again.” 

“You did this to me,” Hermione breathed. She brought a hand to her chest and swiped her thumb over her nipple, then extended her arm. Remus cursed under his breath and dipped his head, his eyes locking with hers as he swirled his tongue around the tip of her thumb. 

“Yeah, I fucking did,” he rasped. She let her hand fall back to the bed as he began to move, every deep, punishing thrust thicker, harder than the last. “Tell me why. Tell me what you are.” 

“I'm yours,” Hermione gasped. Her hands shot up to grip his forearms as he fucked her harder. Remus let out a low growl and dropped her legs. Quickly covering her body with his, he wrapped one large hand around both of her wrists and pinned them to the bed above her head as the thumb of his free hand dipped into her dripping heat and began to rub steady, firm circles against her swollen clit. 

“Mine,” he growled, nipping at her jaw before he began to move his mouth down the side of her throat. “My Mate. My wife. Mother of my fucking pups.” He scraped his teeth over her shoulder, then began to scent her, slowly tracing the tip of his tongue along her mark.

“Yours. Fuck, Remus, please don’t stop.” 

“I won’t,” he vowed. He pulled away to kiss her, his tongue sliding across her mouth before he licked his way inside as he pressed his thumb harder against her clit. 

Hermione felt her body begin to tighten, every thrust of his cock stretching her wider around him as he began to thicken inside of her. He fucked her hard, fast, but it was different this time, worlds away from the desperate fury they’d succumbed to in his flat. 

Each stroke was an unspoken promise. An oath she could feel settling deeper beneath her skin with every brutal slam home as her magic danced along every point of contact between their bodies.

His. 

She was irreversibly and only his. It didn’t matter what year it was, how she’d gotten here. As he broke the kiss and rose back up, tightening his hold on her wrists while his eyes found hers, the truth stretched between them, damning and undeniable in its silent covenant. 

“Mine,” Remus repeated. “Always mine. No matter what. This perfect, vice-grip of a cunt, this body, these swollen fucking tits. Tell me who you belong to, little Mate.” 

“You, Remus. Only yours, I—gods, I’m so close.” 

“Let go, cariad. Cum on my cock so I can fucking br—” He cut himself off with a swift shake of his head. Hermione bit her lip, nodding as her brows pinched together. She was trying to hold it together, trying not to break, because she needed this to last, needed it to never end. 

If it ended, they’d fall asleep, and then tomorrow would come, and tomorrow would bring an entire mountain of uncertainty. Tomorrow could be it. She could lose him, and she had already lost him, but didn’t even have him at all, not really. Not yet.

Tears stung her lashes, and she heard Remus inhale sharply before he pulled his hand from between her legs and cupped her cheek, smearing her wetness over her skin in the process. 

“Don’t,” he croaked. “Don’t let it drag you under. Not tonight. Stay with me, yeah?” 

“Okay.” She sniffed, her eyes rolling back as he slowed his movements, dragging his cock out and sinking back inside of her clutching heat at a languid pace while she stared up into his eyes. 

She could feel herself relax beneath him, her mind going half-numb as the haze of lust and need settled over her like a warm blanket. 

“There you go, sweet girl,” he murmured. “Shut that pretty little brain off and let me take care of you. You can feel it, can’t you? So fucking close. Only for you, cariad.” 

“Mine. Your knot. I’m the only witch you’ve ever knotted. The only one you ever can. Your cock only swells for your mate,” she gasped out between shaky moans. “Only for me.” 

“Because you’re mine. Tomorrow will come, and you’ll still be mine.” 

“Remus,” Hermione moaned. “I’m so close. Please, I need to feel you. Need it so bad.” 

“Good girl,” he praised, gritting his teeth as he began to fuck her harder, slamming deep inside of her over and over. “You’re being so fucking good for me, cariad. Gonna knot this pretty little cunt, keep you so full of me that you can’t think.” 

“Ohhhh, gods, Remus!” She moaned, arching her back as her walls began to flutter around him, twitching and pulsing as if her body were desperate to keep him locked inside of her. 

And it was. She was nothing if not desperate for him. The twinging pain that sent shockwaves of pleasure dancing across her skin as his knot swelled to completion inside of her, the scream that tore free from her throat as she followed him over the edge, spasming around his cock as she milked him for all he was worth, the way she could feel their magic, the magic of their bond intertwining in the hairsbreadth of space between their chests, it was all desperation, fervent need, and she was powerless to the pull of him. 

Powerless, and so utterly fucked, but the only thing she could focus on was the hot, overpowering feeling of rightness as his cock throbbed inside of her, painting her inner walls with the pulsing need that she knew burned inside of him the same as it did her.

He needed to fill her, to feel her, just as she needed to be stretched wide and fucked into mind-numbing oblivion, because she was his Mate and they couldn’t escape it, this bond they shared, even if they had wanted to. 

But she didn’t want to. 

The realisation settled inside of her, stretched its limbs and slithered its way through her veins, hardening into a sensation she knew all too well. 

He rolled to the side, dragging her along with him, and she hitched a leg over his hip so the pressure of his knot still locking them together didn’t smart as she pressed her forehead to his chest. 

“Are you alright?” he asked softly. 

“I’m worried,” she admitted. He had, of course, been speaking in the physical sense, and she knew it, but the word slipped out all the same. 

“I know.” Remus sighed, pressing his lips to the top of her head to kiss her before he added, “I wish I could just…” 

“Don’t,” Hermione protested, squeezing her eyes shut. Gods, this was so hard, impossibly so, but the facts remained the same. 

“He’s coming home tomorrow, Remus. You get him back. This is a good thing,” she repeated her earlier words as she pulled back to look him in the eye, brushing his hair off his forehead. “We’ll navigate it as it comes. If he comes back, and it's him… We’re still this. I’m still your mate, and I’m Callum’s mum. That doesn’t change. We’ll make ourselves sick if we stress over this, and we can’t let our uncertainty ruin such a wonderful thing. Sirius is going to be free and home with you and Harry. With us. This is a good thing.”

“I know. You’re right. But we’re building something here, cariad,” he responded. “And I don’t know what that looks like once he gets home, but I swear, I’m going to…” 

“Don’t make promises, Remy,” she whispered, smiling sadly. “You forget, I knew the you who got to be his husband.” 

“Right,” Remus sighed. She could tell he wanted to say more, but she pressed a finger to his lips, shaking her head.

“No more tonight. There’s only this, yeah? Just hold me.” 

“That, I can do,” Remus spoke against her finger before he kissed the digit and reached up to tug her hand away from his face. He laced their fingers together and banded the arm that was beneath her around her back, pulling her flush against his chest as he kissed her head and drew in an audible breath through his nose. 

“Sleep,” she ordered. “Tomorrow is a big, good day. And the boys will be up in…four hours.” 

“Oh, gods,” he groaned. “When do they start sleeping in?” 

“Never. I think they just turn eleven and become Professor McGonnagal’s problem.” 

“Lions, you think?” he asked, his tone laced with amusement.

“I already know Harry is a Gryffindor at heart, and Callum literally growls.” 

“He gets that from his daddy.” 

Hermione rolled her eyes at the cocky smirk he gave her and squeezed his hand. “Shut up and sleep.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

☆─────☆☾☼☽☆─────☆

Chapter Text

𝚂𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚞𝚜

.·:·.☆☾☼☽☆.·:·.

Everything was so damn bright, and so loud that he wanted to jam his wand into his ear just to block out the sound. Unfortunately, the gits hadn’t given him his wand back yet, so the only option he had was to stare down at his bare, filthy feet against the cool black tile of the ministry floor and try to focus on keeping his mind rooted in the present. 

He slipped a lot these days. Dissociation, Emmeline had called it. His mind’s way of protecting itself from the horror of a situation he dealt with. Some days, it wasn’t so bad. If he focused, while he lay on his cot and stared up at the old stone ceiling, he could almost find the meaning again. 

Replaying memories in his mind on a loop was the only thing that kept him sane. He couldn’t even count how many hours he’d laid in that cell with his eyes squeezed shut, sinking so far into his recollection that he could nearly hear James laughing and feel the wind on his face as they chased each other around on their brooms. 

Sometimes he’d catch a whiff of a scent, and his mind would spin back to late nights at Potter Cottage, rocking Harry so Lily could have a break while she baked up enough sugar cookies to feed an army. 

On the nights he’d play music in his head, he could feel the rush of adrenaline from being at a concert when the lights went down, and the music started to swell, the euphoria of that one perfect moment when the band plays that song and the entire crowd sings along to the chorus. 

Sirius had, if he had to say so himself, done a great job of pretending his life still had meaning in order to keep himself sane in that cell. 

But the nights were the worst. The dreams were so vivid he could still feel Remus’ touch on his skin, could still feel the anguish and panic when he’d wake up in the night to reach for him and find the bed empty. 

Sometimes, though, the rage drowned out everything else. Peter’s betrayal, James and Lily in the fucking ground, Remus… Gods, he didn’t even know where he was, or if he was okay. That was the worst part of all: The visceral, unbridled anger over the fact that he didn’t know. 

For twenty-five months, he’d curled up in the corner of his cell, staring up at the night sky through the tiny window a metre above his head, speaking aloud to Remus like the pull of the full moon would somehow carry his words to him. 

He wanted to know if he was alive. He wanted to know if he had a safe place to transform. If there was anyone taking care of him, because he’d always done a shit job at doing so himself. They’d fought before the end, but that was typical of them. When Remus disappeared, he’d thought, at least at first, that he just went off to blow off some steam. 

He would have come back. 

He always came back.

All Sirius had managed to get out of Dumbledore was that he was on a mission, but he’d been content to wait—or, as content as he ever got. 

But then he didn’t come back, for weeks and weeks, and then everything went to hell, and the few humans he’d seen over the last two years had, of course, refused to tell him a bloody thing.

Not knowing about Harry only served to twist the knife, but he’d been able to talk himself down, to worry a little less. Every time he began to spiral, he reminded himself that Hagrid had taken him. Hagrid loved James and Lily more than life, and the big oaf had sobbed like a baby the first time he held their boy, so Sirius knew there was no way he would have let any harm come to Harry. It was a small comfort, but it helped, nonetheless. 

Emmeline said they were both okay, but that was the only information she’d given him. Everything was so fucking vague. Two years in Azkaban without even the courtesy of a trial, and, to hear Moody tell it, they’d found Pettigrew, questioned him, and decided Sirius got to go free. 

It was all so bloody simple. 

It didn’t make any fucking sense. 

A door opened somewhere to his left, and he jolted at the noise, finally tearing his eyes away from where he’d been staring down since the Auror transport had deposited him in some random corridor to see Alastor Moody walking toward him. 

“Well, you look like shit,” Moody said. Sirius rolled his eyes and shot up out of the chair, running a shaky hand through his greasy hair as he looked the other man up and down.

“Harry?” he blurted out. He’d meant to actually ask a question, rather than yell a name like a madman, but Moody understood all the same. 

“He’s alright, Sirius. He’s at home with Remus. I’m going to take you there now,” Moody reassured him before he wrinkled his nose. “But let's get you cleaned up first. We’ve got showers in the locker room here, and I’ll lend you a set of robes. Can’t have you scaring the poor kid. You look like a bloody zombie.” 

☆─────☆☾☼☽☆─────☆

Moody apparated them to an alley near a thrift shop, and then offered him a cigarette — which he’d been more than eager to accept — as they made the trek up the street toward what he assumed was Remus’ home. 

As they approached a block of row houses and Moody led him to the unit on the end, Sirius felt pride begin to bubble up in his chest. Moody hadn’t offered any more information about Remus and Harry, but he hadn’t felt the need to ask. They were alive, and together, and, by the looks of the home as they stood on the stoop, Remus had figured things out. 

It was a good sign, he thought. This decent-looking house was like a beacon of hope. Remus lived, and he had Harry, and Moody had brought him here, so clearly, he wanted him there with them. 

That mattered. 

They’d split, at the end, and spent two years apart, and, of course, he wasn’t holding out any hope that they’d just fall into each other’s arms and live happily ever after. There was far too much shit between them for all of that flowery bullshit. 

But it was Remus. His Remus, and he was coming home to him, and there was so much good in that that he couldn’t be fucked to think about any of the bad. 

Moody knocked on the door, and Sirius shifted on his feet as he took another drag of his cigarette, raising an eyebrow when he caught sight of Moody watching him with a peculiar expression. “What?” 

“You can’t smoke in the house,” Moody replied.

Sirius nearly laughed—because honestly, Remus didn’t smoke in the house? In what world? Alas, he didn’t feel like arguing, so he shrugged and bent to stamp the cigarette out on the bottom of his boot before he pocketed the butt.

Just as he straightened, the door opened, and Remus stood wild-eyed and anxious, gripping the handle as his eyes ran rapidly up and down Sirius's too-thin form. 

Gods, he had to look a mess. Moody had helped him with some dental cleansing charms and had healed a few cuts and bruises he couldn’t even recall getting. The shower had helped, but he still felt grimey, as if the dirt and grime had been permanently embedded into his skin, as if he would never truly be clean again. 

Remus stepped aside to let them in, and Moody began to relay the terms of his release—therapy twice a week, check-ins with the ministry, wand monitoring, so on and so forth, to monitor his stability as he transitioned back into life on the outside.

For a government that had decided to finally believe his innocence, they were certainly putting enough restrictions on him to make him feel like he’d done something wrong, all the same. 

While Moody chattered away, he looked around, taking in the foyer before him. It was bright, here, too, but in a softer way. To the right, just inside the door, was a small water closet with an open door and some sort of strange gate blocking the doorway. Baby proofing, perhaps. He would have thought Harry was old enough to know not to fuck around in the loo, but he didn’t know what three-year-olds could and couldn’t do, so who was he to judge? 

Casting his eyes down the hall, he thought the place looked rather cosy. There was a brightly coloured rug running down the centre of the hall next to the stairs, some sort of fluffy blue kid’s jacket hanging over the bannister, and a little pair of green wellies smack dab in the centre of the space, dripping snow all over the rug. 

There was something cute about that. Something precious to be found in the idea of Harry stamping around in the snow and rushing inside to get warm, not caring where his boots landed as he made a beeline for the hot cocoa. 

As Moody slipped out of the door, Sirius turned back to Remus, intending to ask how he’d been, or how Harry was faring, but their eyes locked and he could only stare, as Remus stared back. 

Time stretched between them, vast and endless as all the air seemed to bleed from the room. He wasn’t sure how long they’d stood there until he was finally pulled back to awareness by the sound of Remus clearing his throat. 

“Hi-ya, Pads,” he whispered. Sirius felt his body jerk, lurching toward Remus as if on command. He couldn’t think beyond the fact that he was here, staring at the man he loved, and Remus was safe, and Harry’s boots were ruining the rug, and the house smelled like flowers in the springtime and hot cocoa, and Remus looked like he hadn’t slept in days, but he was so fucking handsome that it hurt.

He lunged for the taller man, and Remus responded in an instant, wrapping his arms around Sirius’s waist and crushing him to his chest as he buried his nose in his hair.

Remus felt so warm, and so fucking solid, and he hadn’t been touched in two years, and it was so overwhelming that it nearly hurt. He wanted to pull away, and he wanted to stay right the fuck here in Remus’s arms until their bodies turned to dust—which even he had to admit was a bit dramatic, but gods, he felt like home, and he smelled like his. 

He began to wonder if he was dreaming, so he pulled away with a reluctant sigh to look at Remus’s face again, to remind himself that this was real. 

And gods, was it ever. 

Remus was as handsome as he’d always been. There was a new scar running along the length of his jaw on the right side of his face, and his hair was a bit shaggier, hanging over his eyes just slightly. But he looked so fucking good that it hurt, healthier than he’d ever seen him. 

Sirius couldn’t stop looking at him, tracing every line of his face with his eyes to try to commit it all to memory once more, and Remus stared back—or, gawked, rather—with his mouth hanging open and a little ring of gold bleeding into his eyes. 

He let out an amused huff, shaking his head as a slow smirk bloomed across his face at the sight. It felt good, though, to know he’d had that effect on him. He couldn’t help but wonder if it was a good sign. If maybe they’d be okay.

“You’ll catch flies,” he teased, raising a hand to tap his knuckle to the underside of Remus’ chin. Remus blushed, and Sirius had to shove his hands in his pockets to avoid grabbing him by the front of the shirt and crushing his mouth to his.

Gods, he wanted to kiss him so badly that his jaw ached. But they weren’t there yet. He wasn’t sure if they ever would be again, and he swore that he would be okay, that he would learn to live with him as a friend, as a coparent to Harry, as whatever Remus needed him to be so long as he got to be in their lives. 

He wanted to say so much, but it was all too heavy, so he merely widened his smile and teased, “Missed me that much, did ya, moonbeam?”

Remus laughed, his lips parting as if to speak, but a sudden screeching noise rang out from down the hall. Sirius felt his eyes go wide as he whipped his head to the side, staring down toward what appeared to be a sitting room of sorts. 

He thought, at first, that it had been Harry, but it had sounded too young, too high-pitched for where he thought Harry would be at this age. The sound rang out again, and then devolved into a proper cry, and he felt an icy sort of shock trickle its way down his spine as he looked back at Remus, really taking him in. 

He did look healthy. And the house was so fucking homey, not at all cluttered and drenched in the stench of cigarette smoke like their old flat had been, and the blue thing he’d seen before, draped over the bannister of the staircase just behind Remus, was smaller than he’d initially thought, and reminiscent of the little green snowsuit Lily had bought Harry for his first Christmas. 

It didn’t make any sense. He had to be losing the plot, nearly convinced himself of such, but then, there was that sound again.

“Did I just hear a fucking baby?” he asked incredulously. He couldn’t wrap his mind around why the hell there would be a baby in Remus’s home. He wondered if it perhaps belonged to a neighbour or a friend, but the look on Remus’s face told him everything he needed to know. 

“No. You didn’t, Moony,” he whispered, shaking his head. It couldn’t be true. 

Surely, he couldn’t be that fucking cruel. 

“I—” Remus tried to speak, but his voice cracked as his face twisted into a look so confused, so devastated that Sirius nearly rushed forward to comfort him, but before he could react or Remus could continue, the baby fussed again, and Remus sighed, running a hand through his hair. 

“You should come meet everyone, Pads,” he said sadly, turning to head down the hall. “Come see Harry.”

Sirius followed on numb legs, his mind spinning with a million anguished thoughts and enraged urges. He wanted to turn and run right back out the door. He had the inexplicable urge to stick his foot out and trip Remus, though that wouldn’t have accomplished much of anything beyond bringing him a moment of satisfaction that would inevitably wane when the truth crept back in. 

Remus led him into the sitting room, and Sirius hovered in the doorway, incapable of taking another step when he saw her. 

A woman around their age, early to mid twenties, with a gigantic mass of curly hair and eyes so golden they reminded him of when Remus’s wolf rose to the surface, sat on the floor in front of the sofa, wearing a jumper Sirius immediately recognised as one of Remus’s. 

She had a baby cradled to her chest, patting his back as she tried to soothe him, and a little boy—Harry—stood next to her, trying to hand the baby some sort of small stuffed animal. 

Harry was right there, and alive, and he looked so bloody small, but he looked healthy, and that should have been his primary focus, but it wasn’t. The woman switched arms and began to rhythmically thump at the baby’s back with her left hand, and Sirius felt his stomach twist as he caught sight of the simple gold band on her ring finger. 

Immediately, he looked over at Remus, who was digging in some sort of bag that had been sitting on a chair, and watched as he pulled out a little green dummy. Sure enough, there, on Remus’s finger, sat a fucking wedding ring. 

A wedding ring, a baby, and a witch with a delicate voice as she soothed a baby that Sirius could see, now, as his feet carried him just a few steps into the room, looked so much like Remus that it hurt. 

He didn’t know how to feel; didn’t know how the bloody hell to process the sight before him. He simply stood frozen, watching as Remus held the dummy up with a triumphant laugh, and the woman sagged in relief. Harry darted over to Remus and held his hand out for Remus to hand him the dummy, and then rushed back to the witch to place it in the baby’s mouth. 

“Thank you so much, Harry,” the witch said in a soothing tone as she smiled gratefully at the little boy.

“All better now.” Harry nodded and held his arms out expectantly. “Gimmie.” 

“Ah, not just yet, washi. You know you can’t hold him while you’re standing,” Remus corrected, stepping up to Harry’s side to place a hand on the boy’s head. Harry scowled up at him and stamped his foot, but Remus stood firm. “We have to say our hellos, and then you can sit down and snuggle, aye?”

Harry considered Remus for a moment, then sighed reluctantly, peeking around Remus to stare at Sirius wide-eyed. Remus reached down and took the now-calm baby from the witch, situating him in the crook of his arm as he extended a hand to help her to her feet. 

Her eyes found Sirius as she stood, and a look he couldn’t decipher flashed across her face. She almost looked relieved, which confused him, but before he could overthink it, her face broke out into a grin as Harry moved toward her, tucking himself behind her legs.

She looked over at Remus, squeezing his arm before she took the baby back from him, then rose to her tiptoes to whisper something in his ear. Remus pulled back and gave her a nod, then turned back to Sirius. 

“I’m sorry,” Remus sighed, smiling apologetically. “The baby is teething right now, so he gets a bit fussy, but...anyway, Pads—Sirius, this is my, erm…my wife, Hermione, and our son Callum. And you remember Harry, of course. He’s rather shy.” 

Sirius nodded numbly as Remus's words slammed into his solar plexus, choking the air out of his lungs. 

He had seen the baby, seen the rings, known. But hearing him say it was like he’d plunged into the river in the dead of winter, completely starkers. 

Remus had a wife, and a baby, and Harry.

Remus had a family. 

Some not-so-small part of him wanted to cheer for the fucker. Remus had never believed he could have this, and he did, and the part of Sirius that had known Remus as his best friend for years before they became more wanted to tell him his family was beautiful, wanted to tease him about how he’d conned such a pretty little witch into falling for him. He wanted so badly to be normal about this. 

But even that part of him that had known Remus as a friend had never truly believed that’s all he was, and he didn’t know how the fuck he was supposed to do this. 

He didn’t know why he was here, crashing in on this picture fucking perfect little family Moony had built while he was behind bars, spending two years wondering if the love of his life was even still breathing. 

He wanted to rage, to roll his eyes or stomp his foot, to display some act of defiance or petulance, but Harry was peeking around the witch’s legs, staring up at him with Lily’s eyes in James’ face, and there was something so anxious about the way the boy clutched at the hem of her jumper with one hand as the other held on to the baby’s ankle that melted him, just a bit. 

“Hi,” Sirius began, pausing to clear his throat before he tried again. “Hello, Harry. And…I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.” 

“Hermione,” she responded. “It’s a mouthful, I know.” 

“Yeah.” Sirius nodded. “It’s…Shakespearean, yeah? The Winter's Tale?” 

“It is,” Hermione added, a grin spreading across her face.

She seemed so nice.

He hated her. 

Or, he supposed he didn’t know her enough to make that assessment, and it likely wasn’t very kind of him to hate her simply because of where she stood, with that baby in her arms and that ring on her finger, but it was all the same. 

He was positive he would hate her. 

Determined, in fact.

But Harry was right there, and he couldn’t let him see him angry, so he drew in a breath and took a few steps forward, crouching down a metre or so away from where they stood to get on Harry’s eye level. 

“You, erm…you won’t remember me, Harry, but I’m your Uncle Sirius. Padfoot, your ‘Da called me.” 

Harry narrowed his eyes and studied Sirius, looking at his outstretched hand for a moment before he turned to look up at Hermione, tugging on her jumper. Hermione passed the baby off to Remus without a word—a seamless move, as if they’d done it a million times, which he supposed they would have—before she crouched down to Harry’s level, brushing his hair off his forehead. 

“Do you want to go over and say hi to Uncle Pads? Maybe give him a high five, like we’ve been practising for when you don’t want to give hugs?” she asked. 

Harry shook his head and leaned in, cupping his hand over his mouth as he whispered something to Hermione. She pulled back and smiled, murmuring about how good a job Harry was doing before she stood and took Harry’s hand in hers. 

She was good with him, Sirius noted begrudgingly. The way she looked at him was so tender, so loving, and he felt jealousy creeping its way through his nervous system. It wasn’t fair—a petulant thought, but Sirius had never pretended not to be a petulant man. 

This witch was nobody. She came out of nowhere, and now she was here, living the life that was supposed to be his, and gods, he might even hate her already, but the way she looked at Harry and the way he clung to her like they were the centre of one another’s universe sent the worst feeling of all surging through his veins. 

Gratitude. 

Remus hadn’t been alone, and Harry had a mother, even if not in so many words, and they both deserved that, but gods, he would rather be back in that bloody cell than to have to stand here and watch it all. 

“Sirius?” she asked in a tone that indicated she’d been trying to get his attention. 

He gave a slight shake of his head, trying to clear the insidious thoughts before he responded with a gruff, “Yeah?”

“Harry wants me to ask if you’d like to see his Prongs?” 

“His—he still has it?” he asked, shocked as he looked over at Remus. 

“Not the same one, but I found one that’s almost identical, just a bit bigger,” Remus explained. “Harry, I’m sure Uncle Pads would love to see your Prongs.” 

“Oh, right. Yeah—er, yes, Harry, I would love to see your Prongs, buddy,” Sirius said. Harry gave a singular nod and turned to head toward some sort of baby play thing—a mat of sorts, with little baubles hanging above it—dragging Hermione along with him. 

He gathered a couple of stuffed animals in his arms and finally released Hermione’s hand, walking back over to stand with his back against Remus’ legs. 

“My Prongs,” he explained, holding out the stuffed stag before he extended his other hand, which clutched a small stuffed wolf. “My baby’s Moony. You like them.” 

Sirius couldn’t help but let out a small laugh at Harry’s statement—more of a command, really. It reminded him of Lily, of the way she’d always been so damn sure when she was right, and he felt a sharp pang in his chest, as if someone had wrapped their fist around his heart. 

“I do like them,” Sirius agreed, genuinely. Harry gave another nod and turned to hold the wolf up to Remus, who accepted it and passed it off to the baby, who let out a delighted squeal around his dummy. 

There was something bittersweet about the moment. Remus, standing there with his child in his arms. Harry’s Prongs and the baby’s Moony. There were so many layers to it all, and gods, Remus was a fucking Dad. 

The very role he swore he’d never take. The very reason they’d split, and here he was, living this life with some random witch he probably knocked up after a pub night, or the gods knew what. He was so angry, so sad, so fucking happy to be free and to see Remus and Harry doing well, and nothing made sense.

Harry took a cautious step toward him, then another, watching Sirius with wary eyes as he approached him and held the stuffed animal out, giving him an expectant look. Sirius furrowed his brow and looked up to Remus expectantly, and Remus gave him a soft, encouraging smile. 

“You can touch the antlers,” Remus explained. “He likes to show people how soft they are.” 

Sirius gave a jerky nod and followed the instruction, gently stroking a finger over the antlers of the little deer, and the corner of Harry’s mouth twitched with the faintest hint of an almost smile.

“That is really soft,” Sirius agreed. “Those are some good antlers.” 

“They’re his prongies,” Harry corrected before he spun on his heel and looked up at Remus. “My baby now, thank you.”

Remus nodded, situating the baby, who had started to fuss again, in his arms. “Actually, Harry, I think Callum is hungry. Do you want to try to eat some dinner? I’m sure…well, Sirius, you must be starving, too.” 

“I um…that would be good, yeah. Didn’t have the finest dining in there,” he responded. 

“Well, you’re in luck. I know how to make exactly one good meal, and it's already under stasis,” Hermione said. She was looking at him again—she kept fucking doing that, this weird, half-panicked, half-wistful stare, all wide-eyed, and for a moment, he felt a pang of sympathy for her. 

He couldn’t imagine it was an easy thing to have your husband’s ex-boyfriend crash your party and take up residence in your family home, so it wasn’t a surprise that she was acting a bit dodgy, but he really wished she’d stop being so nice, because he really was determined to hate her. 

☆─────☆☾☼☽☆─────☆

“No,” Harry protested, shaking his head. “I don’t like it. Give him boobies.” 

“Washi, it’s good for him, see? Look how happy he is,” Remus said in an encouraging tone. 

The scene before him was so domestic it made his teeth hurt. Remus, sitting with Harry in his lap as he tried to let the lad help feed the baby some sort of white mush, but Harry seemed to be in direct opposition to the whole idea. 

“Not good,” Harry insisted. “My baby eats boobies, not cereal. Aunt Mimi said it’s for to make him strong.”

“Harry, love, Callum still has his milky, okay? I just put it in the cereal. Just like we use the milk from the fridge in yours, yeah?” Hermione reassured him.

“But he can’t go night-night if he doesn’t eat his boobies,” Harry argued. 

“Cubby will get his bedtime boobies after you two take your bath, just like always. But if you want your ice cream, then you need to eat four more bites of your potatoes,” she replied. Harry glared at her defiantly, but she glared back. Once she’d clearly won the silent standoff, Harry turned in Remus’s lap to pick up his fork again, spearing a piece of broccoli harder than necessary—a little act of James's defiance that Sirius couldn’t help but feel a little pride in. 

“You’re good with him,” he mumbled. He hadn’t meant to say it, or maybe he did, he really couldn’t be sure. Ever since they’d moved to the dining room and he’d watched Remus strap the baby into a high chair before he helped Harry wash up for dinner while Hermione went about setting the table, chattering to Harry about the snowman they were trying to build in the backyard, that stupid little hint of gratitude had started to grow a bit bigger. 

He hated this, but gods, Lily would want exactly this; for Harry to have a mother in her stead, who would love him like her own, and it was clear Hermione did. 

“He makes it easy. Harry’s my best friend in the world, aren’t you?” 

“Yes,” Harry grumbled. Hermione laughed, high and twinkling, and Sirius watched as Remus looked over at her, holding her gaze for a moment before the baby let out a squeal for attention. 

“So how, erm…how did this…” Sirius trailed off awkwardly, gesturing with his fork between Remus and Hermione.

“Oh, well, Hermione, she’s, um…Lily’s cousin,” Remus explained, half-distracted as the baby spat a glob of cereal onto his own hand. 

Gross. 

“Lily’s cousin? I thought her cousins were in Ireland?” Sirius tilted his head to study Hermione’s face, looking for a resemblance. He couldn’t see a single feature of Lily’s in the woman before him, but for some reason, that was a relief.

“Ireland and Portugal, yes,” Hermione responded. “But my Dad took work in the States when we were very young, so I grew up over there. Lily and I were close as kids, but of course, once we both went off to school, we drifted apart a bit. Still kept in contact via letter, but when the letters stopped coming, and I saw the news…” 

She paused to take a sip of her water, looking over at Remus as she sipped. They did that a lot, he had noticed already. Just stared at one another. There was something about it that made his stomach twist.

“Anyway, Lily had spoken of her friends often, and I recognised you and Peter’s names in the paper after she and James died, but there was no mention of Remus. I was worried about Harry, and needed answers, so I tracked him down and… now we’re here.”

“And now you’re here,” Sirius echoed. “And have you guys had Harry all this time?” 

“Oh, um…not the entire time, but it's a very long story,” Remus interjected. “One we’d prefer to tell when the boys are in bed.” 

“But I like stories,” Harry protested around a mouthful of potatoes. 

The baby—Callum, Sirius corrected himself—began to babble, shoving away the spoon as Remus tried to feed him another bite. 

“We’re done now,” Harry announced, pushing his plate away as he climbed off of Remus’s lap. He walked over to the high chair, fidgeting with the tray as if he sought to free the baby from his mealtime prison. 

It was cute, the way Harry seemed so attached to the baby. Sweet, like he was a proper big brother. 

Gods, he had missed everything.

Harry cooed at the baby, reaching out to poke him on the tip of the nose, and the baby made a strange noise, a soft little ah-ooo that nearly knocked Sirius out of his chair.

“Did…I’m sorry, did that baby just howl?” 

“He does that,” Hermione laughed. She rose from her seat, reaching over to take the spoon out of Remus’ hand before she began to clear away the dishes. “Dishes or boys?” 

“Dishes,” Remus responded in an instant. He stood and leaned over to take the plates from her hands, and she moved toward the baby. Summoning a flannel off the counter, she set about cleaning the baby’s hands, but Harry intervened and tried to take the cloth from her, so she began to gently guide him through the steps as the baby started to babble. 

It was…cute, he had to admit. A lot of rambling baby noises, all jumbled and nonsensical, with Harry responding as if he understood what the kid was saying, until the baby let out a distinct, “Dadadad.”

Hermione gasped and looked over at Remus, who had come to a stop on the other side of the high chair. They did that staring thing again, and she turned misty-eyed, her chin quivering as she shook her head. 

“You looked up,” Remus whispered. His voice was strange, Sirius thought—awestruck and tender. 

Hermione sniffled as a tear slipped down her cheek and whispered back, “You’re right there.” 

“Oh my gods,” Remus laughed. He moved, rounding the high chair, and swept her into his arms, crushing her against his chest as she laughed as well, and Sirius shifted uncomfortably in his chair, tugging at the collar of his borrowed robes.

He felt like he was encroaching on some private, important moment he didn’t quite understand. Harry was clapping as the baby tried to mimic him, both giggling. Hermione pulled back and looked up at Remus, grinning as she murmured something too low for Sirius to hear.

Remus brought both hands up to grab her face and tilted her head back as he crashed his mouth to hers. They were both smiling into the kiss as her hands moved to Remus’s forearms, wrapping around his wrists, and Sirius felt bile rise in his throat. 

He kissed her like he loved her. 

And of course he did. She was his wife. Of course, he loved her. Remus never would have married someone who—well, he never would have married someone at all. He’d been so adamant about that. 

But he’d married her. Chosen her. Had a baby with her. Some part of his mind—that cynical, cruel little voice that he was nearly certain was a bloodrite for all members of the House of Black—began to wonder how, or why, because none of it made sense. 

Maybe she trapped him. Or maybe she was a one-night stand gone wrong. Maybe he’d shagged her too close to the full and Moony had taken over, but gods, the thought of that? If she bore Remus’s mark, if she was his mate…

No. 

He couldn’t go there, not right now. They were having this beautiful little moment, and Remus was so godsdamn happy, and that was what should matter. That was the only thing he should care about. How many nights had he lain awake, thinking that the only thing he wanted was to know if Remus was okay?

And here he was, not just okay but thriving. Settled in a way Sirius had never thought possible. A proper fucking family man, and it looked good on him. 

Sirius hated that part the most. If he didn’t look so fucking happy, so fucking settled, if there had been room to doubt that this was the life the man before him wanted, then perhaps it would have been easier to digest. 

But the truth was right there in the way that he kissed her. 

They finally broke apart, and Remus looked over to where Sirius still sat at the end of the table, his eyes going wide as his cheeks flushed — as if he’d forgotten he was there at all.

Remus’s lips parted, but before he could stumble through an apology or whatever he’d been poised to say, the baby lunged to the side, reaching his arms out toward Remus as he let out a crystal-clear, “Dada!”

“Oh my gods,” Hermione giggled. “I have half a mind to be jealous you got the first word, but this is too cute.” 

“My baby wants out,” Harry demanded.

“I think you’re right, washi,” Remus chuckled, turning his attention back to the boys. He placed a hand on Harry’s head, ruffling his hair before he moved to unbuckle the baby and lift him from the chair. 

“How old is he?” Sirius asked abruptly. 

“Six months on the 27th,” Remus replied. “He’s quite big for his age, though. The doctor says he’ll be tall like me.” 

“That’s brilliant, Moony. How, erm…” He paused, glancing over at Hermione, if only because he couldn’t stand to see Remus holding that damn kid any longer right now. “You said you two connected after you came to London, when you heard Lily passed?” 

“Right,” Hermione agreed. “Late November that year. And then we just…well, we got married in July, and then Callum here was born the next June.”

Sirius gave a noncommittal hum, averting his gaze to stare down at the table. It hurt worse than he’d expected. He couldn’t even explain why, but the timeline felt like someone had held a blade over a flame and then plunged it straight into the centre of his chest. 

“Sirius?” Hermione’s voice was soft, almost cautious. “I know it’s probably been a long day. Would you like me to show you to your room? We’ve got it all done up, and there are some clothes in there for you, and toiletries in the bathroom on the vanity. We can get whatever else you need, of course, but it should be a good start.” 

“Sure. That’s…that’s very kind, thank you.” 

☆─────☆☾☼☽☆─────☆

Sirius barely got the door closed after Hermione left the room before the first tear fell, hot and angry. He dug his wand out of his pocket and cast a silencing charm before he let it clatter to the floor, then slumped back against the wall, sinking to the floor and pulling his knees to his chest as he began to sob. 

He didn’t even know how to feel, or why he was crying. That was the worst part of all. Remus was happy, and he hated it. Remus’s wife was quite possibly the sweetest witch he’d ever met, and he hated it. 

He was free, and safe, and they’d taken him in, which they wouldn’t have done if they didn’t want to. He knew that, understood it more than most would, because this was Pack, now. For as much as Remus believed he could fight the wolf, Moony would have never allowed this to happen if he didn’t think Sirius was safe, and Remus wouldn’t have brought this upon his pretty little picture-perfect family if he didn’t want him here. 

But Sirius didn’t want to be here. In this stupid fucking room, painted his favourite shade of grey, with a burgundy quilt and sleek, dark wood furniture. This room that had been prepared specifically for him, in the home where the only man he’d ever loved had built worlds without him while he rotted away in a cold, stone cell, unsure of whether or not Remus had even survived, or if Harry was okay. 

He was so fucking grateful, so relieved that they had this life, but it was supposed to be his. 

He was supposed to be the one who stood where that woman did. 

He was supposed to be the one who took Remus’s name and slipped a ring on his finger, who raised children with him. 

They were supposed to build a life together, and while he’d been in prison, Remus had moved on in a matter of months and built that life without him. 

Less than a year after Remus stood in the kitchen of their old flat, listening to Sirius beg him for a little hope for the future, only to scream that he would never get married, never have children, because he was dangerous and he couldn’t handle the risk, he’d gone out and done every bit of that with someone else. 

Sirius didn’t need to see the mark to know she’d even gotten that. She’d had his baby. This tiny little thing with Remus’s eyes and the stern set of his brow. The baby he’d fucking dreamt of, in that perfect world he used to imagine where they’d find a surrogate and have a family and live forever in love.

But now Remus’s love had found a new home, and Sirius’s love coiled in his chest, hot and angry and pitiful, and he couldn’t even be angry, because Remus was okay, and Harry had parents, and that baby had Remus’s fucking eyes. 

She’d given him that. Hermione. That pretty, happy little witch with her wild hair and soft voice.

He wanted to hate her. He wanted to fight, and to scream, and to blow up this pretty little world Remus had built, but he couldn’t even do that, because for as hard as he’d been trying the last few hours, he couldn’t get over the fact that she’d kept his boys safe. 

Right now, Remus was probably rocking his child, or reading Harry a story, or snogging his stupid fucking wife again, and Sirius was an outsider, doomed to watch someone else lead his life while he sat on the sidelines, useless and petulant.

A fitting fate, he supposed, because while he may not have been the traitor that burned their world down, he’d suggested they change the Secret Keeper and handed Peter the matches. 

☆─────☆☾☼☽☆─────☆

Chapter Text

𝙷𝚎𝚛𝚖𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚎

.·:·.☆☾☼☽☆.·:·.

“Good morning,” Hermione said politely as she reached into the cabinet and began to pull out dishes. Sirius gave a noncommittal grunt in response, and she spared a glance over to where he sat at the dining table, one foot propped up on his knee as he scanned the morning edition of the Prophet. 

Turning back to the counter, she drew in a breath, repeating the words playing on a loop in her mind for the last few days leading up to his release; the words that she’d leaned on like a crutch all the way through the prior evening after he finally arrived.

He won’t hate you. He loved you before. He’ll get there again. He needs time. Just be normal. He won’t hate you. He won’t hate you. He won’t. 

Just be normal. 

Right. She could do that. 

She began to make her way through her morning routine as she moved to the fridge to grab a few items and returned to the counter. Filling Harry’s requisite red cup—never the blue, lest she want to start the day off with a proper fit—with apple juice, she began to slice grapes and arrange little slices of melon on one side of the divided plate he insisted upon eating off of for every meal, talking as she moved about. 

“Harry likes cereal most mornings, but he’s asked for ‘eggs and bread’ today, so I thought I’d do eggs-in-a-basket for everyone. I’m not much of a cook, but breakfast is the easiest, so…this dish, it's…well, you may know, but it's an egg cooked into a piece of toast. He has loads of fun ‘freeing the eggie’,” she laughed, glancing over again to find him still staring stoically at the paper. 

Right. Maybe a bit less…cheery.

“It’s rare, isn’t it? To have a snowstorm this time of year,” she tried again, making her way to the cooktop. “I read yesterday that they got thirty-five centimetres over in Clacton. We only got twelve here, but that’s just enough for the boys to play. I think we’ll be taking them out after breakfast, to tire them out a bit, so they can go down for a nap before lunch when Remus leaves for work. If you want to come out, Harry might let you help with his snowman.” 

Nothing. 

Okay, so maybe no kid talk? Gods, she hadn’t even considered how much he likely didn’t want to talk about children and snowmen when he was trying to process the fact that she and Callum existed at all. 

“I hope the room was to your liking. If there’s anything you need, or anything we can do to make it more comfortable…” she paused, her cheeks heating as she flipped a piece of toast. She sounded like a damn hotel concierge. 

Why was it so hard to talk to him? It was Sirius. They’d gotten on so well, teased one another, laughed for hours when she stayed at Grimmauld Place with Harry. She just needed to calm down and be normal. 

Stop making it weird. 

“So, Remus, he works at this metaphysical shop, that’s also a headshop, and…sort of a bookstore? It’s actually a bit insane, but the funniest thing happened,” she laughed, peeking over her shoulder.

Well, then. 

At least bringing up Remus tore his eyes away from the damn paper.

She could work with that. 

Common ground. 

“The owner, Sheila, is this older, slightly unhinged woman. Reminds me a lot of…a divination teacher I had, once,” she continued. “And when she hired Remus, she went on and on about how she honours the moon goddess, she reads tea leaves and palms and talks about energies and the like, and Remus, he thought she was just some batty old woman.” 

She paused for a moment, transferring food onto plates to give him a moment, in the hopes she’d piqued his interest, but he remained silent. 

Common ground, she reminded herself. 

“You know Remus better than anyone, so I’m not even sure if this will surprise you, but would you believe he worked for her for months, thinking she was just batshit, and it took me one conversation with her to realise she was a squib, who knew all about magic because of her family? I’ll never understand how a man as observant as him missed that when she was telling him about magic every day.”

“Moony’s always been that way,” Sirius finally spoke. Hermione forced herself not to look up at him and instead kept her focus on the food as she stirred a little bowl of pureed peas—the food they were introducing for Callum that day.

“He’s the smartest bloke in every room he enters, but he spent so much time at school with his nose buried in a book that I think he never learned how to look around.”

“Oi!” Remus protested as he entered the room. “It’s hardly my fault that books are more interesting than the real world.” 

Sirius didn’t respond. Hermione bit her lip to stifle a sigh as she turned to find him with his nose once again buried in the paper. 

Baby steps. 

He’d spoken to her. That was something. 

“Morning,” Remus mumbled, nodding at her as he made his way into the room to deposit a giggling Callum into the high chair. Harry followed behind, his eyes bright and cheeks slightly flushed as if he’d been laughing.

“And what has you all so chipper this morning? Surely we’re not that excited about eggy bread?” Hermione asked in amusement as she grabbed Harry’s juice and the baby’s peas, levitating the other dishes beside her while she made her way to the table. 

“My baby peed on Uncle Moony,” Harry giggled. Callum squealed and let out an affirming, “Dada!” 

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, little monsters,” Remus grumbled playfully, ruffling Harry’s hair as he took the seat next to him. “You’re lucky I was still in my pyjamas and needed to clean up and change anyway. 

“Oh, lighten up, Remus. No need to be so…pissy,” Hermione quipped. Sirius snorted—just once, but she had to suppress the urge to channel her inner Moony, lest she let out a triumphant roar. 

It wasn’t much, not at all. But it was progress, and she found hope in that. 

Maybe, just maybe, he’d warm up to her. 

☆─────☆☾☼☽☆─────☆

Sirius hated her.

That tiny little flicker of hope she’d felt in the morning when he’d snort-laughed as she teased Remus had been stamped out as quickly as it had been lit. 

He had sat stoically, glaring at his food all through breakfast, then excused himself back to his room the second he’d finished eating. After an hour or so, he finally did make his way outside, leaning against the wall and smoking as he watched Harry and Remus roll snow for the slow-going building of the best snowman ever, but as soon as Callum fussed or she spoke, his face morphed into a scowl. 

After Remus helped her get the boys down for their nap and left for work, she’d made her way to the kitchen to clean up the chaos from playtime and lunch to find that the kitchen had already been cleaned, but when she thanked Sirius for his help, he’d literally just… gotten up from his chair and walked away without a word. 

He was being a dick. 

She had expected as much. 

Hermione’s relationship with Sirius, in her original timeline, had been a good one. He was Harry’s godfather, and she was Harry’s best friend, and they’d gotten on just fine. When she and Harry were at Grimmauld, it was like having the best of both worlds; Remus to wax analytical with about potion ingredients or literary devices, and Sirius to relax with, giggling when he snuck her and Harry two fingers of firewhisky and told them all the insane stories of his youth with the Marauders. 

She had always been comfortable with him, but he was, at the end of the day, her best friend’s father figure. 

After he passed, and years later, when she and Remus got together, she learned so much about Sirius that she grew to love him. She didn’t even know what to call it, this admiration and devotion she felt for a ghost as she lay with her head in her husband’s lap, listening to him talk of the man he had loved for the majority of his life, but it had been real. 

When she came back, even through her anger, and realised she could save Sirius, that she could give that part of Remus’s life back to him, she’d been all-in; she’d been willing, then, when she thought of it in the abstract, to step aside and let them be together, if that’s what it took. 

But now things had shifted. 

Now, she and Remus weren’t together, in any formal sense of the word, but they were together all the same. They existed in this liminal space under the labels of married and mated, where they weren’t committed or exclusive or talking about forevers, and it was confusing as hell, but it was simple enough, all the same. 

She wouldn’t be able to step aside now. She wouldn’t be able to walk away from Remus, and Sirius wouldn’t be able to deal with her being in the way, so they would, if today had been any indication, never be friends, and she couldn’t stand the thought. 

“You’re thinking so loud I can hear your mind spinning halfway down the hall,” Remus spoke from the doorway of the bathroom. Hermione looked up, sluicing water over her bent knee with a flannel as she lay back in the bathtub. 

“Did the boys go down alright?” she asked, her eyes tracking his movements as he stepped into the room, rolling his sleeves. Remus nodded and took a seat on the little stool next to the tub as he reached for the flannel and made a spinning motion with his finger, urging her to turn around. 

“They did,” he finally spoke as he reached for the soap and began washing her back. “Callum fell asleep as soon as I laid him down, and then Harry finally settled, though it took three read-throughs of ‘Clifford’s Good Deeds’ before he conked out.”

“He loves that damn dog,” Hermione laughed. “I’m sorry I bailed on you. Callum fussed all afternoon, and Harry was in a mood over the fact that I couldn’t soothe the baby, so they were both on top of me for hours and I just—” 

“You were all mummed out,” Remus supplied. “Don’t apologise for recognising when you needed to step away, cariad. You didn’t stay and lose your shit, and that matters. Besides, I’m here. For as much as it matters that we’re both there for bedtime, I can manage it just fine when you need some time to yourself. Is the bath helping?” 

“And the Calming Draught I took,” she admitted with a nod, tilting her head back as Remus reached for the shampoo. “Which I hate. I don’t want to rely on a potion to get through the days as a mum. That’s not what it was, even. Today was just…he hates me, Remus.” 

“He thinks he does, for now,” Remus agreed as he began working the shampoo through her hair. He gently massaged her scalp before he helped her rinse, staying silent until he had applied the conditioner and begun working it through her curls with gentle care. 

“Sirius is a difficult person, Hermione. He’s guarded and snippy, and you know why a lot of that is. I’d imagine it’s all a bit worse now, and, obviously, there’s the complication of him having to watch you and I, and not knowing the whole truth here. I’d imagine that to him, we just look like we’re in—like we’re used to this life with each other.” 

“Yeah. I keep thinking about that. It feels so cruel, Remus, to lie to him like this. To make him think we’re just this normal, happy little couple.” 

“Hey, we are happy. Don’t diminish that,” Remus scolded playfully. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to her temple before he set about rinsing her hair again. “I know we aren’t…whatever. We don’t even know what to call this, but it's simple enough, just like we said the other night. No promises and all, but this is still real. And he sees that when he sees us together. But he’s been locked in a cage at a standstill for two years. It’s going to take him some time to get used to things, is all.” 

“You’re right,” Hermione sighed. “How are you with all of this? It must be so hard to see him and have him be so angry.” 

“It is,” Remus admitted. “But he’s home, and he’s safe. That matters.”

He grew silent once more, and Hermione turned to lean back against the tub to look up at him again. “Do you want to talk about it?” 

“I want to not talk about it,” Remus admitted, reaching out to trail a finger over her collarbone before he moved it down the valley between her breasts. “Not tonight. You had a long day, and you did so well, taking care of all of us. Let me take care of you now, little Mate.”

Remus’s hand dipped below the water, and she bit her lip, nodding as she tipped her head back to rest against the tile behind her. 

Sex as a deflection. 

He always did know exactly what she needed. 

☆─────☆☾☼☽☆─────☆

Remus’s body was still draped over hers when she awoke, hours later, her thighs sticky and sweat coating her forehead. 

He was always so warm, thanks to that bloody werewolf factor. With a yawn, she wiggled her way out from beneath him, smiling to herself as he whined in protest, and made her way to the chair in the corner, pulling one of Remus’s discarded t-shirts over her head. She made her way to the chest of drawers and grabbed a pair of boxers from the top drawer, stepping into them before she dipped into the loo and headed upstairs to check on the boys. 

Harry’s bedwetting had gotten better in just a few short weeks, as had his nightmares. Neither were completely resolved, and she knew it would be a long road with lots of regression, but it was a good sign. 

He was settling in just fine, and he was here, where she could keep him safe. Even with the sting of Sirius’s cold disregard, things were coming together well. She and Remus were…well, they’d found their footing, the last few days, and they worked together seamlessly when it came to caring for the boys. 

But she wanted Sirius to be in the same place they were, with Harry, at the least. Perhaps it was selfish. She knew, of course, that she couldn’t expect him to throw himself into parenting when it was only the second night he’d been home, but she supposed that damn future-influence had gotten her hopes up. 

When Sirius and Harry had met at the end of her third year, the love between them had been instantaneous, palpable. And she could see it, even now, in the way he’d watched Harry at the dinner table or when they played in the snow. 

He was reserved, though, and she wanted to break him out of it. She wouldn’t push, of course, but the sooner he got used to things and took an active role in Harry’s raising, the better they would all be for it. 

There were no hopes of him connecting with Callum, and that stung, but she had to be realistic about it all the same. Callum represented something hard for Sirius to digest, but Harry was…Harry. 

Their Harry. 

Hermione and Remus would be adopting him. They hadn’t disclosed that to Sirius, nor had they talked about his time with the Dursleys, because they’d chosen to leave when and how he learned more up to him, but the adoption was non-negotiable. 

Sirius would hate it; she held no qualms about that. Still, he was Harry’s godfather and would remain as such, and as far as she and Remus were concerned, while they may be the ones signing the paperwork, so that they could handle things on an official level with doctors and dentists and the like, but they weren’t doing so to keep him to themselves or cut Sirius out. 

If she had it her way, Harry would have two dads. He deserved a dozen parents to love him, to guide him, rather than the shitshow of an upbringing he’d had in her original timeline. 

There would be time, though. Sirius would come around for Harry, even if he did spend the rest of his life hating her and Remus. She had to believe that the love she once watched flow so freely between them would still belong to that sweet little boy. 

Nearing the nursery, Hermione paused outside the open door to listen for a moment, relaxing at the sounds of Callum’s soft snoring and Harry’s even breaths, before she stepped inside. 

She made her way to the cot and watched the rise and fall of Callum’s chest for a moment, then turned to Harry, kneeling by the bed to do the same. 

It was a silly little habit; dreadfully maternal, really, the way she snuck into the nursery just to reassure herself that they were alive and breathing, but it was a habit she couldn’t kick. 

Once she’d been satisfied that both boys were fine and reached a hand beneath Harry’s quilt to feel the bed around him to ensure he’d remained dry, she stood and moved to the other side of the room to pull the drapes shut—a preemptive attempt to block out the morning sun in the futile hope that they’d sleep past six a.m. 

When she turned to leave, she finally noticed the large, black shape slumped on the floor in the far corner. Sucking in a breath through her teeth, she took a tentative step closer, then another, before she finally crouched down in front of the shaggy dog. 

His eyes were open, fixed on the bed where Harry slept, and she felt tears sting her eyes.

“Is it easier to watch him like this?” she asked softly. 

Padfoot raised his head, narrowing his eyes at her, before he gave a single, stiff nod. Hermione nodded back and sighed, reaching out to run her hand over the fur on the top of his head. He stiffened and let out a low warning growl, but she ignored him with a roll of her eyes. 

“Knock it off, Pads,” she scolded softly. “I know I feel like the enemy. I hate that I feel like the enemy. But I want you here. Sirius, I need you here because that little boy over there in his Clifford jammies needs you. You can hate me. I think you do, and I’m okay with that. But you have to swear, to me and to yourself, that you won’t let that get in the way of you being there for him, okay? Those boys are what matter, and Harry needs you.” 

Padfoot pulled away and sat up, staring her down as if he sought to intimidate her, but she refused to yield. 

It was easier for her, she realised, to see him in this form. Like this, he was just…Padfoot. The dog that used to curl up at the end of the bed while she and Harry slept to watch over them through the night. 

Come morning light, he would be Sirius—the ex-boyfriend of her husband, who couldn’t stand the sight of her because she knew just as well as he did that she wasn’t supposed to be here, living this life with Remus, even if he didn’t understand the intricacies of how or why she was here. 

But for now, he was Padfoot. And it was a good place to start. 

“Come on,” she ordered. She stood and moved toward the bed, where she began to clear the few books and stuffed animals Harry had scattered about the foot, then looked back over at him expectantly.

“Padfoot,” Hermione urged. “Stop brooding in the corner like a petulant oaf and come lie on this bed with this boy. If it helps you to watch him through the night, then that's fine, but there's no use in you being sore all day tomorrow.” 

Padfoot watched her for a moment, then turned his head, glancing over at the cot where Callum slept, and she let out a frustrated huff before she stalked back over to him. 

“Don’t do that. He’s a baby, and he won’t bother you. You can try all you want, but we both know you’re not going to hate Remus’s son, even if he’s mine, too. But you’re in here for Harry, and you’re going to get your shaggy arse in that bed. The longer you sit here and make me argue with you, the closer we get to Callum waking up and fussing,” she added with a hint of amusement.

Padfoot grumbled irritably, but he complied, lumbering his way to the bed. He paused at the end, looking nervously over Harry’s sleeping form, and she stepped up to the side, reaching out to run a hand through Harry’s hair. 

“You won’t wake him,” she reassured Padfoot. “He’s a deep sleeper, unless the baby cries. It’s alright, Sirius. Just lay with him a while, yeah?”

Reluctantly, and with great care, Padfoot put a paw on the bed, then another, before he hoisted himself up. It was nearly comical, watching the large dog settle in at the foot of the single bed, but it was…magic, in a sense. 

Healing. 

After a moment, he moved forward, timidly resting his snout on Harry’s leg, and Harry’s hand shot out as if on instinct, patting the dog lightly on the side of the face before he let out a little snore. Hermione suppressed a laugh and reached for one of the blankets thrown over the back of the rocking chair, then delicately placed it over Padfoot. 

He glared at her again, but she merely smiled and turned to make her way from the room. 

“Stop being petulant and love that boy, Sirius. He needs you,” she repeated as she softly closed the door behind her.

☆─────☆☾☼☽☆─────☆

𝚂𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚞𝚜

.·:·.☆☾☼☽☆.·:·.

“And how does it feel, being home?” Emmeline asked, adjusting her glasses on the bridge of her nose before she tapped her quill against the edge of the desk. 

Sirius rolled his eyes, turning his head to stare out the window as he avoided her question. He watched a bird—a swallow, he thought; a little thing with a white belly and a bluish-black back—peck at something on the windowsill for a moment as he let the question settle inside of his mind. 

How does it feel, being home?

Like floating on a fucking rainbow, obviously. 

Gods, what did she want from him? How was it supposed to feel? He didn’t want to say the wrong thing, lest they deem him unfit for society and ship him off to the Thickey ward, but he didn’t want to lie, either, because this was Emmeline, and she was the one who was going to help him. 

Or, she would want to help him. It wasn’t as if there was any help to be found in a situation like this. 

“I don’t know how to answer that,” he answered honestly, drumming his fingers on the arms of the chair as he turned back to face her. “I don’t know how to…categorise how it feels. Everything is so bright, and so bloody loud. I spend half my time in my room because it's all so overwhelming, and when I’m not in my room, I have to watch—” 

Sirius cut himself off and pitched forward, bracing his elbows on his knees as he dropped his face into his hands. 

“If we don’t put a name to the way we’re feeling, we simply cannot begin to rewire those emotions,” Emmeline said, her voice soft and rife with understanding. “I’d like to try a little…back and forth, if you will. I need you to be honest, Sirius, or we won’t get anywhere. Don’t censor yourself with me. Tell me what you were about to say, and I’ll help you assign those feelings to an emotion. From there, we can discuss ways to manage that emotion.” 

“Fine,” he huffed. He sat up, crossing his arms over his chest as he glared at her defiantly. “You want me to name my emotions so you can shrink my head, Emme? Fine. I hate her. My first night, I had to watch Remus snog his fucking wife over the dinner table because their baby just said ‘Dada’ for the first time. Which, by the way, was bloody ridiculous. I mean, it’s not even a real word, but they acted like it was this huge, emotional moment.” 

“It can be very exciting for parents when their infants meet milestones, yes,” Emmeline agreed. “And yesterday? How did your first full day at home go?” 

“Home,” Sirius scoffed. “You keep saying that word like it’s my home and not—” 

“Don’t censor yourself,” she reminded him gently. “You don’t have to do that here. Everything you say to me is confidential. I merely have to tick some boxes on a form, but none of our actual conversation goes on the record. Tell me. ‘Like it’s your home and not…’ what, Sirius?” 

“And not—not the house where the only person I’ve ever fucking loved built this pretty little life with his pretty little wife. Like it's not the living, breathing proof that while I was rotting in a cell, Remus was out getting his dick wet and having the time of his life. Do you know it didn’t even take him a year to marry someone else? How can you love somebody and just fucking…?” 

“Move on?” Emmeline supplied. “I do know that Remus and Hermione’s relationship had an abnormal trajectory, yes. It all seems as if it happened very quickly. And you take that as a sign he didn’t love you?” 

“How could I not? I used to sit in that cell, Emme, and talk to the moon like a fucking madman. I used to sob myself to sleep because I didn’t know if he was okay, and I used to beg, to scream into the fucking void and plead with the Gods to just let him be okay, to let there be one person who got to live, and he just fucking…” 

“Lived.”

“Yeah,” Sirius said with a dry laugh. “Yeah, he lived. And well. And now he has this beautiful little life, with a stupid fucking Christmas tree, and a baby, and— and you should see them with Harry. It’s like they’re his parents, and that’s confusing, because I’m so glad he has that, and so bloody pissed off, and I just…I really, really fucking hate her.” 

“No, you don’t,” Emmeline argued, but her voice remained calm and soothing. “You’re jealous, Sirius. And insecure, because you don’t see, yet, how you fit into their family. You are aware that Hermione is the one who demanded you be released to their address, right?” 

“She did?” Sirius asked in surprise. “I’d…I guess I assumed it was Remus.” 

“It was a joint decision. But to my understanding, he was concerned about whether it would disrupt things for the boys. I’m sure you’ve noticed he’s a bit…well, extra devoted to Hermione. Remus wanted you there, but he would have never even suggested it if he thought it was something that would upset her or stress her out. I don’t believe he could have.” 

No, Sirius thought. He couldn’t have. That much was clear. 

If he hadn’t already seen it in the way Remus was around Hermione, the night before had solidified what he’d known, but hadn’t wanted to face. She’d slipped into the nursery in a shirt four sizes too big and a pair of what he assumed were Remus’s pants, and even in his animagus form, he’d seen the proof on her shoulder when she’d moved toward the window, and the moonlight glinted off the silvery scar on her shoulder. 

She was Remus’s mate. 

Marked, claimed, married, and bred. 

Moony must be tickled fucking pink over it, the damn wolf. 

“Why would she want me there?” he asked quietly, using his thumbnail to pick at a nick in the wood covering the arm of the chair. 

“You know, even in a short time of knowing her, I’ve gathered that there is nothing Hermione Lupin wouldn’t do for the people she loves. You’re important to Harry, and to Remus. She wouldn’t have had it any other way but to have you there.” 

“But why? I mean…why is she just okay with the man who spent nearly seven years shagging her now-husband just...sleeping across the hall from them or sharing a breakfast table?” 

“I would imagine it has something to do with the fact that you were never just someone Remus shagged, aye?” Emmeline snarked, raising an eyebrow before she reached for her quill and began to scribble something down on the pad of parchment in front of her. 

“So, you’re feeling jealous and insecure,” she began.

“Oi! That’s…you don’t just have to say it like that,” Sirius grumbled. 

“I do,” she replied simply. “And I have a challenge for you.” 

“A challenge.” He rolled his eyes, “Of course you do. Out with it, then.” 

“We meet again in four days, the day after Christmas. At some point between now and then, I want you to have a conversation with Hermione.” 

“Is this required?” Sirius spat, his voice a bit too bitter.

“Actually, as your Mindhealer, anything I recommend is considered required homework, yes,” she informed him. “Talk to her. Ask her at least five questions about herself, and report back to me.” 

“Fine. Are we done, now?” 

“We are.” Emmeline stood from her chair and made her way to the door, holding it open for him as she added, “And Sirius?”

“Yeah?” 

“Happy Christmas. For what it’s worth, I’m glad you're home, and that you have a family to spend it with.” 

It’s not my fucking family, he thought.

“Thanks, Emme. Happy Christmas,” he said instead.

☆─────☆☾☼☽☆─────☆

Standing outside of the sitting room the next morning, Sirius fisted his hands at his sides and rolled his neck as if he were preparing for battle before he forced himself to relax and move forward. 

One conversation. Five questions about herself. 

He could do this. 

He would do this, because for as much as Sirius — having been born and raised in a pureblood home with archaic ideals — didn’t know shit about mindhealing, he had always been self-aware. 

He wasn’t okay, and Emmeline was a professional who specialised in helping people who were fucked in the head, so if she thought a silly little conversation would help him, then sod it all, he’d do it. 

“Good morning,” Hermione said politely as he stepped into the room. He paused to lean against the doorframe, tucking his hands into his pockets as he surveyed the room. 

She was sitting on the floor in front of the sofa, holding a book and Harry’s stag in her lap while the baby rolled around next to her, chewing on some sort of rubber thing, and Harry sat nearby picking at a loose fibre in the carpet with a scowl on his face. 

“Morning,” he responded gruffly. “Remus at work?” 

“He is,” she responded. “He went in early today because tonight’s the full, so…” 

“Right. He’ll be sore later.” Sirius nodded, “Where does he, erm… well, is there a cellar here?” 

“There is. But he won’t take the risk with the boys. He floo’s to McGonnagal’s office and uses the shack, still. He was using a storage unit for a while, but the noise… anyway, Moony obviously hates the shack, but I think Remus needs to be there.” 

He needs to be there. 

She didn’t have to say more; he understood, as much as it hurt. 

They’d spent so many nights in that shack, forming their bonds as a pack. So many mornings, tangled in sheets as he held Remus through the tremors and the ache. 

Remus had someone else for that, now, though.

“Can’t you, erm… well, not to pry, but I saw your shoulder the other night. Can’t you be with him, since you’re… marked? I think Lily read something to that effect.” 

“I can. I have, before. But I’m needed at home with the boys, and even though they’d be safe since Moony considers them both his pups, Remus is… Remus.” 

“Yeah,” Sirius laughed. “He tends to be Remus.” 

He moved farther into the room, forcing every step as he made his way to a chair and took a seat. 

Five questions about herself. He supposed talking about his ex and her husband didn’t quite count. Drawing in a breath, he glanced over to Harry, who was still scowling. 

“Alright, Haz?” he asked. 

Harry ignored him. 

“Harry has, erm… episodes,” Hermione began tentatively. Sirius stiffened as his eyes shot back to Harry. Episodes? Was he sick? Was something wrong with him? 

“He’s okay,” she quickly added. “He just has days where he doesn’t talk. Today, he’s very mad that we can’t go to the park because it's below freezing, and the baby is teething, which upsets him because he doesn’t like it when Callum is sad or in pain. But he’ll snap out of it when he’s ready to talk again.” 

“You’re good with him,” Sirius said, repeating his observation from dinner the first night he’d been here. 

“He’s my best friend,” she replied again. There was something so vulnerable, so honest about her words that it stole his breath, and he wondered, again, how long he would be able to keep trying to convince himself he hated her, when Harry clearly needed her. 

Five questions. 

Right.

“Do you, erm… do you work?” he asked. 

“No,” she sighed forlornly. “With the boys and with Callum breastfeeding, it’s best that I’m home for now. I do hope to work someday, though. For as much as I love parenting, it sort of takes a lot out of you.” 

“I can imagine,” Sirius replied. “Do you have… erm… interests? I mean, that you might like to turn into a career?” 

“I really love to learn, and I’m an avid reader,” Hermione responded, eyeing him nervously as if she thought he were tricking her by speaking to her. Which, to be fair, he couldn’t blame her for thinking. He hadn’t exactly been kind. 

“I used to think I’d teach someday. I still might be open to that, down the road when the boys are in school. But honestly? I’d love to be a librarian or work in a bookstore.” 

Of course she would.

She and Remus were a good fit. 

He hated that. 

“Do you think you’ll want any more kids someday?” 

“Someday,” she agreed. “Moony certainly — gods, sorry, I don’t mean to… bring that up.” 

“S’alright,” Sirius waved a hand. “I know all about Moony’s… goals. Do you, um…” 

He trailed off, trying to count how many questions he’d asked, to decide if he could be done yet or not, but the baby let out a wail and Harry groaned, shaking his head. 

The poor lad looked so frustrated. He wanted to soothe him, to try to make it better, but the kid had barely talked to him, and he didn’t know how to even start. He wondered if Emmeline’s little question game would work on a three-year-old. Seemed a bit silly, but it was worth a shot. 

“Harry, how’s your snowman coming along?” he asked. 

Harry glared. 

Hermione picked up the baby and looked between them, chewing her lip before she stood and walked over to Sirius. 

“Sit on the floor,” she commanded.

“What? Have you gone barmy?” 

“Nope,” she responded, popping the P. “You want to spend time with Harry. I can help you with that. But you’re not going to like it.” 

“Okay…” Sirius said tentatively, drawing the word out as he slid out of his chair and let his arse hit the floor. He eyed the squirming mini-Remus in Hermione’s arms like a ticking time bomb. 

It was looking at him. 

It had Remus’s eyes.

He hated that it was looking at him with those damn eyes. 

He especially hated how fucking cute the thing was. 

“Stop staring at him like he’s going to gnaw your arm off,” Hermione scolded lightly, rolling her eyes. “You don’t get to hate a baby, Sirius.” 

“I don’t hate him, I just…” he trailed off, unable to find the words, but she seemed to catch the drift all the same.

“I know,” she said softly. “I’m sorry. But Harry is… sensitive, and very picky. It’s so important to me that you and he are close, Sirius. More than you could ever imagine. But if you want that to happen, Callum is the only way in.”

“What do I… do I have to hold it?” he asked skeptically. 

“Give me thirty seconds,” she bargained. “Sit here, just like that, and hold this baby for thirty seconds, and you’ll see why it's necessary.” 

“Fine,” he huffed. “But if it squirms and I drop it —” 

“He’ll bounce. You’re sitting on the floor, it's not a far fall,” she retorted, plopping the baby into his arms. Sirius stiffened, wrapping his hands around the boy’s waist and settling him into his lap as Callum craned his neck to look up at him with his mini-Remus face. 

It was instant. So powerful that it would have knocked him on his arse if he weren’t already sitting down. 

He was holding Remus’s child. 

He was holding Remus’s son. The baby who wore the face he’d conjured in so many daydreams, and he didn’t want to like this… thing, but then he was smiling and patting his cheeks with his sticky little hands as he let out one of those strange little howls, and a smile broke out on Sirius’s face before he could stop it. 

“Why does he howl?” he asked, with a bit of a laugh.

“Contentment. Boredom. Right now, I’d say it's because he recognises you as pack,” Hermione responded. 

“Pack? Is he… what, like a little baby werewolf?” 

“Eh, in all ways except physically,” she replied with a grin. “He doesn’t shift. He’s just… wolfy.” 

Sirius nodded at that, looking back down at the baby. It was a cute kid, but of course it was. He couldn’t have imagined Remus making an ugly baby if he tried. 

Callum began to babble happily, still smacking his cheeks, and Sirius saw Harry begin to move out of the corner of his eye.

“Don’t react,” Hermione whispered. 

He nodded in response, carefully keeping his focus on the baby, but as Harry approached and settled on the floor between his spread legs, facing him, he couldn’t help but look up and smile at the boy. 

“Hi-ya, Haz,” he whispered carefully. 

“My baby likes you,” Harry responded. “Are you a good Uncle, like Uncle Moony?” 

“I am,” Sirius responded. “Or, I’d like to be. But I’m afraid I don’t know much about babies. Could you…” 

He paused, looking over at Hermione. She nodded encouragingly, and he turned his attention back to Harry. “Do you want to show me how the baby likes to play?” 

Harry took a moment, mulling over the words, before he finally nodded and gestured for Sirius to turn Callum to face him. 

“Okay, Uncle Pads. Do you want to learn Pat-A-Cake? My baby likes it when we clap.” 

“I’d love that, Harry,” Sirius said, his voice thick with emotion. 

“Okay, good. Now, you put your hands like this, Uncle Pads, and then… no, Callum, you can’t eat his hair!” Harry scolded gently.

Sirius laughed, but after a quick reprimanding glare from Harry, he schooled his features. 

“We take Pat-A-Cake very seriously around these parts,” Hermione explained. 

“I can see that,” Sirius replied. “Alright, Haz. Teach me how to play the game, yeah?” 

“Okay, and next after, you have to read Clifford,” Harry ordered. 

☆─────☆☾☼☽☆─────☆

Chapter Text

𝚁𝚎𝚖𝚞𝚜

.·:·.☆☾☼☽☆.·:·.

Something sharp jabbed into Remus’s side, and he shot up, chest heaving as he looked around wildly. His eyes locked on Harry, who knelt on the bed with one knee on Remus’s thigh as he clutched his stag, and he relaxed in an instant. 

“Bore da, washi,” Remus yawned. He glanced over to see Hermione moving to sit up, rubbing at her eyes with her fists. She looked so damn cute in the mornings with her hair all wild and her mouth always fixed into that adorable little pout until she’d had her morning cuppa. 

“It’s happy Christmas, and guess what?! Santa been here, and guess what else, my baby got two tooths for Christmas, right here,” Harry informed him, the last word coming out garbled as he opened his mouth and pointed to his lower front teeth. 

|| Good pup. Strong teeth like Moony. Must teach him to hunt. Bring back meat for Mate and future pups ||

He’s not going to be devouring small animals anytime soon, Moons. 

|| Moony will wait ||

“You’re shitting me,” Remus laughed. “Finally.” 

“Swear jar,” Harry scolded quickly, then looked over at Hermione, squealing, “Aunt Mimi! It’s Happy Christmas!” before he thrust his stag at Remus and dove at her, wrapping his arms around her neck to give her a squeeze.

“Come see my baby’s two tooths,” Harry ordered as he pulled away and climbed off of the bed. He waited patiently—or, as patient as a three-year-old on Christmas morning could manage—until Hermione and Remus had shared a grin and climbed out of the bed. Reaching for both of their hands, he led them out of the bedroom, then paused in the hallway, looking over at Sirius’s door. 

“We have to get Uncle Pads to see my baby’s tooths,” he announced. 

“I think Uncle Pads might want to sleep, washi,” Remus said carefully, glancing over at Hermione, who gave him a tight-lipped smile. 

|| Wake the dog. Important for Pack to bear witness to our pup’s strength ||

I don’t think Sirius will agree.

“No, thank you,” Harry intoned. “Me and Auntie Mimi’s gonna go see my baby’s tooths so he can eat his boobies, and you wake up Uncle Pads, thank you, and then presents!” 

Before Remus could protest, Harry had dropped his hand and began dragging Hermione toward the stairs. She looked back over her shoulder, mouthing ‘sorry’, but Remus merely waved a hand. 

It was Christmas. If waking Sirius up — and, subsequently, incurring his inevitable wrath — was what would make Harry happy, then who was he to deny him of such a simple joy? 

Harry had only gotten one Christmas with his parents, then two with the Dursleys, and given the way they’d had to explain over and over that yes, Santa would be bringing him presents too, Remus couldn’t imagine that those holidays had been any good. 

Hermione had gone out of her way to make this one for the record books, though. Remus was quite certain he’d never seen a sight such as what awaited him when he’d returned home from work a few weeks ago to find the sitting room looking like she’d robbed the holiday section of a department store. 

According to the parenting books she’d been reading and bookmarking for him, there was a large chance this would be the first Christmas Harry remembered, and that had to supersede any fear he had of speaking to Sirius. 

He’d tried a few times, in the last week since Sirius had been home, to strike up a conversation or try to find some common ground in their new normal, but things were always stilted. Sirius had made a few attempts at conversation and had spent some time with Hermione and the boys the last two days, which was progress. 

But as soon as Remus came into the room, unless it was mealtime, he literally just…got up and left. At the least, Remus was grateful that he put in the effort to give Harry some normalcy. Family dinners were important, the books said. 

|| Stop stalling and get the dog. Need to see Pup’s teeth. Reward our pretty little Mate for taking such good care of him || 

We ‘rewarded’ her twice last night. Let the poor girl take a break. 

|| You’re boring me. Knock on the door, coward || 

“Fine,” Remus mumbled as he raised his fist. He knocked twice, and the door swung open almost immediately to reveal Sirius—shirtless, with his hair wet and a towel slung low around his waist, clearly having just stepped out of the shower. 

Against his better judgment, his eyes began to wander, re-memorising every tattoo and scar on Sirius’s body as they trailed down from where his shaggy black hair lay dripping against his collarbone, over the light smattering of hair on his chest, and down the smooth plane of his stomach. 

He was too thin. Remus could see his ribs and his hip bones jutting out in a way they never had before. He nearly looked sickly, but it didn’t matter. None of it did. Even after two years in prison, Sirius Orion Black was the hottest man Remus had ever seen.

|| Fuck the dog and get on with it so we can go back to the pups || 

Could you fucking not? 

|| Could you fucking knot? || 

If that’s a werewolf pun, I swear to the gods— 

Sirius let out an amused huff, shaking his head as a slow, lazy smirk bloomed across his face. And there it was. That mask, that cocky layer of protection he always blanketed himself with. Remus took comfort in the look, though, as Sirius raised a single eyebrow and tutted his tongue.

“Like what you see, Moonbeam?” Sirius taunted, running a palm down his chest before he turned his hand and flipped Remus the bird. “Did you come here to gawk, or is there something you need?”

“Sod off,” Remus huffed, rolling his eyes. “Harry is demanding you… rm…well, the baby cut teeth, I suppose, and Harry is convinced he got them for Christmas. And it’s…Christmas, so…” 

“So I need to go play happy family,” Sirius surmised. “Right. Give me a moment to get dressed.” 

Remus gave a stilted nod, and Sirius turned, not bothering to shut the door as he dropped the towel and moved toward the bed. Remus sucked in a breath and cast his eyes to the ceiling, willing himself not to look. 

He looked. 

Gods, it was unbearable. Sirius’s broad-shouldered back tapering off to the narrow waist Remus had gripped more times than he could count, the arse that he’d sunk his teeth and his —

|| Take, boy. Get on with it so he’ll stop being such a brat. Then we can focus. Needs to be reminded of his place in the pack || 

Shut up, shut up, shut up. 

It was bloody Christmas morning. Hermione and the boys were waiting for him in the nursery, the presents were carefully nestled under the tree where they’d placed them after they stayed up late to play Santa, and he was here, half-hard as he stared at his ex-boyfriend’s arse. 

Happy fucking Christmas. 

“Are we doing this, or are you going to stand there and drool over my arse all morning?” Sirius asked, raising an eyebrow as he turned around. Remus’s eyes caught on where he was buckling his belt, and he shook his head, tearing his gaze away. 

“I was only thinking about how you look like a bloody skeleton,” Remus intoned. “Did no one tell you we’re celebrating Christmas, not Halloween?” 

Remus knew that, to an outsider, the jab may have sounded cruel. And perhaps it was—the man before him had spent two years in prison, surviving on meagre rations, and of course, he’d lost too much weight. 

But this was them; a bit of normalcy, and Sirius responded in kind. 

“Right, sorry. That memo must have gotten lost somewhere around the one that told me you’d knocked up some random witch.” 

“Careful, Pads,” Remus said sharply, a low growl building in his chest as Moony prickled over a perceived insult to the Mate.

“Ohhh, look at that. I made you go gold, beastie,” Sirius taunted. “Tell Moony I said I hope he chokes on a rabbit.” 

“Moony wishes to extend his gratitude that you’ve ridden yourself of that dreadful little flea infestation,” Remus relayed. “Put your shirt on and let’s go.”

☆─────☆☾☼☽☆─────☆

Callum had, in fact, sprouted two little teeth overnight. They’d only just broken through his gums, but the pearly little nubs were a sight to behold. Though in true wolfy fashion, he’d treated Hermione’s breast like a chew toy and then bit Harry’s finger, all within five minutes of Remus and Sirius finally making their way to the nursery to listen to Harry babble in his excitement over Christmas candy and presents. 

Harry, of course, thought it was hilarious. 

Hermione, not so much. 

Once they’d made their way out of the nursery and down the stairs, Harry had taken off at a dead run, coming to a skidding stop in front of the tree as the adults all filed into the sitting room behind him. 

“Santa Claus really been here!” Harry screeched, bouncing on his feet as he clapped his hands. 

“Of course Santa came, little love, because you and Callum are at the very top of the ‘nice list’, aren’t you?” Hermione cooed. She passed the baby off to Remus and knelt in front of Harry, taking his hands in hers. “Do you want to help me pass everyone’s presents out? I can read the labels, and you can be the delivery boy.” 

“I can be the delivery elf, Mimi,” Harry corrected. 

“The delivery elf, then.” She grinned and stood to make her way to the tree, gently guiding Harry as they moved the gifts about. 

Remus moved to sit in front of the sofa, settling Callum into his lap as Sirius followed suit and sat a metre or so to his left. He looked at Remus, then at Callum and over at Harry, opening his mouth as if to speak, but quickly seemed to think better of it. 

“Pads? Do you…do you want to hold the baby? For Harry, I mean?” Remus asked cautiously. Hermione had been making a bit of progress where Sirius was concerned and had gotten him to hold Callum a staggering four times in the last three days, which Harry had responded well to. 

Selfishly, Remus wanted to see it. 

It was strange, perhaps. Twisted, if not a bit cruel. But he couldn’t help it. Sirius was the longest living friend he had, even removing the romantic aspect of their time together, and there was something about the idea of seeing him holding his son that he simply needed, in a way he couldn’t explain. 

|| Pack bonding. Need the dog to accept our pup || 

Right. 

“It’s, erm…also a Moony thing,” Remus confessed. “I haven’t seen you hold him yet, so…”

“Right. Pack shit.” Sirius nodded and reached out, closing the distance between them. “Give me the mini-Remus. We’ll open presents together. Maybe he can chew through the paper.” 

Remus snorted as he passed Callum off and watched Sirius settle back down with the baby in his lap. It felt right. Good. Necessary, really, because he had needed to see this. 

He couldn’t always explain why Moony made the demands he did, but some things were simple enough. They’d had a pack and lost it. Sirius was the last remaining member, and now that Remus had built a new family unit, there was an ache there, a little ticking at the back of his brain every time he saw Sirius look at Callum and glance away as if it hurt.

Harry bounded over to them with his arms full of boxes and dumped them at Remus’s feet, then bent, picking one up and moving it to rest in front of Sirius before he turned back to the tree to await further instruction from Hermione. 

“Thank you, Harry. You make the best delivery elf,” Remus called out. 

“I know,” Harry agreed. “Can we listen to Alvin?” 

“Of course,” Remus replied. He reached for his wand, where he’d laid it next to his leg, and pointed it toward the record player, delighting in Harry’s excited squeal and Callum’s giggle when ‘Christmas, Don’t Be Late’ by Alvin and the Chipmunks began—for approximately the five billionth time in the last week. 

Callum began to clap as he bounced in Sirius’s lap, and Remus looked over, soaking up the sight before him. 

Gods, it felt so right. Moony was practically purring in his contentment. The Mate and the pups, the dog, his oldest pack member, here with his family. Even aside from the way the wolf felt, Remus was so overwhelmed he nearly burst into tears of joy. 

He hadn’t earned this life; he certainly hadn’t earned the chance to reconnect with Sirius, and the gods knew the other man wasn’t going to make it easy. 

But it was Christmas, and they were all together. 

In the two months since Hermione had arrived on his doorstep on Halloween with a screaming baby, she’d given him a world he never would have imagined. And he wanted to keep it, to fight for it.

He knew that last part would be the kicker. 

Sirius may have settled into peace, and they may actually be speaking a small amount this morning, but it wouldn’t last. It was merely a truce, for Harry’s sake. The fight would come, but he would endure it, because there was no other choice. 

However this worked, it had to work. Even if they only ever managed to tolerate one another for Harry’s sake, they had to give him their best.

“I don’t, erm… I haven’t had the chance to go to Gringott’s yet,” Sirius spoke then, running a hand through his hair. “I’ll get Harry a gift next week, though. And I guess something for the little guy, too.” 

Callum leaned in, clamping his mouth down on Sirius’s forearm, and began to gnaw at him with a soft growl, and Sirius laughed, carefully extracting his arm from the baby’s maw.

“Maybe a muzzle,” Remus quipped. 

“He could use it,” Hermione said with a laugh as she walked over to them, carefully setting a large box on the floor in front of Sirius before she turned and helped Harry, who was dragging the larger of the two presents across the floor. 

“Oh, you, erm… You guys shouldn’t have,” Sirius mumbled. 

“Well, we did,” Hermione replied. “As for the boys, we’ve got that covered. Santa brought plenty, so we got them one big gift, and it's from all of us adults. Now, you have to open this one first,” she instructed, toeing the box she’d sat closest to him. 

“Nah, the boys should—” 

“Open, open!” Harry insisted, clapping as he bounced on his feet. “It's your super special gift!” 

“Here, I can take the baby so that you can—” 

“He’s content right here, aren’t you, chomper?” Sirius asked, looking down at Callum, who babbled nonsensically in response. “See? We’re just fine.” 

Hermione moved to sit next to Remus, and he immediately reached for her hand, giving it a squeeze to reassure her. She’d been so anxious about the first of Sirius’s gifts, but Remus knew him well. Even with all his anger and bravado, Sirius was sentimental at heart. 

When Hermione had first mentioned the idea, Remus had his reservations, of course. Still, it felt necessary, and honestly, even if Sirius wasn’t receptive to it right now, he had to believe he would be some day. It meant enough that it would matter, even through the haze of the anger and angst he knew the other man had to be feeling.

It had to matter.

After he stared down at the box for a solid minute, Sirius finally pulled it into his lap and began to unwrap the red and green plaid paper Hermione had selected. Remus smirked at the struggle as he watched Callum paw at the paper and slap the present, hindering Sirius’s movements, but finally, the paper had been shed and Sirius laid the box back on the floor, looking over at Remus before he looked back down to lift the lid. 

“Oh, shit.” 

“Swear jar,” Harry scolded. 

“Sorry, Haz,” Sirius said. He tore his eyes away from the box and looked over at Remus, shock etched into his features. “Is this…” 

“It is,” Remus responded. “Though there’s, erm…an addition of sorts, inside.” 

“You kept it.” 

“Of course, I kept it.” 

Their eyes locked, and Sirius’s face softened. It felt almost foreign. He’d only looked at him with anger and confusion in the last week, and while the look they shared now wasn’t directly reminiscent of the way they’d looked at one another before, it was…better. 

Enough, for now. 

“You kept it,” Sirius repeated, shaking his head in disbelief. Callum let out a shrill yell and leaned forward to slap the box again, and Sirius chuckled. “Yeah, yeah, you’re right. Let’s have us a look, shall we? You said there’s a new addition?” 

“Two,” Hermione corrected. “Harry, would you like to show Uncle Pads?” 

Harry nodded and climbed off of Hermione’s lap to kneel in front of Sirius as he unceremoniously jerked the black leather jacket out of the box and flipped the lapel open, pointing to the embroidery on the inside. 

“See, that’s my Mummy, and my Daddy. And here goes my Uncle Moony, and there’s you, Uncle Pads.” 

“I see that, buddy.” Sirius’s voice was thick with emotion, and he looked over at Remus again before he looked back at the jacket. “And what’s this here, Harry?” 

“Well, there was a bad guy there before, and Aunt Mimi said we don’t like him, so she took him off and fixed it. See here, that’s me, I’m the little prongies like my Daddy’s big prongies. And that’s my baby there, because he’s the little moon.” 

“This is…you did this?” he asked, locking eyes with Hermione. 

“I did. I…when Remus said he wanted to give you the jacket back, I knew removing…that particular symbol would be important. And I suggested adding Harry in its place, but…” 

“But the reason Lily embroidered all five there before was because that was pack,” Sirius interrupted, nodding. “And that’s changed. It’s right that you included both of them.” 

|| The dog accepts our Mate’s offering. This is good, boy. You should reward them both, scent them and— ||

For fuck’s sake, Moony, it is Christmas morning. 

|| Right. Pups. Presents. Books and toys for the big pup. Chew things for the little pup. Happy day. Scent them later. Moony can wait ||

“Thank you,” Hermione responded. “I’m glad you like it.” 

Sirius nodded in response and then wrapped his hands around Callum’s waist. He looked over at Harry, who nodded eagerly and straightened his legs as he’d been taught so that he could hold him. 

Once the baby had been passed off to his self-appointed keeper, Sirius lifted the jacket and stared at it for a long moment before he slipped it on, smoothing his hands over the front. 

Remus watched as he squeezed his eyes shut, soaking up the feeling of the leather on his skin, before he opened them and cleared his throat. 

“Right. Let’s see what Santa brought you, yeah, Haz?” 

“I hope it’s a dragon,” Harry responded. “Orrrr…three dragons.”

☆─────☆☾☼☽☆─────☆

𝚁𝚎𝚖𝚞𝚜

.·:·.☆☾☼☽☆.·:·.

Christmas had been a success. After he’d received the jacket, Sirius opened the second gift—a guitar, which Remus could only hope would make up for the fact that, in his anger and grief, he’d left the one Sirius had bought himself after they left Hogwarts back at their old flat — and then the chaos erupted as the boys dug into their presents. 

They’d gone simple with Callum—a sweet little stuffed thing Hermione called a glowing worm, a new dummy with a clip that attached to his shirt, which he immediately plopped into his mouth, some blankets and teething toys, a few sensory books, and a little wooden rattle, which he thoroughly enjoyed batting against everything within reach.

Harry, being older and big enough to play with cooler things, had the fun stuff. He received a Kloudweaver Kidz broom—a little thing spelled to hover no more than a metre off the ground for safety—and a My First Quidditch Kit, along with an array of books, a few Muggle toys Hermione had insisted he would love, such as some sort of cabbage-themed doll and an extremely stretchy superhero of sorts. 

And, as requested, a stuffed Chinese Fireball.

Harry had been a bit miffed it hadn’t been a real dragon, but they’d accounted for that and, as they’d hoped, he’d gotten over it as soon as he helped Callum open his own stuffed dragon—a Common Welsh Green—and Hermione showed him that they were spelled to move about if you rubbed their tummies. 

After the boys had descended into a proper fit of giggles while watching their little dragons amble around breathing little huffs of (charmed, and not at all real) fire, Hermione had herded them all to the table for a proper English, which she’d only slightly burned. 

Later, after the boys were bundled up into their snowsuits and taken outside to see the new play structure that Remus and Hermione had put together the week before, and disillusioned, they wore themselves out and went down for a nap while the adults cleaned up the morning chaos. 

Sirius had excused himself alongside the boys and retreated to his room, but he popped back out when Moody, Emmeline, and Sheila all came by for dinner. 

As Remus had thought, Sheila and Sirius got on like wildfire. 

It had been a good day; the best Remus could recall, if he were honest with himself. Sirius hadn’t been jovial by any means, but he’d stuck around for Christmas with the family, sharing in Harry’s excitement over every little thing. He had even kept Callum in his arms half the day.

Needless to say, by the time the over-tired boys were bathed and put to bed, and Hermione retreated to their room to read before she went to sleep, Remus had been filled with anxious energy and couldn’t get himself to settle. 

Because it had been a good day. 

The fucking best. 

And it wouldn’t last. 

He knew something had to give; he knew it wouldn’t be this easy, this quick. But progress was progress. 

With a sigh at the thought, Remus took a final drag of his cigarette and bent down, stamping it out against the patio before he tossed the butt into the little can Hermione had set out and turned to make his way back into the house. He paused in the sitting room to cast the spell on the Christmas tree that made the lights glow, then moved to the kitchen to get a glass of water before he headed up to bed. 

He felt the energy in the kitchen before he saw Sirius, sitting at the table, staring down at a glass of firewhisky. Swallowing roughly, Remus made his way to the sink, grabbing a glass from the strainer and filling it from the tap. By the time he forced himself to turn around, Sirius had already risen from his seat and was walking toward him. 

Remus leaned back against the counter and took a sip of his water, eyeing Sirius cautiously as the other man came to a stop just in front of him. 

“Thank you,” he said. “For helping us make sure the boys had a good day.” 

“Right.” Sirius sniffed and looked to the side. A muscle jumped in his jaw, and Remus braced himself, carefully setting the glass to the side. 

|| The dog is angry. Make him heel || 

Shut the fuck up. 

“Say it,” Remus sighed. “Whatever it is.” 

“Oh, you want me to say it?” Sirius laughed and looked back at him, swiping his tongue over his teeth as he slowly shook his head. “Fine. I’ll say it. What the fuck, Moons? I mean, what the fuck?” 

Remus didn’t respond. He knew better than to try to interject. Sirius needed to explode, and gods damn it all, he deserved it. He’d held it together all day, and for the entire week, and Remus knew it had to be eating him alive.

Even if things hadn’t happened the way Sirius thought, it didn’t matter; he’d betrayed him all the same by believing him capable of what they’d accused him of. 

He let him rot in that fucking cell and didn’t even try to see the truth. 

“How long?” Sirius asked. “How long did it take after they locked me up for you to fuck the first witch that gave you the time of day?” 

“Don’t,” Remus said coldly. “Not her. Hermione didn’t do anything to you, so you need to be careful of the way you talk about her.”

“Or what?” Sirius laughed, raising an eyebrow. “Is Moony going to go all feral? I’d imagine he would. I saw it, you know? The other night in the nursery, when she came in to check on the boys, wearing your fucking boxers, drenched in the scent of your cum. How did your pretty little mate taste when you bit her? She as sweet as she looks?”

“You’re drunk,” Remus sighed. 

“And you’re a fucking prick,” Sirius spat. “It took you a year, Remus. Less than that. July, she said, yeah? Nine fucking months after they locked me away, you had a ring on her finger.”

“Sirius, I didn’t mean to…” 

“You didn’t mean to what? Fuck her? Marry her? Get her pregnant? Sink your teeth into her fucking neck?” Sirius laughed again, cruel and cutting, and Remus swallowed it all. 

He deserved this. 

They needed this. 

“It isn’t what you think. It’s complicated,” Remus defended weakly. He heard a noise from above and cocked his head, wincing slightly as he heard Callum let out a whine. 

|| Pup. He’s in pain again. The dog can wait || 

Just give me a minute. He’ll probably fall back asleep. This is important.

|| Foolish. I told you, just fuck the dog and calm him down ||

“Complicated my arse,” Sirius shot back. “It took you months, Remus! We had years. You were the only thing I ever knew. The only thing I wanted, and you blew what we were building to fucking pieces, let our relationship die on the hill of your conviction that you'd never have kids, never take a mate. So excuse the fuck out of me if I'm a little thrown off by the fact that while I was rotting in Azkaban, oscillating between convincing myself that you'd find a way to come for me and thinking you were dead, you were sinking your teeth into the first bloody witch you found. You had a son, Moony,” Sirius rasped, an almost desperate twinge to his voice.

Remus heard Callum cry again and cocked his head, internally wincing over Hermione being woken up when he was already awake, but that damn tug of war in his mind that was quickly becoming his new normal began to pull again.

|| This isn’t where you need to be right now ||

Moony wasn’t wrong, not this time. 

Sirius needed to fight this out with him. He understood that. He needed it, too. But Callum’s teething and his newfound tummy troubles as they introduced new foods had kept Hermione up so many nights, and she worked so hard to take care of the house and the boys, but she was stretched so thin, and she deserved her rest.

He sighed and leaned back against the counter, rubbing his temples as he spoke—softer this time, in the hopes that Sirius would follow suit and she wouldn’t have to contend with the noise as she tried to get the baby back down.

“I know what it looks like, but I wish you'd just trust me, Pads. There are things I can't explain yet.”

“What's there to explain?” Sirius asked. “There is a baby with your eyes, sleeping in that nursery upstairs, and he's not mine. You gave her your name, but she's not me. Seems pretty fucking self explanatory, so don't you dare stand there and act like I'm the one in the wrong for not trusting you when all you've ever done is break your promises."

"Sirius, please, it's not what you—"

“Not what I think?" Sirius scoffed and pointed toward the stairs across the hall, where Callum’s fussing upstairs had turned into a full-on fit. "Your son is crying, Remus. Go help your fucking wife.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered weakly, already moving toward the door.

“Fuck off.” 

☆─────☆☾☼☽☆─────☆

“Hi,” Hermione hummed sleepily as she rolled to her side and tucked her face against his chest. Remus sighed, wrapping his arms around her and propping his chin on her head. 

“Hi, cariad. Did I wake you?” 

“No,” she yawned, pulling back to look up at him in the dim light from the single candle she’d left burning on the bureau. “I heard Callum, but then he quieted, so I figured you had it covered, and then I couldn’t fall back asleep. What’s the matter?”

“Sirius,” he admitted with a weary sigh.

“Did something happen?” Hermione furrowed her brow and moved to sit up, but Remus tightened his hold on her, dragging her back down to lie beside him until their noses nearly touched. 

“Stay right here, please,” he whispered. She nodded, and he sighed in relief. Hermione stayed put, running a hand through his hair as she gave him time to gather his thoughts.

“He lost his shit on me,” he finally said. “I knew it was coming, but…”

“But it’s hard. Because you love him, and you can’t tell him the truth.” 

“Yeah,” Remus let out a humourless laugh, shaking his head slightly. “But I…gods, Hermione, I love you, too. It seems so fast, but it's true, in this way that's just…so big. So fucking ancient. I’ve spent so much time trying to work out what feelings are a product of the bond, and what belongs to me, as a man, but it’s all the same, isn’t it? You’re everything, cariad.” 

“You love me?” Hermione squeaked. 

“Yeah,” he responded, pulling back slightly to meet her eyes. “And I…and I love him. And I don't know where to put all this love. I just keep circling back to the fact that I loved him in your time, too, right? Even after you and I fell in love, I carried both?” 

“You did,” she confirmed. “He was your husband, Remus, and you were blissfully happy, even with the war knocking at the door. We got together years after he passed away. But you—my husband, he talked to me about Sirius a lot. So much, and I can promise you, even with how much he loved me, that love never went away. My friend used to say love is not a finite resource.” 

“I know. And that’s what makes everything so bloody hard. I keep trying to tell myself this, with you, is just instinct. And it was at first, but it's not now. Moony didn’t choose you as my mate, then or now, for no reason. I didn’t fall in love with you in two bloody timelines, twenty years apart, for nothing,” Remus told her.

“But now he’s back, and that love for him is still burning a hole through my fucking chest, and I don’t know—I don’t know how to process any of this.” 

Hermione merely nodded and reached for his hand, running a thumb over his wedding band. They’d purchased the cheap little rings at a secondhand shop the morning before Sirius came home to deepen the illusion of a real marriage, and slid them on each other unceremoniously in the kitchen before Harry knocked over a cup of juice and the baby barfed down Remus’s back. 

It wasn’t romantic, and it drove him nuts, because gods, did she deserve romance. But it was real, and it was theirs. Timeline be damned, she was his wife. The magic of the marital bonding didn’t care about time; it was real, just as alive in his chest as the Mating bond, and he wanted nothing more than to honour that—even with how much of a mess his head was in at present.

“I love you too, Remus,” Hermione confessed after a long moment of silence. “I loved my husband, and he loved me dearly. But that love he had for Sirius never went away. Knowing what it was like for them to spend twelve years apart and finally have that, only for Remus to lose it all over again… I just think the love I have for you, now, goes beyond selfishness. How could I not want to see you get your happily ever after with the man you’ve loved since you were twelve years old and he took you flying on his broom to help you conquer your fear of heights?” 

“Gods, how are you so fucking perfect?” Remus asked. 

“I’m your mate,” she responded, her voice cracking as she forced a smile. “That’s my job.” 

“Don’t,” Remus shook his head and gripped her by the chin, slowly rolling her to her back. He hovered over her, staring down into her eyes as he shook his head again. “Don’t do that. Don’t just… roll over and accept that you think you’ll lose me. Don't act like keeping me happy means letting me go.” 

“But it might,” she replied. “If you choose him, and not me, I might lose you. But there’s an inevitability here, Remus. It makes it a bit easier to accept, I suppose. Moony would never let you walk away from me, and maybe it’s sad that I cling to that, but—” 

“Stop it,” he huffed. “Just stop, Hermione. This isn’t about Moony, okay? This isn’t about the mating bond. This is about you and me. And if I had to choose? It wouldn’t be him. That’s why this is all so hard, because I do love him, but it's you, Hermione. It’s always going to be you. I just…” 

“You wish it could be both,” she finished for him. “I know, love. I’m so sorry. I—If it were up to me, I need you to know that I would be okay with that. I know it’s not traditional, but…I’m yours, Remus. Always. You’re mine, too, and you were his as well. If there were a way for you to have us both, I would never stand in the way of that.” 

“Gods, you’re just…you really are perfect.” 

“Again, if you’d look to my shoulder, you’d find that I’m your mate,” Hermione quipped playfully. 

“My Mate,” Remus agreed, leaning in to drag his nose along the collar of the shirt she’d worn to bed—his shirt. “It’s you, Hermione. Whatever happens with him, it's still you.” 

“I know,” she sighed, letting her legs fall open as Remus covered her fully and began to kiss his way up the side of her throat.

“Remus, please,” Hermione whimpered. 

“I’ve got you, cariad. I’ll take care of you.” He pulled away, dragging her with him as he moved to sit back against the headboard. Hermione knelt on the bed and reached a hand beneath the hem of her shirt, pulling her knickers down, and then moved forward to hook her fingers into the waistband of his pyjama pants. 

His cock sprang free as she divested him of his clothing, and she bent her head, flicking her tongue over the leaking head. Remus groaned and shot a hand out to grab her by the chin, reluctantly guiding her away. 

“Not tonight,” he told her. “I just need you up here, close to me.” 

“Okay,” Hermione agreed. She straddled him, reaching a hand between them to guide his cock to her entrance, and began to lower herself. Remus gritted his teeth, watching her face as she took him in. 

She was a godsdamn work of art; a masterpiece, as the faintest little V formed between her eyebrows, and he wanted to throw her onto her back and rut into her like the animal that he was, to carve a path inside of her and stay nestled in her heat for the rest of his godsdamn life, but that wasn’t what either of them needed right now. 

Lowering his hands to her hips, he forced Moony’s thoughts to the back of his mind and ignored the chorus of || breed || and || knot || and focused solely on her face, forcing himself to stay grounded in the moment. 

Hermione finally sank all the way down, fully impaling herself on his cock, and they moaned in tandem before she began to move. Remus kept his hands on her hips, guiding her through every slow thrust as she braced her hands on his shoulders. 

“You feel so good,” she whimpered, biting her lip. Remus’s eyes flicked down to the motion, and he leaned in, slanting his mouth over hers. He kissed her slowly, tender and restrained as she continued to ride him at a languid pace before he pulled away to meet her eyes once more. 

“You’re incredible,” he rasped. “So fucking tight, so perfect. I could stay just like this, buried inside of you, watching you come undone for me, forever.” 

“Yeah?” Hermione grinned, her tongue darting out to flick over her bottom lip. “I could keep you right here. Keep riding you even after you knot me, keep you hard for hours.” 

“Fuck,” Remus groaned. “Devious, little Mate.” 

“Say it again,” she ordered, a vulnerable urgency taking over her voice. “Please. Tell me what I am.” 

“Mine,” he growled. He reached up, bracing both hands on the side of her neck and lacing his fingers together as he leaned in to press his forehead to hers. “My Mate. My wife. Mine. I—fuck, you feel so good. I love you. I’m not going to stop, no matter what. This, right here, Hermione? This is the centre. Anything else that happens, it happens around us. You come first. You will always come first.” 

“So romantic,” she laughed softly, pressing her lips to his, and he groaned into her mouth, deepening the kiss as he began to piston his hips, fucking up into her dripping cunt with a renewed desperation. 

“I need to fill you,” he grunted. “Need to br—fuck, need to feel you fall apart around my knot.” 

“Please,” she whimpered. “Please, just say it.” 

|| Perfect, pretty little Mate. Wants it so bad. Tell her, boy. Tell her you’re going to fill her, give her another pup, tell her — ||

“Fuck,” Remus groaned. “Fuck, Hermione. I want to breed you so bad. It’s all I can think about. This stupid fucking wolf, but it's…more. Everything. The thought of you, swollen with my pups, your tits leaking as I keep you cock drunk, stuffed full of my knot. You make me feel so fucking feral.” 

“Feral for me,” she corrected. “Only me. That’s why nothing else matters. You can—oh, gods, right there,” she moaned, pulling away to plant a hand on his thigh as she arched her back. Remus looked down, another growl tearing free from his chest as he watched the slide of his cock in and out of her cunt. 

“Nothing else matters,” she continued, panting the words out through laboured breaths. “You can have him, too. I’m not threatened. I’m not worried. I’m your fucking Mate. I can’t give you what he can, but he isn’t me, either, and this—gods, Remus, you’re so thick,” she groaned. “This is the centre.”

“Nothing else,” he agreed. “Even if…even if, Hermione. This, right here? It’s only for you. You can feel it, can’t you? Swelling for you, stretching this pretty little cunt so wide, because you are the only one who was meant to take it.” 

“Mine,” she nearly snarled the world, sounding animalistic and raw, and Moony was practically screaming now, but he refused to focus on anything but the way her mouth dropped open as she began to tremble atop him. 

Remus sat up straighter, wrapping an arm around her back to grip her hip as he crushed her to his chest and clamped his mouth down on her mating mark, licking a firm stripe over the scarred flesh before he sank his teeth in, just shy of breaking the skin. 

Hermione let out a scream, and he winced at the realisation that he’d forgotten to cast a silencing charm, but he was too far gone to care. They came in tandem, her cunt clamping down on his cock as his knot locked them together, and he lifted his head to crash his mouth to hers, swallowing her moans as she shook in his arms. 

After he gave her a moment to catch her breath, he moved carefully, scooting down until he lay flat on the bed as she settled on his chest, tucking her face into the crook of his neck. 

Remus ran his hand through her hair as she let out a contented sigh, and he chuckled lightly as a thought struck him.

“What?” she asked, lifting her head slightly to look up at him with an amused smile. 

“I can’t stop thinking about how badly I want to braid your hair every time I touch it,” he admitted. Moony preened inside of his chest, so vividly he could almost feel the damn wolf’s tail wagging. 

|| Learning, boy. Our Mate needs to be taken care of. Nurtured. She is for the pack, for the pups. We’re for her || 

“You want to braid my hair?” she repeated skeptically. 

“Well, I’d imagine I’m shit at it, but yeah, I’d like to learn. I…I want to take care of you in any way I can. And Moony seems to like the idea. Was that…did I ever do that before?” 

“No,” she shook her head. “He—older you, he never did. I never even thought about it, honestly.” 

“Good.” Remus kissed her on the nose and then wrapped his arms back around her, pulling her back down to his chest. “That’s just ours, then.” 

“Ours,” Hermione echoed. “I like that.” 

☆─────☆☾☼☽☆─────☆

Chapter Text

𝚂𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚞𝚜

.·:·.☆☾☼☽☆.·:·.

As soon as Sirius heard Hermione’s footsteps descending the staircase, he turned to exit the kitchen, but she moved faster, blocking his exit as she stood in the doorway.

“Nope. You can run away in a minute. Sit back down,” she commanded. Sirius rolled his eyes and stepped to the side, trying to get around her, but she blocked him. 

He changed tactics and dipped, intending to go under her arm and break free, but she blocked him by jutting her hip out. 

He moved to the right. 

She moved with him. 

He wove back to the left. 

She followed. 

Finally, he pulled out the big guns and leaned in, grabbing her by the waist and picking her up off of the floor. Hermione let out a surprised yelp and began to kick her feet, squirming in his hold as she batted her fists against his forearms, but he ignored her protests and turned, depositing her back down to her feet. 

Before he could turn back to the door, she dove under his arm and blocked the exit again, spreading out to brace her hands and feet against the doorframe as she shook her head.

“Nope.” 

“For the love of the fucking gods,” Sirius groaned. “How are you so quick and wiry? Are you part fae?” 

“On my squib grandfather’s uncle’s side, yeah,” she quipped. Sirius huffed and tried to move again, but she placed a hand against his chest and pushed him back.

With an eyeroll, he pulled back, crossing his arms over his chest as he narrowed his eyes into slits and glared at her, doing his best to convey exactly how much of a problem he intended to be if she didn’t let him go, but the infuriating little witch merely laughed. 

“I’m afraid your intimidation tactics won’t work on me, Sirius Black. You have no idea exactly how much you don’t scare me,” she said matter-of-factly before she pointed at the table behind him. “Now sit your arse down, because I already told you that I don’t care if you hate me, you’re going to show up for Harry either way, and we need to talk about him.”

“Fine,” Sirius huffed. “But I have to leave to go get my brain picked apart in an hour, so you have five minutes.” 

“If it takes you that long to get ready to leave the house, you might want to simplify your makeup routine,” she jested with a smirk. 

“Well, I can’t imagine you’d relate,” Sirius intoned, running a hand through his hair in an exaggerated fashion. “Have you ever seen a hairbrush in real life, or are you convinced they’re some sort of myth?”

“I’ll have you know I—” Hermione began, her voice rising several octaves before he cut her off. 

“I thought we were going to talk?” He raised an eyebrow. “If you’re just going to stand in the doorway and screech like a pissed off little house cat, I’m going to my room.” 

“Oh shut up,” Hermione huffed. “Go sit down, you mangy dog.” 

“Whatever you say, kitten.”

He turned and walked to the table as slowly as he could, but paused once he reached his chair and spun on his heel to stride back across the kitchen. 

“Sirius!” she protested. 

“Again with the screeching,” he groaned. “Calm down, kitten. I’m just grabbing my jacket. I need a fucking cigarette.” 

“Fine.” She crossed her arms over her chest and stared him down for a moment, then turned on her heel and strode back into the hall, reappearing in a flash with his leather jacket in one hand as she slipped her other arm into Remus’s denim one. 

He must have worn a thicker coat for his walk to work today. Sirius was glad for that, he thought. Not that he cared if Remus froze; honestly, that's what he deserved for refusing to apparate because he liked to enjoy the scenery on his walks to work. 

Still, if Moony went and died on him, then the little witch currently stomping her way toward the conservatory to step out into the backyard would undoubtedly become even more insufferable. 

Hermione stepped outside and moved to lean against the wall, extending her hand and holding two fingers out expectantly. Sirius raised an eyebrow as he lit a cigarette, then passed it to her before he lit another. 

“Didn’t know you smoked, kitten,” he remarked, holding the cigarette to his lips as he took in a slow drag. 

“I don’t,” she responded. “Not often, save for when I’m stressed.” 

“And is… You said you need to talk about Harry? Is that why you’re stressed?” Sirius asked tentatively, looking at her out of the corner of his eye as he leaned back against the wall next to her. 

Hermione nodded as she brought the cigarette to her lips and turned to look out across the yard. Sirius took the opportunity to study her side profile, feeling rather cantankerous. 

It would be easier to hate her if she weren’t so…her, all soft and small and pretty with her bright eyes and wild hair. 

He could see what Remus saw in her; not just in her looks, though she certainly had those in spades. No, it was more than that. There was something that dwelled within Hermione. She was all hard lines and soft curves at the same time, delicate and fierce in one fell swoop. The way she could coo and giggle with the boys and then snap right into giving them the look when they misbehaved seemed to be a common thing for her. 

She was doing it now, he could tell. The way she’d come at him so aggressively today. The scrappy little witch was changing tactics on him. Softness hadn’t worked. Stuttered attempts at casual conversation had gotten her nowhere, and while they’d talked a bit in the last few days over the boys as he held the mini-Remus and played with Harry, they weren’t friends. 

They were never going to be friends, and, thankfully, she seemed to have gotten the memo, if the way she’d come at him with the no-nonsense approach today was any indication. 

“Harry has only lived with Remus and I for a month,” she announced bluntly. “We told you your first night there were things to discuss about him, but you have actively avoided any chance for real conversation, and that’s done now, because you need to hear this, even if you don’t want to.”

“A month?” Sirius reared his head back in shock and brought a shaky hand to his mouth as he sucked on the cigarette like a lifeline, holding the smoke in his lungs for a minute before he slowly blew it out. “I guess…I mean, you’re just so natural with him. You all seem so natural together.”

“I think that’s just the Harry of it all,” she replied. “He makes it easy. And with two under four, Remus and I just had to fall in line and adjust quickly. And I read a lot of parenting books.” 

“That’s good,” Sirius replied, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “He was somewhere bad, wasn’t he? Harry? I noticed he’s had nightmares twice in the week or so since I got here, and the bedwetting a few times. Then there’s that thing he does…the not-talking. Was he abused, or…?” 

“He was,” Hermione admitted. Sirius could hear the pain in her voice, and he was reminded again of how deeply she cared for the lad. It was a bit hard to wrap his mind around how she could be so invested, so good with him, after such a short time, but he had bigger things to focus on. 

“Who?” he took a drag of his cigarette, curling his free hand into a fist as he tried to force down the overwhelming wave of anger rising in his chest at her confirmation.

“I — well, I should preface this by saying that Remus should be here for this talk. But it’s especially hard for him to rehash it all, given the Moony factor. And I don’t suppose there’s any beating around the bush; the two of you can barely have a conversation, but you deserve to know all of this, so you get me.” 

“Fine,” Sirius huffed. “That’s…whatever. That’s fine. Just tell me who had him. Please.” 

“Lily’s sister—er, my cousin, Petunia, and her husband Vernon.” 

“Tuna?” Sirius scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief. “That sour-faced bitch who was always so shitty to Lily?” 

“Did you ever meet her?” Hermione asked. 

“Just once, back the summer before our fifth year, but that was enough. I can’t imagine whatever oaf she married was anything less than a piece of shit.” 

“That’s an understatement.” Hermione laughed, though there was no humour in the sound. “They’re terrible people, Sirius. After James and Lily died, Harry needed to be with someone of Evans blood because Lily sacrificed her life for him. It enacted a sort of…” 

“A blood curse. Sacrificial Love? That’s…gods, I knew she’d find something. The second Lily knew Harry was in danger, she went full Mum-mode. She must have devoured every book and resource about protection spells. I even managed to sneak back into my family’s home with James one night to raid the family library. Had to stun a crotchety old house elf and barely escaped before my mother caught us.” Sirius started to laugh but quickly cleared his throat, shoving the memory away, “Anyway, that’s…that’s ancient. She’d’ve had it in her, though. She was a clever witch.” 

“I’ve heard that.” Hermione nodded, “I believe it.” 

“So then…” Sirius paused, sighing as he reached up to scratch at the scruff lining his jaw. “If, erm, he had to be with blood, why didn’t you—”

“I couldn’t,” she cut in sharply. “I wasn’t here yet. And then once I was, it took some time, but we began working on getting him under our care the second we could. I knew what he was going through…rather, I knew what he had to be facing, with Petunia caring for him, so I wanted to get him out as soon as I could, but it took some time.” 

“But he’s safe, now? The two of you have guardianship, so they can’t come and take him away?” Sirius asked, his nose stinging with the urge to sob. He took a breath, casting his eyes to the side as he watched Hermione stare off toward the fence line, her jaw tightening.

“He’s safe, and nobody is going to take him. Ever,” she responded in a stern voice. “But he has a long road ahead of him, medically and emotionally. We took him to the doctor for a full workup as soon as we could after we got him, but he needs specialised care. A nutritionist, some specialist appointments, and a paediatric mindhealer. That’s why I’m telling you this now. I know things between all of us adults are messy and complicated. But Harry needs all of us to be able to set that aside and be in his corner when it comes to his recovery. In order for you to understand what that entails, you need to know the truth.”

Sirius nodded, taking another drag of his cigarette before he tossed it into the can to his right and immediately lit another. “How bad was it?”

“Bad,” she replied shakily. “The first time we got to see him, there were bruises on his arms from being jerked around. From my understanding, they didn’t strike him outright, but they were…creative, in their mistreatment of him.” 

“Tell me,” Sirius urged. She looked over at him, studying his face for a moment as if she were searching for something before she finally nodded. 

“Okay. But it isn’t pretty,” she began. 

☆─────☆☾☼☽☆─────☆

“Did you know?” Sirius asked as he strode into Emmeline’s office and slumped down into the chair in front of her desk. “About Harry? About what those piece-of-shit Muggles put that boy through?” 

“I was aware of the abuse and neglect he endured at the hands of the Dursleys, yes,” she replied. “Surely, you understand why I couldn’t tell you. Harry may not be my patient, but I take medical privacy very seriously.” 

“I know, I know.” He waved a hand. “I only just found out, and I just needed to know if I had to rehash it all. But of course, I’m only finding this out now, because nobody tells me any fucking thing.” 

“You’re holding resentment toward Alastor for not warning you about Hermione and Callum,” Emmeline deduced. 

“Of course I am. I mean, if I had known, I—” he cut himself off with a gruff sigh, because in truth, he didn’t know what he would have done. 

“You would have run,” she supplied. “You would have found the nearest speeding train and thrown yourself off of it, or apparated right back to Azkaban and demanded to be put back in your cell, because the idea of a life in prison would have felt better than the idea of watching the man you love, love his wife.” 

“Do you have to be so…correct, all the godsdamn time?” he grumbled. 

“That’s a requirement of the job, yes,” she intoned. “Would you like to discuss what Harry has endured, or how you’re feeling about it all?” 

“No,” he replied bluntly. “I don’t—feels a bit invasive, yeah? It isn’t my story to tell. I just hate it, because he’s so fucking good, Emme. He’s so little and sweet and half-terrified all the time. And the way he latches on to that baby…” 

“Callum.” 

“Yeah, that’s the one,” he scoffed, rolling his eyes.

“Sirius,” she sighed. “It is vital that we name the things that are eating at us. Obviously, the fact that Remus has a son brings on some heavy emotions for you, and that is perfectly understandable. But his name is Callum. Start there.” 

“Callum,” Sirius repeated with a sigh. “I’ve been, erm…holding him. Quite often, actually. Harry’s so attached to him, and Hermione suggested that if I wanted Harry to warm up to me, I needed to interact with the baby, so I’ve been doing that.” 

“And how has that been going?” 

“It’s…it’s a bit unnerving, innit? The damn kid looks like Remus cloned himself. He’s got her hair, though. Hermione’s. Poor thing.” 

“You don’t sound as bitter when you say her name,” Emmeline reached for her quill and made a note on her parchment, then looked up at him over the rim of her reading glasses. “Did you try the exercise I suggested?” 

“I did. I don’t think I made it to five questions, though, because as we talked, it led into me holding the—holding Callum, and then Harry wanted to play Pat-A-Cake and made me read this book about a big, red, dog twice over,” Sirius told her, the corner of his mouth lifting into a half-smile. 

“Well, the five questions were more of a guideline than a requirement. It’s an exercise meant to get a conversation going so you can establish a rapport, so I’m pleased to hear it went well,” Emmeline said. “Did you learn anything new, or develop any new opinions about her?” 

“I think, erm…she does a lot. I suppose that’s the mum thing. She seems to be stretched pretty thin, though Remus helps her whenever he’s not at work, so that’s good. I’ve been cleaning up a bit when she goes to put the boys down for a nap or to bed. Just seemed right to help with something, since she’s taking on Harry’s care like that.” 

“So you want to help her?” Emmeline prodded. 

“Well, just...you know, Harry is important. She’s his primary carer,” he defended weakly. 

“Hmm…” Emmeline hummed as she scratched something onto her parchment pad once more.

Sirius cast his eyes toward the ceiling, clenching his jaw to bite back a frustrated scream. She was judging him, which he knew was sort of the point, but still. 

So he wanted to help Hermione. Big fucking deal. 

He may hate her, but he didn’t hate her, not really. He hated the idea of her and what she represented. He hated that burning thing that coiled in his chest when he saw her and Remus together or when she sat rocking that baby with Remus’s face, but he didn’t hate her as a person. 

He didn’t particularly care for her; that much was true, but then again, what did he even really know about the little witch? 

Oh. 

“Breakthroughs tend to hit us pretty hard,” Emmeline remarked, as if his revelation had been written in bold lettering across his forehead. Though he supposed it may as well have. His facial expressions had always been too loud. 

“I’m jealous of her,” he sighed. “But I don’t hate her. I just…well, she seems nice. Sweet. Fierce as hell, to boot. I just don’t know her, and I’ve only really paid attention to her in the abstract, in that anger and jealousy, so…yeah, whatever. Your exercise worked, I guess.” 

“I’m happy to hear that. Though it's important to remember it’s only been a week, Sirius. The feelings will ebb and flow, but so long as you remember what you just said, you’ll be able to ride the waves. Now,” Emmeline tapped a finger on her parchment and took off her glasses. Sitting back in her chair, she brought them to her face and let out little puffs of air to fog up the lenses before she wiped them off with her robes. Placing the spectacles back on her nose, she leaned forward once more, steepling her fingers together on the desk as she fixed him with an assessing stare. 

“I’d like to circle back to something you said earlier. You mentioned holding Callum is unnerving? Is that because it’s a shock to see Remus’s features in a child, or is that because of what you feel when you have no choice but to face the fact that the man you love moved on and had a child?”

“Godric, Em, don’t beat around the bush,” Sirius responded sardonically.

“I don't get paid to coddle my patients,” she replied plainly. “I don't get paid to treat you at all, actually, so we'll consider my bluntness a courtesy service.”

“Ah, that's right. I'm your charity case,” he snarked.

“It's hardly charity when we both know how deep your vaults run, Sirius,” Emmeline shot back. “But yes, I took on your case pro bono, because I wanted to manage your care myself.”

“Because you wanted to torture me,” he grumbled. “Mindhealers…sadists, the lot of you.” 

“You are certainly entitled to feel however you need about my profession,” she shrugged. “Now, about Remus.” 

“Fine. I…gods, I blew the fuck up last night. Played happy family for Christmas, got through the day, and then I had a few drinks when they put the boys to bed and sat and just…felt.” 

“Felt?” Emmeline prompted. “Walk me back through any highs and lows throughout the day. Holidays can put a lot of strain on the healing mind. Was it a hard day?” 

“Yeah. I, erm…well, it was a good day,” Sirius began. “Haz, he was so excited about Christmas. And Remus and Hermione, they went all out for the boys. Callum, I held him while we opened presents, and he was sort of…cute about it, I guess. And then, erm…they gave me this. Or, gave it back to me.” 

He tugged at the lapel of his jacket, and Emmeline looked it over, a small smile forming on her lips. “I remember that.” 

“Yeah. It was a big deal to me. Lily had done this embroidery inside, just here,” he opened the jacket, holding the front aside so Emmeline could see as he gestured to it with his free hand. “There used to be these whiskers, for Peter. Hermione, she removed the stitching and put in these little symbols for the boys. It was very thoughtful.” 

“That does sound thoughtful,” Emmeline agreed. “And how do you feel about those additions? How do you feel about Callum being represented, in particular, on a jacket that holds such important symbolisation for you?” 

“Well, it…you know about Remus, about Moony. Lily put the embroidery there to represent the pack. And the boys are his pack now, too. Callum is his pup, so it feels…fine. Right, I suppose,” Sirius admitted. 

“Right,” Emmeline parroted as she scratched her quill along the parchment again. “And when you said you had some drinks and felt, were those feelings about the pack? Do you think that’s what led to your blow-up?” 

“Yes and no. I—I did think about the pack thing. But it was more to the point of…well, Remus, and the fact that he did all of this without me.” 

“Getting married and having a child?” Emmeline asked. When he nodded, she continued, “Which circles back to jealousy, I’d imagine? He married someone else and built a life with them, and that was supposed to be you, wasn’t it?” 

“It was.” Sirius’s voice cracked, and he cast his eyes up to the ceiling, blinking back tears as he continued, “I wanted it so bad, Emme. Hell, I even…during that last fight Remus and I had, before we split and everything went to shit, I begged him. On my knees, kneeling on the bed as I held his face in my hands and sobbed, I begged him to lie to me. To give me a bit of hope, something to fucking live for. To let me pretend. And do you know what he said?” 

He stood from his chair and began to pace, gesticulating wildly as he continued, “He said no. Can you fucking believe that? He said ‘No, Sirius, I can’t. I love you too much to lie to you.’ Said he was dangerous, the fucking git. He said—he swore that he would never get married, never have kids. And then he just—he fucking lied.” 

“I’m sure it feels that way. I’m sure, in part, you’re wondering if, when he said he’d never get married or have children, he just meant he didn’t want that with you,” Emmeline supplied. Sirius came to a standstill, lacing his fingers together behind his neck as he stared down at her, then gave a reluctant nod. 

“Yeah,” he admitted. “I—yeah, Em. I guess that’s a big part of it. Moony, you know? The fucking wolf is all mate and breed, and I couldn’t give him that. I think it always felt like Remus was just…half in.” 

“Did it feel that way, or did you feel that way?” 

“Gods, you’re so—” He sighed and slumped back down into the chair. “Fine. I worried about it. Constantly. But Remus always acted like it didn’t matter. He never made me feel like I wasn’t what he wanted. He told me he didn’t even want those things, but there was still always some part of me that worried he’d find her some day; that girl Moony decided they needed to keep.” 

“And he did find her,” Emmeline said, her voice dripping with understanding. “What did you say? In your ‘blow up’ to Remus?” 

“Everything,” Sirius laughed. “Most of it, anyway. I yelled at him for marrying her, for marking her. I told him he was a prick, and that he was the only thing I ever wanted, the person I imagined a life with, and that it was… well, shitty of him, to move on so fast. Though I think I was a bit more of an arse about it.” 

“I’m sure you were,” Emmeline said with amusement. “And what did Remus say?”

“He just—he just kept saying it was complicated. Complicated,” Sirius huffed, throwing his hands up. “What do I even do with that? How am I supposed to feel about the fact that I can’t even get him to defend himself? He just…basically told me I don’t understand.” 

“Well, I can’t tell you how to feel. But I can make a suggestion,” Emmeline told him. 

“Fine,” he spat, waving his hand dismissively. “Suggest. What’s my exercise this time?” 

“I want you to hold space for things you don’t understand.” 

“How do I do that?”

“You’ll figure it out. I’m very confident in your ability to figure things out, Sirius.”

☆─────☆☾☼☽☆─────☆

None of the adults had said a word to one another since they’d returned from Harry’s intake meeting with the paediatric mindhealer. Sirius wasn’t sure how to feel about any of it. He’d expected there to be some actual mindhealing going on, but it turned out the healer merely wanted to talk to the grown-ups. 

Harry played in the corner with Callum, keeping his back to the room as if to shield the baby while Mindhealer Merrick peppered the adults with questions after they’d stumbled through their introductions and their relationships to Harry, finally settling on the simplest truth—Sirius was his godfather, and Remus and Hermione were his guardians. 

The healer knew who Harry was, just as anyone else in the magical world would have, and the way he’d looked at the boy all starry-eyed had annoyed Sirius. He could tell Remus was uncomfortable by it as well, but Hermione pushed forward, asking more questions than even the healer did. 

It was nearly impressive, the way she advocated for Harry. She demanded to know the healer’s credentials, asked for a brief history of his successes and the types of cases he’d managed, and then steamrolled her way through a conversation where she picked apart every response the healer had and made him explain in more detail while she asked how he would treat this symptom or that. 

It all culminated in Hermione surging up from her chair and picking both boys up to leave the office without a word, while Remus stumbled through an apology before he and Sirius followed. 

And then…silence. 

He wasn’t even sure what set her off. The healer sounded knowledgeable enough, and sure, some of his methods seemed a bit off-the-wall to Sirius, but he wasn’t the professional, so he didn’t see the big deal. 

After they’d gotten home, Hermione had headed straight upstairs with the boys, and Remus followed. Sirius, feeling helpless and shut out, made his way to the kitchen. 

He needed to do something—anything, really, to busy his hands and his mind, so he opened the cooling cabinet to see what they had to eat and began pulling out ingredients. 

Sirius loved to cook. He hadn’t expected to be good at it, but—not to be full of himself—he was rather brilliant in the kitchen. After he’d inherited some gold when his Uncle Alphard passed, and he, Remus, Caradoc and Peter got a flat together, Sirius had barely known what all the knobs and switches and little devices in the kitchen did. 

Having grown up in a family such as his, there was never a need to learn to cook, since the house elves managed it all. So, in typical fashion, as soon as he had his own place, he rebelled and began experimenting with recipes as he tried to teach himself. 

Remus quickly became frustrated with all the burnt mystery meals Sirius tried to serve him, but he supported his efforts and understood how important it was to Sirius that he learn to do something on his own, so he gifted him with a whole stack of cookbooks and a new set of pots and pans that Christmas after saving for months. 

Now—or, by the time he had been thrown into Azkaban—Sirius could throw down in the kitchen with the best of them. And he had, because Lily Potter was the best cook he’d ever met, but he considered himself a close second. 

Moving about the kitchen reminded him of that; of her. He and Lily used to spend hours cooking and baking together while she sang off-key to that annoying doo-wop shit she loved to listen to. 

Gods, he missed her. But there, in the kitchen, as he stirred the gravy and began to saute some vegetables and found himself humming to the tune of Earth Angel, he felt her in a way he hadn’t since the night he’d found her and James. 

It was good for him, he thought. The cooking. And it felt nice, as well, to feel like he was contributing, rather than roaming around their house like a ghost. He thought maybe he should do this more often—and, begrudgingly, thought he probably ought to bring this new development up to Emmeline at his next visit. 

She’d call it progress. 

He thought that maybe it was. 

☆─────☆☾☼☽☆─────☆

“This looks amazing,” Remus said with a bit of a laugh in his voice as he pulled a chair out for Hermione and then took the seat next to her. “I, erm…missed your cooking, Pads.” 

“Thanks,” Sirius mumbled, looking down at his plate as he fought the urge to—something. Cry? Run? He wasn’t sure which impulse was stronger in that moment. 

But it was something, he supposed. An indication that Remus had thought of him while they were apart. 

“Are the boys asleep?” Sirius asked, trying to make conversation as he reached for his water glass. 

“They are,” Remus responded. “Bit late for a nap, so they’ll be up half the night, but I don’t work tomorrow, so I don’t mind. I’d rather have to entertain them until midnight than listen to them fuss all evening.” 

“I’d imagine. I, erm…well, I’m usually up late, if they get too rowdy and you need a hand,” Sirius offered. He nearly winced at the awkwardness with which he spoke. He hadn’t quite figured out how to combat that aspect of things every time he tried to have a conversation with Remus. 

Maybe, in time, they’d figure out how to at least exist in the same space as one another without being so fucking weird. 

A silence fell across the room, then, and he shifted uncomfortably in his chair as he tried to think of something—anything to say, but he came up short. 

Thankfully, Hermione seemed to sense the tension and began to chatter, going over everything the healer had said. Sirius nodded and half-paid attention, but when she paused, glancing over toward Remus, his attention piqued. 

“I’d like to get a second opinion about Harry’s care,” she began tentatively. “From a child psychologist.”

“A Muggle doctor?” Sirius asked, raising an eyebrow.

“If you think that’s what's best, cariad,” Remus replied. “We’ll see about getting it set up tomorrow, first thing.”

“There’s no bloody way,” Sirius protested, shaking his head. “That’s too much of a risk. What if he—well, he’s a magical child, being raised in a magical family. What if he…you know…mentions magic?”

“He’s three,” Hermione responded. “They’ll just brush it off as him being imaginative. Besides, I just want to get a second opinion, to see how someone trained to use a more science-based approach would handle trauma such as his.”

“Why on earth would he need someone to poke around his brain with their science?” Sirius scoffed. He hated the idea. He’d never really dealt with Muggle physicians, and he certainly didn’t hold any prejudice, but there was simply a way of doing things. 

A magical child required magical care, and that’s just the way it was supposed to be. 

“What if they damage his magical core, or traumatise him worse? I mean, if he goes in there blabbing about magic and they tell him it’s not real, won’t that do more harm than good?”

“That’s not how it works, Pads,” Remus sighed. “They don’t enter his mind at all. They’d simply talk with him.”

“Besides, science is a good thing, Sirius. It is rooted in provable fact, whereas magical treatment is rooted in…” Hermione trailed off as if she were choosing her next words carefully. 

“Magic?” Sirius supplied gruffly. “And what’s so wrong with that? Magic is powerful. And I’ll be honest, some of those treatments didn’t sound so bad.” 

“The healer suggested obliviating him!” Hermione leaned forward, jabbing a finger against the table. “I will not let anyone be involved in Harry’s care who thinks they can just—just fucking take from him. Not even his bad memories. He’s lost enough.” 

“Cariad,” Remus said in a soothing tone as he reached over to place his hand on her thigh. “Nobody is going to take anything from him. We won’t let that happen, okay?” 

Sirius narrowed his eyes, watching as Hermione turned and gave Remus a tight, watery smile, and something inside of him—that stupid, burning thing in his chest—roared to life. 

“So you’d rather make him live with the fucking trauma than let someone take it away?” he spat. “Real fucking caring of you, Hermione. And good on you, Remus. Let her run the fucking show, why don’t you?” 

“Don’t,” Remus warned, his tone so hard it could have cut glass as his eyes snapped to Sirius, who reared back in his chair as he watched his eyes flash gold.

Stupid, creepy wolf. 

“Never speak to her like that again,” Remus continued. “I will only warn you once. But you’re right. She does run the show when it comes to those boys. If Hermione says no, it's a no.”  

“Remus, it’s okay.” Hermione reached down and laced her fingers with his, and they shared a look before he visibly relaxed. 

“Sirius, I understand that we’re not going to see eye-to-eye on this. For one, you don’t know much about Muggle science, so I’m sure it's scary. And with three people taking care of a child, there are going to be differences in opinion. I can’t say… I can’t make you understand why I need to see this through. I can only ask that you recognise that I would never do anything I didn’t think was the best for Harry,” Hermione paused, a shadowy look falling across her face before she shook her head. 

“Can we just agree to schedule an evaluation, and then see how everyone feels about it?” she continued. “The psychologist would merely have a conversation with us, just as the mindhealer did today.”

Hold space for things you don’t understand. 

“Fine,” he agreed. “Just an evaluation, though. Same as today. Then we can all talk and decide which pathway is better for him.” 

“Perfect,” Hermione grinned and relaxed in an instant, as if they hadn’t all been about to tear each other’s throats out. “Now, let's eat. I’m starving, and this smells delicious. Thank you for handling dinner, Sirius.” 

“Least I could do,” he mumbled. 

☆─────☆☾☼☽☆─────☆

Chapter Text

𝚁𝚎𝚖𝚞𝚜

.·:·.☆☾☼☽☆.·:·.

Remus sat on the floor near a low bookshelf, scribbling away at a notepad as he added the latest titles to his inventory, though he wasn’t even sure why he bothered trying to keep any sort of record of what Sheila brought into the shop. 

Last month, he’d walked in to find a shelf of wet specimens and animal skulls near the counter that held the till. This month, she seemed determined to turn the entire place into a veritable bookshop. It was nice, though, the way she just sort of…flowed in whichever direction she wanted. 

His mind drifted as he worked, building a list of what they needed to purchase when they took Harry to get a new pair of wellies that weekend. Callum was nearly too long for all of his babygrows, and Harry was in dire need of new socks and a rain jacket before spring, and—

|| Mate. Pups ||

Remus scrambled to his feet, the notepad falling forgotten to the floor, and rushed toward the front of the shop in time to see Hermione stepping inside, one hand braced on Callum’s back as he sat in the new carrier Remus had gotten her for Christmas, and the other placed in Harry’s.

“Is everything okay?” he asked, looking between the three rapidly as he searched for any sign of injury. 

“Everything is fine,” she reassured him. “Everybody is safe.” 

“Good,” he sighed in relief. Harry broke away from Hermione to barrel toward him, and he picked him up, situating him on his hip. Pressing his nose to Harry’s temple, he sniffed him quickly before he pulled back to look at his face. 

“Did you just want to come see Uncle Moony at work, then, washi?” 

“Yep,” Harry popped the P, tangling his fingers in the hair at the side of Remus’s head as he continued, “Auntie Mimi said ‘that’s it, we are getting out of this badword house,’ and then we gotted our shoes and got warm to go for a walk.” 

“A bad word?” Remus made a shocked expression before he looked at Hermione, tutting his tongue. “Did you put a sickle in the swear jar, little witch?” 

“I did. A certain someone refused to put on his coat until he watched me do it,” she laughed, then wrinkled her nose. “We were just having a very fussy, very grumpy day, and I was feeling…I just needed air, you know?” 

Remus nodded his understanding. Air. It was important to her, more than most. She took the boys outside or to the park every chance she got and spent hours in the backyard. When he’d had the idea to get them a play structure before Christmas, the month before last, she’d lost her mind in the best of ways. 

Being in the bunker had changed her. He may not have known who she was before it all happened, but he didn’t need to. She’d told him enough, and the rest, he could see clearly in the way that she got sometimes. Claustrophobic, almost, as if the walls were closing in on her and she couldn’t breathe unless she got outside as fast as she could. 

Even now, he could see her tapping her fingers against Callum’s back as she tried to soothe herself, counting breaths or light fixtures or whatever her mind had fixated on. 

“Cariad?” 

“Yeah?” Her eyes snapped back to his, and he saw a tiny flash of relief float across her face, which made his chest swell with pride. He liked that; the way he could ground her. 

|| Finally doing your damn job || 

Whomp, whomp

|| Mature ||

“Hi.” He grinned, closing the distance between them, and shifted Harry to his other hip as he bent his head to sniff the sleeping baby before he leaned in to kiss her on the cheek. “Bad brain day?” 

“Not entirely,” she replied. “I was just a bit stir-crazy, and it was warmer today than it's been lately. We were going to go to the park, but Callum fell asleep before we got there, and Harry insisted we keep walking, lest we wake his baby, so I thought we’d pop in. I just…wanted to see you. I hope that’s okay?” 

“Always,” Remus told her. “You can always come to me. Do you need me to clock out for the day, come home so you can rest? Sheila is…somewhere.” He looked over his shoulder, craning his neck to look for her amongst the erratically aligned shelves. 

“Sheila is right here,” she called out. Remus jerked his head to the side, suppressing a laugh as he saw her hand in the air above a low shelf a few metres away. 

“Sheila!” Harry squealed and began to wiggle in Remus’s arms, so he bent to set the lad on his feet, laughing when Harry immediately made a beeline for the old woman. 

“Whatcha doin’, Sheila?” he asked curiously, peeking around the shelf. “Hey! It’s not floor time!” 

“It’s always a good time for floor time,” Sheila responded. She sat up and scooted away from the shelf, putting herself in Remus’s line of sight, and patted the floor next to her. Harry scrambled over and sat down, a contemplative look on his face as he glanced around. 

“This is a good time for floor time,” he finally announced before he looked up, holding his arms out expectantly. “My baby.” 

“Full sentences on talking days, washi,” Remus reminded him gently. 

“May can I hold my baby now, please?” Harry said primly.

“Of course, little love,” Hermione responded. She moved to lift Callum out of the carrier, but Remus shook his head and stepped in front of her, reaching behind her neck to untie the wrap before he carefully unwound it and shifted the sleeping baby to his arms. 

“Go sit,” he ordered, nodding toward the chair near the till. 

“Yes, sir,” Hermione laughed and gave a mock salute. Remus watched her turn to walk away, taking a moment to appreciate the way her denims hugged her arse.

|| No more work. Take her home. The Mate is stressed. Needs to be knotted || 

Or she needs to not be treated like a warm body every time she’s stressed out. 

|| Wrong || 

Remus rolled his eyes and refocused on the task at hand, turning to crouch down before Harry. 

“Careful. Try not to wake him,” he murmured as he shifted the sleeping baby into the little boy’s waiting arms. Harry nodded as he wrapped his arms around Callum, rocking slightly, and Remus sat down in front of them, admiring the sight as Sheila reached for his hand, pulling it into her lap and turning it over on her knee. 

“Do you see here, Harry, how your uncle’s hand has this sort of pronounced spot near his thumb?” 

“What’s nounced?” Harry asked, furrowing his brow. 

“Pronounced,” Hermione corrected. “It means that it stands out, so we can see it clearly.” 

“Right. Yes.” He nodded his understanding. “Why is it doing that?” 

“This is called the Mount of Venus. On some hands, it can be flat, but when it's rounded like this, it means the bearer is a very sensual person. Now, sensual means—” 

“Nope,” Remus cut in. 

“Oh, pish, posh.” Sheila rolled her eyes, “Fine, then. What this means is that your uncle can love real big. And these lines here are the heart lines. See how he has so many? Most only have one, so when we see a palm with numerous heart lines, it means the person has a greater chance of finding their soulmate, or multiple big, great loves.” 

“Like me and my baby?” Harry asked. 

“Well, not quite, little lion,” Sheila responded. “Grown-up love.” 

“Oh. You mean snogging stuff,” Harry wrinkled his nose. “My Auntie Mimi is Uncle Moony’s mate. I heared him say it lots. Is that the souled mate thing?” 

Remus stiffened, casting a nervous glance over his shoulder toward Hermione before he straightened. 

“It can be one and the same, though when he says that to Mimi, he means it in a bigger way, because she’s the mate his wolf chose,” Sheila said matter-of-factly. 

“You—my—” Remus sputtered as panic flooded his body, causing his hand to tremble as he reached up to tug on his hair. 

“Remus, I worship the moon,” Sheila said, her voice rife with amusement. “Did you really think I’d miss the fact that your body is attuned to her cycle?” 

“I, erm…I suppose I didn’t think of that,” Remus replied nervously.

|| Old woman knows about Moony. Accepts. I’m touched ||

This is weird. 

|| You’re weird ||

Thanks for the help, bud. 

“I’m not dangerous,” Remus rushed out quickly. “I—I mean, I show up for work, and I—I—”

“Remus,” Hermione spoke up, and he swallowed through the lump in his throat as he faced her. “You’re okay. If Sheila thought you were a danger, I highly doubt she would have kept you working here so long.” 

“Exactly. Smart mate you got there,” Sheila said. 

|| Oh, I like her ||

“Now, there will be none of that gawking,” Sheila scolded softly. “Hermione is right. I have no fear for my safety. The shop is closed around the full moon, and you haven’t broken free of wherever you transform to eat me yet, so I’d say we’re on the right track.” 

Remus laughed despite himself as relief coursed through his veins. Moony was preening, pleased as punch over being acknowledged. He looked back over at Sheila, intending to thank her for her understanding, but Callum let out a shrill cry before he could speak. 

“My baby needs your boobies, Auntie Mimi,” Harry said. 

“Right. Deliver the milk monster to me, would you, Remus?” Hermione asked. 

Remus chuckled and reached out to take Callum from Harry’s arms. Callum squirmed as Remus stood, batting a pudgy little fist against his chest as he demanded, “Mmmm Mamamama,” before he began to cry harder. 

“Shhhh, Cubby. You’re alright,” Remus said in a soothing tone. “Mama’s right here.” 

He leaned down to hand the baby off to Hermione, then forced himself to step away, lest he get too distracted by the sight of her nursing. 

Sheila had taken Harry’s hand and was murmuring to him as she traced a finger over his palm, so Remus leaned back against the counter, content to watch them for a moment. 

He liked Sheila. He always had, really, and working for her was nice. Calm and steady, flexible. He couldn’t have asked for a better job, though he’d had half a mind to quit before she could fire him months ago. 

But then Hermione showed up at his door, baby in tow, and his world shifted. He had certainly never imagined himself in it for the long haul at the strangest little shop he’d ever seen with the strangest old woman he’d ever met for a boss, but it was nice.

Moony liked her too. Her snark always pleased the wolf, and he loved how good she was with the kids, so honestly, even if it wasn’t the job he’d once hoped for, knowing she knew and accepted what he was solidified something for him, and that ever-present urge to run was, shockingly, absent.

“Hey, Uncle Moony?” Harry asked, pulling him from his thoughts.

“What’s up, washi?” 

“What’s that?” Harry pointed a finger over Remus’s shoulder, and he winced, knowing what the lad had spotted without the need to look behind him. Sheila had been slowly phasing out the headshop part of the shop, because she’d grown bored with selling tobacco pipes and the like, but there were a few remnants still lingering about. 

“Those are, erm…” 

“Vases, little love,” Hermione interjected. “For flowers.” 

“Ohhhh,” Harry drew out the word, nodding. “We gots to take one of the bases home, Uncle Moony, so we can get my Aunt Mimi some flowers.” 

“Ah,” Sheila sighed. “I’m sorry, Harry. It seems these vases are defective. But I was working on some flower pressings earlier today. Would you like to see them?” 

“You pressed them?” Harry furrowed his brow. “I don’t get it.”

“Well, help me up, then, Remus, so I can show him. These old grandma bones don’t work like they used to,” Sheila commanded.

“What’s grandma bones?” Harry asked curiously. 

“They’re like normal bones, but dreadfully ancient.” 

“I don’t have a grandma,” Harry said, matter-of-factly. 

“Well, that’s a shame,” Sheila said, sighing softly. “I never had any grandkids, so I fear we’re in the same boat.”

“We’re not in a boat.” Harry paused, pursing his lips as he stared over at Sheila. “If you don’t have grandkids, you could have me and my baby, and you can be our grandma, like Emily Elizabeth’s grandma in my Clifford books.”

“I believe that is exactly who I should be, my little lion,” Sheila said, reaching out to tap Harry’s palm. 

|| Pack || 

Yeah. She is, isn’t she?

“Did my little lines tell you that?” he asked curiously. 

“Your little lines told me big secrets.” Sheila shot Remus a conspiratorial grin before she raised a hand to her mouth and leaned in, whispering to Harry. His eyes went wide, and he nodded his understanding, then mirrored her movements and whispered something back to her. 

“This feels dangerous,” Remus mused playfully.

“Undoubtedly,” Hermione agreed with a laugh. 

“My little lines said that ‘cuz Sheila’s my grandma now, I can call her Gran and she gets to give me biscuits any time she wants,” Harry announced excitedly. “Can we have biscuits now?”

“We can absolutely have biscuits now, washi,” Remus said, choking back the wave of emotion that he felt climbing its way up his throat. Gods, it was surreal. Harry was making progress; his pack was settling, growing. 

Sirius was even almost conversational with him at times. 

Things were getting better all the time, and his boys would have this beautiful life, and it was all so incredible, but sometimes he didn’t know where to put all of the feelings. 

It was all because of Hermione, and that fact alone made him want to scoop up the boys and apparate them all home so he could just…curl up and sniff her for a bit. 

|| Now you’re speaking my language ||

You’re so annoying.

|| You’re happy. Stop being a dick about it and thank Moony for finding the good Mate ||

That wasn’t even you. 

|| Future, past. Moony doesn’t care about time. It’s all ours ||

Yeah, it is. She is. 

|| There you go ||

☆────☆☾☼☽☆────☆

𝚂𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚞𝚜

.·:·.☆☾☼☽☆.·:·.

Two months to the day, and sometimes Sirius still woke up forgetting he was free. 

Freedom was a strange concept. He certainly didn’t feel free, in this house with this family, but even he had to admit he wasn’t as miserable as he had been in the beginning. 

Emmeline called it progress, and he supposed it was. He cooked dinner most nights—since Remus and Hermione were both terrible in the kitchen, and honestly, he’d gotten sick of burnt lasagna and questionably spongy pancakes — and helped pick up around the house when the mood struck. 

He also spent time with the boys every day, and as reluctant as he was to admit it, he didn’t hate it. He still hated the bigger picture, but the kids were a soft place to land. It was easy with them, without all the weight that still lay between all of the adults. 

As for the adults, they’d reached a tenuous sort of understanding. They engaged in conversation when the kids were around, but aside from that, he tried to give them a wide berth. He spent a lot of time in his room, finding more comfort in the small space, where everything was his, and they weren’t…there, loving each other all over the place. 

He hated it here, more often than not. But getting to be around Harry was worth it. After their initial spat over Harry’s healer appointment, they’d gone along with her idea and taken him to a Muggle head doctor. Sirius hated it. The office was too bright, everything was too loud, and the woman droned on and on. 

Thankfully, Hermione—who Remus seemed perfectly content to allow to make every fucking decision—declared that a bust as well. After conferring with Emmeline, she found a new healer who was Muggleborn and had gone to university for a degree in counselling before her residency at St. Mungo’s, so now, Harry saw Mindhealer Wardwell every Thursday. 

He also saw a Muggle tooth doctor and some guy who helped with his diet, and had put on some weight, so he looked healthier than ever. 

And he was thriving. For all his resentment, Sirius had to give her that. She was on top of Harry’s needs, even if her reasoning and methodology often escaped him, such as when she declared the boy needed glasses when, to the best of Sirius’s knowledge, he hadn’t even shown any signs of having vision issues. 

But, in what Sirius had quickly learned was true fashion, she’d been right. At least the little round spectacles that never seemed to stay put on the bridge of his nose were cute. 

He wasn’t even sure why he was retracing everything in his head. His thoughts just couldn’t seem to stop spiralling today, but in his defence, the day had been a long one. Sirius had gone to an appointment with Emmeline, where she picked a little too hard at the scab he’d carefully constructed over the Remus-shaped wound inside his chest, only to return home in the middle of the boys’ naptime to find the fucker shirtless and sweaty in the kitchen, smelling like sex and looking like every stupid fucking memory that haunted Sirius at night. 

Except, in the memories, there was no bushy-haired witch hastily jumping off the counter and pulling her pants back up as she stumbled through an apology, whilst Remus wiped her slick from his mouth with the back of his hand.

Jealousy. 

Jealousy had taken life inside of Sirius’s veins, built a home beneath his ribcage, and he couldn’t get rid of it, no matter how hard he tried. So it sat, and it festered, rotting away inside of him, even as he sat in the armchair in the sitting room after dinner, trying to ignore the ache while Remus and Hermione chatted and she fidgeted with a little ring of brightly-coloured, key-shaped teething toys. 

“Do you need some help?” Remus asked, one hand idly running through her hair as she sat on the floor in front of the sofa where he lay. The boys were playing next to her, Harry fake-reading his way through a book as Callum lay on a blanket, chewing his fist and grunting. 

Sirius wondered when—and if—babies ever stopped teething. He had half a mind to ask, but he was in a mood, so he merely sat and brooded some more.

“No, I think I’ve got it. I just need to fix the clasp,” Hermione replied.

“Mama mama mama,” Callum babbled, arching his back to reach a hand out toward Hermione.

“In a minute, cubby,” Harry cooed, patting the baby’s tummy. “We have to let our mama finish fixing it.”

“Don’t call her that,” Sirius snapped. 

The words slipped out unbidden, far too harsh as they seemed to echo in the suddenly silent room, but he couldn’t help himself. That damn thing that always picked at his mind reared its ugly head faster than he could stop it. 

Every time he saw Harry climb onto Hermione’s lap for a cuddle or clung to her, this warring feeling rose in his chest. He was so glad Harry had her. He was so fucking angry that he had to have her, because it should be Lily. 

Lily should have been the one cheering him on when he learned to spell his name or soothing him through his nightmares. James should have been the one piggy-backing him up the stairs for bedtime while he giggled and squealed. 

It wasn’t their fault. He knew that. But it felt as if with every small step Harry took toward healing with Remus and Hermione, he took two giant steps away from James and Lily. 

It wasn’t fair. 

It wasn’t fucking fair, and they should have gotten to be here for all his little moments, and she wasn’t his fucking mother, and he just couldn’t hear it.

“She is not your mother,” Sirius spat, then repeated, “Don’t call her that.”

Harry turned carefully, as if in slow motion, and tilted his head back to stare up at him. Sirius flinched at the hurt written across his little face and reached a hand out toward him, but Harry took several steps back and silently turned to walk out of the room.

“What the fuck are you—” Remus began, quickly cutting himself off as Harry stepped back into the room. 

“Harry, do you want me to take you up to your room?” Hermione asked softly. Harry shook his head and walked over to her, leaning in to kiss her on the cheek before he turned and bent at the waist, reaching for the edge of the blanket where Callum lay. 

Nobody said a word as they watched Harry carefully drag the baby, blanket and all, toward the conservatory. Once he’d placed Callum inside of the ‘moon fort’ Remus and Harry had constructed—a mess of blankets strung over chairs, open at the top to let in the moonlight on the nights Callum needed it—Harry turned, glaring once more at Sirius before he did his best to slam the flap of the blanket closed. 

As soon as the boys were out of sight, Remus leapt from the couch, his eyes molten gold as a growl emanated from his chest. 

“Wait,” Hermione ordered, climbing to her feet as she tugged her wand out of her hair and flung a Muffliato toward the fort. Remus watched, his chest heaving. Once he was satisfied that the boys wouldn’t hear, he spun to face Sirius. 

“Don’t you ever raise your fucking voice to him again,” he spat through clenched teeth. 

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Sirius shot back, slowly rising from his chair. He took a step forward, then another, clenching his fists at his sides as he came chest-to-chest with Remus. “You don’t scare me, and you don’t get to pretend this shit is okay.”

“I swear to the gods, Pads, I will fucking end you if you ever act—”

“Moony,” Hermione moved, then, hastily shoving Sirius back as she stepped between them and placed a hand on Remus’s chest. He squeezed his eyes shut, clenching his jaw for a moment, then nodded, holding his hands up as he took several steps back. 

“Thank you.” She turned to face Sirius, tilting her head. The look she gave him was cutting, rife with disappointment, as if she’d thought he was better than what he’d done. 

And maybe he was. 

But still, he couldn’t shake the way it felt to hear Harry call her that. Our Mama. As if he were hers. It wasn’t right, and it hurt, and he’d been locked up so tight, swallowing the words that he wanted to scream at Remus like they were venom, clenching his teeth through every interaction with Hermione, who oscillated between pushing him too hard and being too fucking soft and kind, and it was so fucking bright in that stupid sitting room, and it all just… exploded, bubbling out of him like lava. 

“You are not his fucking mother, Hermione. You can tuck him in at night and take him to the healer, and you can play pretend with your happy little fucking family, but you will never be his mother.” 

“Sirius, I won’t tell you—”

“Shut up, Remus,” Hermione snapped. She immediately winced, then looked over her shoulder as she added, “Just...let me.” 

Remus studied her face, then gave a single nod before he fixed Sirius with a deadly stare. 

“Go on,” Hermione prompted, turning back to him. “Get it off your chest.” 

“Oh, you want me to keep going? Fine,” Sirius laughed, throwing his hands up. “You barely even fucking knew Lily, and you didn’t know James at all! You have no right to swoop in and play Mummy like their son belongs to you. It's wrong, it’s—it’s fucking selfish, is what it is.”

“You think I’m selfish because a three-year-old, who hears another child call me Mama every day, let the word slip out?” she asked. 

She was too calm, which only sought to piss him off even more. “I think you’re selfish for a lot of fucking reasons, kitten.” 

“No, you don’t. You don’t think I’m selfish at all, Sirius. You just hate that I stand where I do. You hate that I’m Remus’s wife, and you hate that I am his mate. You hate that I had his child, and you hate that I’m here, taking care of Harry, because it reminds you that Lily isn’t.” 

“Of course I bloody hate it. You don’t belong here!” Sirius roared. Remus tensed, but Hermione reached a hand behind her, resting it on his chest as she continued to glare at Sirius. 

“I love Harry, more than you could even begin to comprehend,” she began, “so let me be perfectly clear; that little boy can call me whatever the fuck he wants.”

“You don’t—” 

“I’m not finished,” she snapped. “Harry is mine. I am not Lily, and there is no world in which I would try to replace her, but he is mine now. If he wants to call me Mama, then he can, because there is nothing that little boy can’t have from me. There is not a single fucking thing I would ever deny him, and I don’t give a kneazle’s arse what you have to say about it. This is Harry’s home. His family. His world, and he gets to make his own fucking choices now.” 

Sirius faltered, running a hand through his hair as he shook his head. 

He was so fucking angry, but gods, the way she defended her love for Harry was intoxicating to bear witness to. She was so fucking fierce, like a lion protecting her cubs—or, he supposed, a wolf protecting her pups would make for the more apt analogy.

But he wanted to be angry. He needed it, in that same childish way he’d always sought comfort in being an arsehole when nothing made sense, so he rolled his eyes. 

“You just don’t know when to quit, do you?” He scoffed, “You can be here for him and give him a decent life without trying to fill shoes you were never meant to stand in.” 

Remus growled then, a low, rumbling warning, but Sirius ignored it. He was being a dick; he knew he was pushing too far, but he couldn’t stop himself. There was too much built up inside of him, tearing his throat to shreds like he’d swallowed a handful of razorblades, and he couldn’t hold it inside anymore. 

“You don’t get to rule his life and just—try to micromanage everything. I’m his godfather, and Remus should have been, but you, you’re just… some half-American cousin who swept in and—”

“Took Remus?” Hermione raised an eyebrow. Sirius clamped his mouth shut, digging his nails into his palms as he clenched his fists tighter. 

He wanted to protest; to tell her that wasn’t what this was about, but he couldn’t. He was angry over Harry; of course, he was angry over Harry. But this fight had been brewing since the first moment he’d stepped into this very room and seen some strange witch holding Remus’s child.

Lacking the strength it would have taken to deny her insinuation, he merely glared at her as he waited for her to keep going. 

He wanted her to be angrier; he wanted her to fight him, but she gave him a sad, nearly pitying look before she spoke again in a softer voice.

“Harry is going to have the best fucking life, because I am here, right where I fucking belong.” She paused for a moment, letting her words hang in the air between them as if she were daring him to challenge her before she continued, “He is happy. He is healthy. He is loved. And if he wants to call me Mum? If that brings him comfort or helps him feel like he belongs? Then he gets that, because he gets the fucking world. You don’t have to like it, Sirius, but you need to respect the fact that Harry deserves to make his own choices.”

“He does deserve that, Hermione. Of course he does. But you’re not his mother,” he repeated weakly. “You will never be his mother.” 

“You’re wrong,” she stated simply, calm and collected. “The adoption finalises this summer, so I’d suggest you learn to live with the fact that I’m not going away, because Harry loves me. Don’t make him have to hate you in order to keep loving me.” 

She turned without another word, tucking her face against Remus’s chest. He wrapped his arms around her and bent his head to whisper in her ear, his eyes never leaving Sirius. Hermione nodded, and he pulled back, looking down at her briefly before he kissed her. 

And then, he looked back up. 

Making direct eye contact with Sirius, Remus brought his hands up to cup Hermione’s face. He slid his tongue into her mouth, and Sirius bit the inside of his cheek as he shivered under Remus's scathing, hazel-eyed stare.

All hazel, without a hint of burning amber.

This wasn't animalistic. It wasn't merely Moony claiming his Mate. No, it was something that, somehow, felt even bigger.

This was Remus himself. The man, speaking loud and clear in a silent ‘fuck you’ as he snogged the wife Sirius had just insulted.

It was a claiming; a declaration that, even without words, Sirius understood. 

He'd fucked with Remus's wife, and it wouldn't stand.

Message received.

Hermione pulled back, smiling up at Remus weakly as she patted his chest, then made her way into the conservatory, pulling back the blanket and climbing into the fort. Remus exited the room without a word, and Sirius stood, staring blankly at the spot they’d vacated, until he felt Remus thrust his jacket against his chest. 

“Get the fuck outside. Now,” Remus ordered, already making his way toward the door. 

Here we fucking go.

☆─────☆☾☼☽☆─────☆

𝚁𝚎𝚖𝚞𝚜

.·:·.☆☾☼☽☆.·:·.

Remus kept his eyes trained on the fence across the back garden, every muscle in his body coiled tight as he smoked a cigarette, then another. He finally began to relax enough to speak, but lit a third before he finally opened his mouth.

“You will never speak to my wife like that again,” he said sternly, turning to face where Sirius sat in one of the iron chairs on the back patio. “The next time you so much as raise your voice to her, I will pack your shit myself.” 

“That eager to get rid of me, hmmm?” Sirius jabbed, glaring up at him defiantly.  “Have I outstayed my welcome?” 

“Knock it the fuck off,” Remus snapped. “Just—just fucking stop. You’re angry with me. You’re grieving Lily and James. You’re all pent up and pissed off, and I get it. I do. But tell me one thing Hermione has done to deserve the way you spoke to her today.” 

|| Good, boy. Defend our mate || 

“I—she’s brilliant. Fine,” Sirius spat, waving a hand. “She’s good. She didn’t deserve it. But still, she should have corrected him, or…she just sat there and didn’t even react.” 

Remus took a final drag from his cigarette and flicked it into the can nearby. Grabbing the back of the chair across from Sirius, dragging it forward until it was so close that their knees knocked together as he took a seat.

“She didn’t react because she was ready for him to call her that,” Remus stated plainly.

“I’m sure she was,” Sirius huffed. “Probably made her fucking week.” 

“Pads,” Remus shook his head in exasperation, then sighed. “Stop with the snarky bullshit and just listen. Please.” 

Sirius stared him down for several seconds before he relented. “Fine.” 

“Hermione was well-prepared for the fact that Harry would likely call her Mum someday, just as we’ve been prepared for the fact that he’d call me ‘Dad’—which he has. Four times.” 

“And you just…let him?” 

“Of course.” Remus sighed and leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. “All the parenting books say it's a possibility in any blended family, but especially one where the children are so young. Callum calls us Mama and Dada. Harry sees us taking care of him just as we do the baby, and some part of him probably craves the connection of getting to use those titles. 

“Hermione and I have talked about the fact that this day would come, and we agreed not to make him feel awkward about it. He shouldn’t have to. He’s just a little boy, and he doesn’t have a mummy and daddy. And I hate that they’re gone, just as much as you do, but if Hermione and I can show him a parent’s love, then we’re going to do that, gladly. And you should be doing the same, not screaming because he loves his Aunt enough that she feels like a mum.” 

“I just…” Sirius looked away, and Remus watched as a muscle in his jaw flexed. He sat straighter in his chair, preparing himself for the inevitable fight, but Sirius just sighed and shook his head before he looked back at him with watery eyes. 

“I’m just so angry. Remus, I’m so fucking angry all the godsdamn time, and I don’t know where to put it all. Everyone is gone. We lost everyone, except for each other, and then you went off and built this life without me, and…” 

“I know,” Remus’s voice cracked at the pain in Sirius’s eyes. 

He looked so fucking broken, so defeated, and Remus couldn’t stomach it. He leaned forward before he had the time to talk himself out of it and cupped Sirius’s face in his hands, stroking his thumbs over his cheekbones in a desperate attempt to soothe him.

“Please don’t look at me like that,” Remus begged softly.

“I don’t know how to look at you at all anymore,” Sirius admitted.

|| Too much hurt. Already lost one pack. You’re supposed to listen to Moony, boy. Need to make sure he knows we need him ||

I know. 

“I know, fy nghairad. I’m so sorry for what this is doing to you. Please, hear me when I tell you that this is complicated, and it's messy, but it doesn’t just…I didn’t erase you, Sirius. I do have Hermione now, and I love her so much. I’m sorry if that hurts, but I really do love her. But loving her doesn’t mean—” 

“Yeah, I got the fucking memo when I walked in on you eating her cunt on the counter where I cook your fucking dinner,” Sirius scoffed and moved to pull his face out of Remus’s grip, but he held tight.

“Stop it,” he ordered. “Sirius, you have to let go of this anger toward her. She doesn’t deserve it, and she’s so…you have no idea how good she is. Don’t take your anger with me out on her.”

|| Good leader. You’re growing, boy. ||

“But I don’t know where to put it all,” Sirius whispered helplessly. “Don’t you think I see how good she is? Don’t you think that fucking guts me? Do you have any idea how hard I’ve tried to hate her? But every time I turn around, she’s just…right there, being so fucking sweet and understanding. And I see the way she is with you, with the boys, and it’s like I’m looking through the window watching you live this beautiful fucking life, a life that I knew you deserved even when you refused to see it, and I’m just…on the outside, watching her get to love you.” 

Sirius sucked in a ragged breath as a tear slipped down his cheek, and Remus felt his chest seize up as if someone had closed a fist around his entire ribcage. 

|| Pack. Needs to be reminded he’s important. Let him su—||

“I didn’t erase you,” he repeated, forcing Moony’s voice to the back of his mind as he choked on a sob. He let his hands fall away from Sirius’s face to grip the arms of his chair, leaning in closer as he forced Sirius to look him in the eye. 

“You were it,” he croaked. “And they took you from me. And I—I thought you did it. I spent two years thinking the man I loved more than I’ve ever loved anything on this fucking earth killed our best friends. So believe me when I say I know what it feels like to rot away in your own anger.” 

“But you’re not angry anymore,” Sirius replied sadly. “You’re so fucking happy, and my head is so twisted up, because I want you to be happy. I just…you were the best friend I ever had, and now I don’t have you at all. Not really. And we can’t go back to being friends, so I’m just stuck here, watching you move on, and it fucking hurts.” 

“I know, love. I know.” Remus brought a hand to the back of Sirius’s neck and leaned in, pressing their foreheads together as his own tears began to fall. They stayed like that, silently mourning too many losses to name, until Sirius finally, tentatively, wrapped his arms around Remus and tucked his head against his chest. 

Remus held him back, burying his face in Sirius’s hair as they both continued to sob, chests heaving against one another. 

He wanted to say so fucking much, but there was nothing he could say. There was nothing that could fix this, not without Sirius knowing the truth.

 And even then, there wasn’t a way forward for them. 

But gods, he missed him, and he’d been carrying that truth, lodged in his throat, for two bloody months, and he couldn’t do it anymore. 

He pulled back, and Sirius sat up, furiously wiping the tears from his face as he let out a bitter laugh. 

“The only man who's ever made me cry like a little bitch,” he grumbled. 

“Likewise,” Remus replied, a brief smile spreading across his face before he dropped it. 

“We lost everyone, Sirius. And we lost each other. I thought I would be alone forever, and I’m not. I have this life, and she’s…she’s it for me. Not just because of Moony. And that’s messy, and it's sad, but it's our reality. But don’t you dare think, for even a minute, that loving her means I love you any less. Love isn’t…”

He trailed off, searching for the right words to explain what he needed to say. Something Hermione had said to him, the night before Sirius came home, trickled to the forefront of his mind, and a faint smile ghosted across his lips. 

“Love isn’t a finite resource, Sirius.” 

|| Stop being poetic and tell the dog you want to fuck them both ||

Not the time, arsehole.

“Whatever the fuck that means.” Sirius rolled his eyes.

“It means that loving her doesn’t erase all the love I’ve felt for you,” Remus replied. “You’re the only man I’ve ever loved, and she’s the only woman. And everything is…messy, and complicated. But you are here, in this home, because we both wanted you here. Because she wanted you here. And I’m sorry that it’s hard to see me being a dad, and to see her being a mum. I’m sorry that it hurts to look at my son, but—but I have a son, Pads.”

“You have a son,” Sirius repeated, his voice cracking before he let out a shaky laugh. “Gods, he looks just like you, the poor thing.” 

“Yeah, he does,” he laughed. “And you’re being a shit godfather, yelling at his mama and scaring the boy that might as well be his brother. This all hurts, Pads. It’s going to keep hurting, and I—fuck, I wish you knew how much I feel that, too. But those boys deserve better, so you’re going to give them better.”

“Godfather, aye? And your little wife is okay with that?” Sirius quirked an eyebrow as the old familiar mischief crept back into his eyes, and Remus sagged in relief, slumping back in his seat as he lit another cigarette.

“Yep,” he said, blowing the smoke out. “She named him Callum Orion, you know.” 

“You’re shitting me.”

Remus merely shook his head and took another drag. Sirius narrowed his eyes, glaring at him for a moment, before he sighed, “I don’t know how to do this.”

“I don’t know how to do any of this,” Remus admitted. “But you’re home, Sirius. And I may have a family now, but you wouldn’t be here if we didn’t both want you to be a part of it.”

Sirius didn’t respond for a few minutes as he lit a cigarette and smoked it down to the filter. He leaned forward, stamping it out on his boot, and then looked back up at Remus.

“So you’re really adopting Harry, the two of you?”

“We are,” Remus confirmed. “But Hermione isn’t trying to replace anyone. She’s the reason Harry sleeps with a picture of James and Lily on his nightstand. She’s the reason half of his bedtime stories are tales about his parents. She wants to honour them, and for him to feel their presence, even though they’re gone.” 

“That’s…that’s good. That she does that.”

“She’s a saint.” Remus smiled, “You should talk to her, you know? Ask her why the adoption matters to her, and how she’s considered you in all of it. You should…honestly, you should just get over your shit and love her already, because you're going to whether you want to or not.” 

“Well, she certainly makes it hard to hate her,” Sirius huffed, sounding thoroughly put out. “Every time I think I can, she’s just…so fucking good. It pisses me off.”

Remus laughed and reached out, giving Sirius’s shoulder a squeeze as he agreed, “Yeah. She’s good at that.”

☆─────☆☾☼☽☆─────☆

Chapter Text

𝙷𝚎𝚛𝚖𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚎

.·:·.☆☾☼☽☆.·:·.

“My baby wants this book too,” Harry announced, thrusting a copy of How to Hug a Hinkypunk by Helvetica Harding into Hermione’s hands. She looked down at the title, shaking her head at the silly depiction of a small child in a pointy hat trying to wrap their arms around a wispy puff of smoke. 

Callum batted at the cover, letting out a giggle, and Harry grinned triumphantly. 

“See? I always know what my baby likes. That’s ‘cuz big brothers are the best,” he declared. 

Hermione smiled so hard her face hurt and crouched down, shifting Callum to her hip and balancing the stack of books on her knee before she ran a hand through Harry’s hair. 

He’d been all about the familial titles lately, but they were letting him steer the boat, content to ride the waves. It was a strange reality she’d found herself in—playing mother to Harry—but he’d declared her as such, and something about it felt so right, so natural. 

She supposed, in a way, she had always been a mother hen when it came to him, so it stood to reason it would be the same, here and now. Sometimes, she was still Mimi or Auntie Mimi. Sometimes she was Mummy, or Mama, or Auntie Mum. He seemed to be trying out all the different possible labels and seeing how he liked the fit. Remus was Dad more often than not, and as of the last week, he’d declared himself Callum’s big brother. 

It was strange, sometimes. But Harry deserved the world. He was this little, vulnerable boy, still struggling but getting better all the while, and sod it all, he deserved to have people to call Mum and Dad, blood or not. 

“You, Harry James Potter, are the bestest big brother in the whole world,” she told him. 

“I know,” Harry grinned, reaching out to pat Callum on the cheek before he pointed over her shoulder. “My baby brother also wants the blue book I saw over there.”

“Well, then. We can’t disappoint your baby brother,” Hermione stood and reached for Harry’s hand as they began to walk toward the end of the aisle. A man stepped around the corner, blocking her path, and she gave him a polite smile, murmuring, “Excuse me,” as she went to move around him, but he blocked her again as he pointed down at Harry.

“That’s him, innit? Cordelia, I told you I heard her say Harry Potter!” He called over his shoulder. Harry ducked behind Hermione’s leg, and she reached back, gripping his shoulder possessively. 

“If you’ll excuse me,” she said firmly. “My children and I need to go check out. I’m afraid it’s past naptime.” 

“Well, now, just one minute,” the man chuckled. A woman peered around the corner, then gasped, and he turned his head to look at her. “See Cordy? Look right there, you can see the little scar on his forehead. I told you I heard it!”

“All gods,” the woman gasped, then nearly shouted. “Harry bleeding Potter, in the flesh!” 

“Harry Potter?” Another voice rang out, then another. Before Hermione knew it, four more people had appeared in the already-cramped aisle. Harry let out a whine and reached up to grab onto Callum’s foot as the small crowd closed in on them. 

She was cornered, and the panic began to set in, but she had to remain calm. 

Breathe. Protect the boys. Find a way through. Don’t pull your wand; you don’t want anyone to think you’re attacking and go on the offence. Protect the boys. Breathe.

Hermione ran through her options in her head, her eyes rapidly scanning the area as people drew closer, chattering away in shock and awe as they tried to get a peek at The Boy Who Lived. 

This wasn’t happening. Not this time. Harry wasn’t going to be some fucking spectacle for people to ooh and ahh at. 

“Everybody needs to back up,” she warned coldly as she, too, backed away, tightening her hold on Callum as she caged Harry between her legs and the bookshelf behind them. 

“Ah, come on, miss, we just want to thank the boy!” A man with a too-long moustache called out. 

“Harry, Harry, how did you do it?” A girl of about fifteen asked excitedly. 

“I didn’t do nothin’,” Harry mumbled, pressing his face to the back of Hermione’s thigh. “Mama, I wanna go home.” 

“I know, baby.” Hermione tried to keep her voice calm and soothing, but Callum began to scream as the noise grew louder, and she had to nearly yell to be heard over the cacophony. 

“You are scaring my children,” she called out. “He is not a fucking animal in a cage for you to gawk at, and I’m going to ask one more time that you all step the hell back.” 

“We just want to see the boy, that’s all,” a woman of about seventy protested.

“Yeah!” The elderly man beside her joined in, shaking his head in disbelief. “The boy saved the bloody world, we just want to thank him.” 

“You’re making my baby brother be scared!” Harry yelled out, peeking around Hermione’s thigh to glare at the crowd as Callum’s cries reached a deafening pitch.

“Oh, he’s just so cute,” The moustachioed man swooned, clutching a hand to his chest dramatically. “Who’s this you got with you, Harry? Did you get adopted? You know, the papers said nobody’s known where the boy is since the night it happened,” he added, nudging the man beside him with his elbow. 

“‘Scuse me,” a small voice rang out. Hermione watched as a little boy just a bit older than Harry nudged his way through the crowd and turned to peruse a low shelf of books, ignoring the chaos. 

Her heart leapt into her throat, her attention momentarily pulled away from the chaos that surrounded them. If the shock of ginger hair hadn’t been a dead indicator, the identical boy who wove his way through the crowd on his brother’s heels would have been proof enough of who stood before her. 

Before she could process her shock, the chaos erupted again, and Harry began to sob. Hermione turned, scooping him into her arms and positioning him on the hip opposite of where Callum still sat screaming. 

Her chest was getting tight, and her vision began to darken at the edges. She tried to apparate, forgetting for a moment that nearly all of the shops had anti-apparition words to help thwart would-be shoplifters. When it didn’t work, bile began to rise in her throat.

They were caged in, helpless, and the space between the bookshelves was too narrow, and of course, of course, the shelves in the children’s section ran all the way back to the wall, so she couldn’t escape through the other side.

“Home, Mama,” Harry begged, his little fist clutching at the collar of her shirt as Callum mirrored his actions, desperately trying to pull her top down to seek the comfort of nursing. 

“I’m trying, baby, just…just hold on,” she soothed, once again scanning the crowd for any sign of an exit. 

Her eyes locked on a woman who was shoving her way into the fray, batting at the spectators with a large carpet bag as she scolded everyone within earshot. 

“Back! Go on! Can’t you see you’re scaring this woman and her boys, you blithering numpties! Go to the bloody zoo if you need something to gawk at. Shoo! Blasted animals. Have you no sense about yourselves?!”

In a turn of events that honestly, Hermione couldn’t say shocked her in the least, the crowd began to disperse, murmuring their discontent as they went. 

The woman now making her way down the aisle toward Hermione with a bright smile on her face did have a lot of experience with herding the masses. 

“Hello, dearie,” Molly Weasley said, her voice bright and cheery despite the concerned look on her face. “I’m so sorry they cornered you. Are you all alright? Nobody put their hands on you, did they?” 

“N–no,” Hermione shook her head, dumbfounded as she stared back at Molly. It was too shocking to process. Molly, nearly a decade younger than when Hermione had first met her, still looked exactly the same in her brightly coloured sweater and long patchwork skirt, her deep brown eyes darting between Hermione and the boys as her brows knit together in concern. 

“Ohhh, there, there,” Molly hushed as Callum screamed again, reaching out to pat his back. “Poor little bean must be so frightened.” 

“Yeah, it…it was a lot,” Hermione said with a shaky laugh. 

“All those people knowed my name,” Harry mumbled, clutching Hermione’s shirt harder. “Don’t like it, Mama.” 

“I know, little love.” Hermione leaned in and pressed her lips to Harry’s temple, giving him a quick peck before she pulled back and forced a smile. “But you were so brave, and you helped make sure your brother was safe, and I am so proud of you. Can we say thank you to, um…this kind woman, for her help?” 

“Yes,” Harry nodded, turning his head to stare at Molly curiously.

“Oh, drat. I forgot to introduce myself. Name’s Molly Weasley. And you are just the cutest thing, aren’t you, Harry?” she cooed. 

“You know my name, too? How come all the peoples know me? I don’t know nobody,” Harry responded suspiciously.

“I knew Lily and James. Does he…?” Molly asked. 

“He knows,” Hermione responded. “I’m, um, Hermione Lupin. Remus’s wife.” 

“Oh, I had no idea Remus had married. Congratulations. You’ll have to give him my best.” The older woman’s smile widened before she turned her attention to Harry, reaching out to brush his hair off his forehead. Harry stiffened, as did Hermione when she saw Molly’s eyes lock on Harry’s scar, but in true Molly fashion, she merely hummed and smiled again. 

“My brothers worked with your Daddy James, Harry, so I got to meet you once when you were just a wee thing. Brought a basket of goodies to your mum when she was in hospital after she had you.” 

“My mummy who grew me in her tummy?” Harry asked curiously. “I growed in this mummy’s heart, her said.” 

“Well, how lucky are you, to have so much love?” Molly asked, looking rather misty-eyed as she looked back up at Hermione. “I’ve always worried about him. I didn’t know James and Lily well, but… It’s good to see he’s so cared for. And so very loved.”

Before Hermione could respond, Callum began to scream again, wiggling in her hold as he smacked at her chest. Harry leaned forward, looking at Callum with wide eyes. “He needs your boobies, Mama.”

Hermione laughed, her cheeks tinging pink at Harry’s frankness—though he wasn’t wrong. Molly swept into mother hen mode in an instant, though, glancing over her shoulder to where the twins now sat on the floor with their heads bent over a picture book before she fixed Hermione with a kind smile once more. 

“If it's okay with your mummy, Harry, would you like to meet some friends while she feeds your brother?”

Harry’s eyes darted to Hermione, a nervous expression on his face, but she gave him an encouraging smile. 

“It’s quite alright, little love. I’ll just sit down right here and feed the baby so I’m close, okay?” 

Harry, still unconvinced, swivelled his head, looking from Hermione, to Callum, to Molly, to the twins. Fred looked up, tilting his head as he watched Harry curiously for a moment before he pushed himself up off of the floor and bounded over to Molly, pulling on her skirt as he bounced on his heels. 

“Mummy, do you still have our sweets?” Fred asked.

“Yes, Freddie, but those are for when we get home so you can share with your brothers,” Molly responded. 

“Sharing is for friends too, Mum,” George protested.

“Yeah. Do you want to be our friend?” Fred looked up at Harry, then squinted his eyes. “Hey, you gots a funny mark on your head.” 

“Frederick Gideon!” Molly hissed. 

“That’s my super scar,” Harry said as he brought his hand up to push his hair back, showing off the entire length of the little lightning bolt that ran from his hairline to his eyebrow.

“Whoa, cool. It's a lightning bolt!” George gasped. 

“Yeah, that’s because I’m super cool,” Harry intoned. 

“That is super cool. Do you want a lolly if my Mummy says it's alright?” Fred asked, looking over at Molly as he batted his lashes. 

“Oh, alright. You can all have a lolly, if you boys will take Harry and show him your books while his mummy feeds the baby,” Molly acquiesced.

Harry nodded his excitement and planted a loud, wet smooch on Hermione’s cheek before he began to try to wiggle out of her hold, “Down, now. I want to play with friends.” 

Hermione leaned in and let Harry down on his feet. As he stood patiently waiting for Molly to dole out the sweets, she repositioned Callum to rest in the crook of her arm and draped her scarf over him to use as a makeshift nursing cover before she lifted her shirt to free her breast. 

Callum latched on immediately, his little fist kneading her breast as he suckled greedily, and she winced slightly. He’d been comfort feeding almost constantly lately, and for as much as she loved the connection of breastfeeding, it wasn’t exactly a walk in the park. 

“Oh, you poor dear,” Molly clucked her tongue. “How old is he?” 

“Nearly eight months,” Hermione replied. “He’s got teeth now, which is not a fun time. But he only nurses at night or to soothe himself, so it isn’t completely unbearable.” 

“The comfort nursing can be the worst, though. I’ve got six boys meself, and a little girl. I swear, my third boy, Percy, he was on the tit for twenty hours a day at that age,” Molly said in an understanding tone.

Hermione simply nodded; she was a bit overwhelmed, and it was all so surreal. Standing here talking to Molly, watching Harry giggle at a picture George pointed out while Fred read aloud in a funny voice made her head spin. She wasn’t sure whether she wanted to laugh or cry. 

“You know, I’ve got a tincture that will help with the rawness here,” Molly continued, gesturing to her chest. “My Ronnie, he’s just a few months older than Harry, and little Gin would die to get her hands on a baby to snuggle. You should bring the boys over for a playdate sometime. Helps to get out of the house and have another mum to talk to, too. We have tons of land, so we could sit out back and have a spot of tea while the boys run out some energy.

“I…wow. Yes,” Hermione laughed, nodding a bit too enthusiastically. “I would love that.”

☆─────☆☾☼☽☆─────☆

As soon as she walked through the front door, Hermione’s carefully held composure started to crack. She sat on the bench by the stairs, helping Harry shuck off his jacket and boots before she began to unwind Callum’s wrap with shaky hands. 

She could feel the break coming as her eyes stung, but she forced herself to breathe, trying to hold it together as she carried the baby into the kitchen with Harry on her heels, babbling his excitement about his new friends. 

She felt numb, disjointed as she stumbled her way through trying to prepare Harry a snack. She sliced four grapes twice each, then added six carrot sticks, before she turned and took eight steps to the fridge, lost in her mind as she counted her way through her movements. 

It was the only way she knew how to self-soothe, a crutch she tried her hardest not to lean on, but she knew if she stopped now, she’d break, and she refused to do so in front of the boys after the morning they’d had. 

Turning back around, she set the jam on the counter and walked over to deposit Callum into his high chair, handing him a teething biscuit before she gave Harry his juice and moved back toward the plate to prepare a sandwichpeanut butter and strawberry marmalade with no crusts, per Harry’s request.

As she was spreading the thick, pinkish mess onto the bread, she felt a pair of arms wrap around her from the back. Her hands faltered as she melted in an instant, the first tear breaking free. 

“What's wrong, cariad?” Remus murmured against her temple. 

“I’ll tell you after I get the boys down. I—I can’t,” Hermione’s voice cracked as she choked on a sob, and she looked over at the boys to make sure they hadn’t heard, locking eyes with Sirius in the process.

He eyed her curiously, looking rapidly between her and Remus before he seemed to come to some sort of decision and closed the distance between them, holding his hand out expectantly. 

“Here. Let me make his food. You two go,” he demanded, a bit gruffly. 

Hermione shook her head in protest, looking back down at Harry’s plate. “No, it’s alright. I can—” 

“Stop,” Sirius ordered. “You’re upset, and you need a break. I’ll manage the boys for an hour or two. Go.” 

“Are you sure, Pads?” Remus asked, tightening his hold on Hermione’s waist as he turned them both to face Sirius. Sirius glanced away, biting his lip as he nodded, then sniffed. 

“I read all the damn books, too, when Lily got on that kick about werewolf lore sixth year, Moons. I may not…” he trailed off, sighing, then stepped forward, locking eyes with Remus over Hermione’s head as he carefully peeled her fingers off the handle of the knife. “Just cast a bloody silencing charm. There’s breast milk in the fridge if the little guy fusses, and I know how to make a damn sandwich. Harry will conk out as soon as he eats, and we’ll be fine. Go take care of your wife.” 

“Thank you.” Remus cleared his throat and stepped away, reaching for Hermione’s hand as he guided her out of the room. She thought to protest, if only because she felt as if the world had flipped upside down. 

Sirius spent more and more time with the boys with each passing day, but he’d still been so stilted with her and had barely even looked at her since their fight the week prior. She wasn’t sure what had shifted, and she wanted to stay and push, to force him to talk to her, but Remus kept her moving, leading her up the stairs and into the bedroom. 

☆─────☆☾☼☽☆─────☆

𝚁𝚎𝚖𝚞𝚜

.·:·.☆☾☼☽☆.·:·.

Hermione sighed and let her head fall back against Remus’s chest. He abandoned the flannel he’d been washing her with and set it over the side of the tub before he wrapped his arms around her, resting his chin atop her head. 

“See? The bath always helps, doesn’t it?” he asked. 

“Yeah. I couldn’t, um…in the bunker, we just had a shower. And don’t get me wrong, we were lucky to have a way to stay clean. But for as long as I can remember, a nice warm bath was a cure-all. When I was pregnant with Callum, I literally broke down because I wanted a damn bath so bad that I was in tears, and he—” She cut herself off, shaking her head, but Remus reached up, gripping her chin as he guided her head back so he could watch her face.

“Hey. We’ve talked about this, remember? If I can talk to you about Sirius, then and now, you can tell me what old-man Remus did. I don’t want you to ever feel like you can’t talk about him. Is it still hard, cariad?” 

“Every day,” Hermione admitted. “But it's not like it used to be. I have you. It’s all you, past or present. It doesn’t feel any different when you hold me, and I don’t love you any less or more. There’s a part of you now that I never had before, and I love every moment of it. There’s just…a part of you that will always feel gone, too, I think.” 

“I know, cariad. I’m so sorry for that. But you can talk about him. I want to hear it. Might learn a thing or two from my older, wiser self.” Hermione laughed softly, nodding her head as she turned to resume her previous position. 

|| Smart, boy. Learn how the old boy kept the Mate happy. Ask if he hunted for her || 

Quiet, you. 

“I was huge, and everything hurt, and I woke up one day just pissed off at the world. All I wanted was to take a bath, but we only had the shower, and it was so exhausting to stand for very long. So he transfigured an old bowl into a makeshift tub and filled it with water. Cast some warming charms and added lavender oil and a few other things from the potions lab. I think we must have sat for hours, just like this,” she said, placing her hands over his where they rested on her stomach. 

“You were huge, hmmm?” Remus asked. “It couldn’t have been that bad. You’re tiny to begin with.”

“Nope,” Hermione protested. “I was as big as a house. Carrying your gigantic baby was no easy feat. By the end, I had half a mind to just roll everywhere, since I’d become a human beach ball.”

“I bet you were the cutest beach ball ever.” 

“Psshhh. I was swollen and bitchy and miserable. Just wait. You’ll see next time.” 

“Next time, hmmm?” Remus hummed, reaching up to move her hair off of her neck, trailing his fingers over her mark in the process. 

“Mmhmm,” Hermione hummed. “We haven’t exactly been taking any precaution, you know?” 

“So you could be pregnant already?” 

Oh. He liked that. 

“Nah,” she responded. “It’s not as easy to get pregnant when you’re still breastfeeding. It can happen, of course. There’s just a reduced chance. But if I were, you’d smell it on me within a week or two.”

|| No new life yet. Sad days for Moony. You need to try harder. Knot the Mate more often. Keep her impaled on our cock until she swells with our—||

Fuck.

Remus groaned. Hermione giggled and ground her arse back against his growing erection, and he sucked in a breath as he gripped her hips to still her movements. 

“Not right now, cariad. I need to take care of you. You had such a shit morning, and you’re so stressed,” he protested feebly. 

|| Idiot || 

“Remus,” she began as she pulled away and turned to face him. The water sloshed around her as she placed her knees on either side of his thighs, straddling him, and reached beneath the water to wrap her fist around his cock. 

“I am stressed,” she nodded, stroking him slowly. Remus bit his lip, resisting the urge to grab her and pull her atop him as she continued, “But we talked, and that helped. And right now, Moony is screaming in your head that you need to knot me, yeah?” 

“Among other things,” Remus laughed shakily, a tiny gasp escaping his lips as she swiped her thumb over the sensitive head. 

“Because he understands the bond even better than we do,” she said simply, moving forward to hover over his cock as she positioned it at her entrance. “When I’m sad, or stressed, or disregulated, I want you. I always want you, but this,” she paused, her mouth dropping open in a silent O as she began to sink. “This is what I need.”

“Fuck, cariad. You’re always so godsdamn tight.” Remus gritted his teeth as he grabbed her hips and began to thrust upward, slowly working his cock inside of her.

“That’s because I’m made for you. And I always want you,” she repeated. “Constantly. But Moony is right. When the Mate is stressed, or sad, or struggling? I need to feel you knot me. It feels so fucking—gods, you’re so deep,” she groaned as the head of his cock kissed her cervix, finally fully hilted inside of her. 

“It feels…?” he prompted. 

“Safe,” Hermione whispered.

“Safe,” Remus echoed. “Is that what you need, little Mate? To be trapped on my cock while I’m knotted inside of this perfect little cunt? Stuck beneath me or on top of me, wrapped up in my arms where you can’t get away?” 

“Yes,” she moaned, digging her nails into his shoulders as she began to ride him, her movements erratic, stilted by the water sloshing around them. “Gods, yes, Remus. I need you so fucking bad. It’s the only thing that calms my brain, just…everything gets so heavy, and I just…I only want to be yours.” 

“You are.” He crashed his mouth to hers, kissing her breathless as she draped her forearms over his shoulders and began to ride him at a languid pace, slowly rolling her hips and grinding against him with every downward rock of her pelvis until she was gasping in his mouth. 

|| Breed. Need to fucking breed her, watch her grow round with our pups ||

“Fuck, yes. Gonna get you fucking pregnant,” he vowed, sliding a hand between them to trace the faint stretch marks that webbed across her flesh. 

“Yours,” Hermione whimpered. “You did that to me.”

“Gonna do it again, cariad. Watch you swell with my pup this time. Drain these perfect fucking tits when they get too sore,” he added, snaking his other hand up to flick his thumb over her sensitive nipple, grinning when she let out a high keening moan. 

“There you go,” he rasped. “Such a good girl for me. Let me take care of you.” 

He cupped her breast, marvelling at the way it felt in his hand—heavy and warm, swollen with the elixir of life that nourished his son. If someone had asked Remus even six months ago if he thought he would ever develop a lactation kink, he would have grimaced and gagged, protested until he was blue in the face. 

But this girl—his girl, whose very flesh bore the marks of his child’s existence, who kept his pup strong and thriving, the sight of her breasts full and leaking, dribbling milk over the back of his hand and down her stomach as he began to rock his hips, rutting into her like a man unleashed, undid him. 

He placed a hand on her shoulder, nudging her back to grant him better access, and wrapped his arm around the small of her back. Dipping his head, he sucked her nipple into his mouth and began to drink. 

|| Selfish. Mate’s milk is for nourishing the young || 

It’s all mine. Every fucking part of her.

|| Well fuck. Look at you, learning. Fine. Be gross, then || 

Remus chuckled against Hermione’s breast and broke away to find her looking at him with an amused grin. 

“He really hates that,” she laughed.

“He’ll get over it,” Remus shrugged before he dove back in, wrapping his lips around her other nipple. Hermione gasped, a guttural moan spilling from her lips as he felt her cunt begin to spasm, clamping down on his cock. 

“Oh, fuck, Remus, don’t stop. Don’t stop. I’m going to come,” she panted. He growled against her flesh, reluctantly forcing himself to release her breast as he reached up to wrap a hand around the back of her neck.

She was so fucking tight, so hot around him, pulsing and spasming like her body was trying to suck the life out of him, and she looked at him with such reverence, like she fucking needed him, and he couldn’t get enough. 

Every time he sank inside of her, he swore that he’d go slow, make love to her tenderly, because she deserved nothing more than to be touched like the goddess she was, rather than to have him rutting into her like an unhinged beast.

But he was a beast, where his Mate was concerned, and she matched his energy, acting just as desperate and feral for him as he was for her. Hermoine’s cries of pleasure grew louder, and his chest rumbled with the force of his growls as he fucked her harder, faster, his hips stuttering as his knot began to swell inside of her, hindering his movements.

Some day. Some day, he’d take her slowly, worship her body until she was shaking before he even thrust inside of her, but now, as she began to fall apart around him, the only thing he could focus on was more.

|| More ||

More. 

Breed. 

|| Knot ||

The thoughts mixed together, cacophonous and swirling inside of his mind. The man, the wolf, it all became one as she screamed his name.

“Look at me,” he ordered, tightening his hold on her neck. “Let me watch your face while I breed this perfect pussy, sweet little Mate. Let me—fuck, I’m going to knot you. Fill you so fucking full of me.” 

“Yes, Please, yes, I—ohhhh, gods,” she gasped, shattering around him. Remus groaned and slammed into her one last time. He came hard, throbbing inside of her as he spilled rope after rope of hot cum inside of her dripping cunt until she collapsed against his chest.

Remus wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly as they caught their breath, then turned his head to pepper soft kisses along the side of her face as he whispered praise against her skin.

“You’re so good, cariad. So perfect. Taking such good care of our pups, keeping them safe,” he murmured. “Love you so much, Hermione. Gonna take care of you, always.” 

“Always,” she echoed, then giggled softly as she placed a hand over his still-racing heart. “See? That feeling right there? That’s why we need this. That’s why it helps so much when I’m stressed. Stop holding back when Moony and I are both telling you the same thing.” 

|| Brilliant, perfect, Mate. She gets me. We know more than you, idiot boy ||

“Oh, sod off, Moony,” he groaned. Hermione laughed again, and he shook his head, fighting off a laugh of his own. “What am I going to do with you two ganging up on me all the time?” 

“Learn to listen, eventually.” She yawned, then added, “But for now, you can cast a drying charm and carry me to the bedroom. Will you go take over with the boys so I can rest for a bit? Well…once you can,” she added, rocking her hips to emphasise her point.

“Be still, or this knot is never going to go down,” he scolded playfully. “But yeah, I’ll handle the boys. It sounds like he’s got it under control, though. I can barely hear them, so I think he’s got them outside.”

“They probably snuck out to a tattoo parlour,” Hermione quipped. “He’ll bring them back with little leather jackets and pin-up girls inked into their biceps.” 

“Wait, why is that so cute? Little leather jackets.” Remus pressed a kiss to her shoulder. “Little biker babies, terrorising the neighbourhood on their big wheels.” 

“Shhh. Don’t give Sirius any ideas,” she laughed, pressing a finger to his lips. “It’s good though, yeah? That he offered to help with them today? Feels like progress.” 

“Progress,” Remus echoed. “Moony is really pleased. Pack bonding, and the like. I think he’s getting better, yeah? Just wish he’d fucking talk to us.” 

“He’ll get there,” she reassured him, lacing her fingers together around the back of his neck. “We’re all going to be alright someday.” 

“Some day,” Remus repeated. Even as he said the words, he wasn’t sure if he believed them. For all the hope he held, it was hard to see through the haze of all the angst and tension to look toward a brighter future. 

But Hermione was sure they’d get there, and for now, that was enough. 

☆─────☆☾☼☽☆─────☆

𝚂𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚞𝚜

.·:·.☆☾☼☽☆.·:·.

Standing in the doorway of the nursery, Sirius folded his arms across his chest and studied Hermione’s back. She stood in front of the window, softly swaying while she hummed some quiet little tune to Callum. 

He’d climbed the stairs with the intent to shift into Padfoot and curl up to watch over Harry—to watch over both the boys, if he were honest with himself, because that’s what it had become now. It was easier that way, to sleep in his Animagus form, where the nightmares couldn’t find him.

The inability to dream had always been his favourite thing about being Padfoot. In Azkaban, he’d scarcely allowed himself the comfort during the night when the Dementors patrolled less. He deserved the nightmares, he thought. But now, here, it was too much. There was enough emotion to contend with during the day, and he welcomed the reprieve at night. 

But when he’d approached the room and heard her, he’d turned to leave until something had stopped him. 

He needed to stop. 

This was all so bloody complicated, and nothing was getting better. He’d even reached a sort of stalemate with Emmeline during his sessions. She kept pushing him to talk about his family, to talk about how his bastard, traitorous brother got himself killed doing whatever idiot thing he did to displease that spineless fuck who called himself the dark lord, and he couldn’t. 

There was too much to contend with as it was, but she kept insisting it would somehow lead him to a better understanding of everything if he could show that he was ready to face the truth about Regulus. 

Shrink talk. 

She just wanted him to whine about his past so she could fix him, but there was nothing to be fixed. Not where his family was concerned. He knew the truth about his brother—he’d taken the mark willingly, too young and stupid to understand what he was doing — and gotten himself killed. 

There was nothing more he needed to understand, and he certainly didn’t need to talk it out.

What he did need, reluctant as he was to admit it, was to stop being so fucking cagey and relax, to accept this life he’d been thrust into. He loved Harry. Hell, he probably loved the mini-Remus, and he was so anxious all the time, wound up so tight and pissed off at the world, and so fucking hurt over Remus. 

But it wasn’t her fault. 

It wasn’t her fault, and he’d taken it out on her enough, and if he was ever going to heal, then maybe Remus was right. He needed to talk to her. To really talk, not exchange pleasantries because the boys were around, or banter when she decided to go all pushy. 

He needed to have a real, honest conversation about something—anything, really—with the wild little witch. Most of all, he owed her an apology. So he sucked in a breath and summoned that bloody Gryffindor courage as he stepped into the room and blurted, “I’m sorry.” 

Hermione turned, her eyes watching him with rapt curiosity as she tilted her head as if to say, go on. 

“I shouldn’t have spoken to you the way I did. None of the anger I hold is your fault, Hermione, and you don’t deserve to bear the weight of it. I…” he trailed off, shifting on his feet as he shoved his hands into the pockets of his pyjama pants. 

“Remus said I should ask you about the adoption. About why it’s important to you. So I…I wondered if we could start there? It’s not that I don’t want to support it, I just don’t—I don’t understand why it has to happen,” he admitted. “It feels wrong.” 

“I know it does,” she responded quietly as she stepped over to the cot and gently laid the baby down. She placed a hand on his stomach, watching for a moment to ensure he was still asleep before she finally turned to face Sirius. 

“There are practical reasons,” she began, crossing the room to take a seat in the rocking chair nestled into the corner. Sirius followed, pulling the footstool away from the chair before he, too, took a seat. He braced his elbows on his knees as he clasped his hands together, bouncing his foot as he waited for her to elaborate. 

“Guardianship allots us a decent amount of say-so over Harry’s care, but with the adoption, there will be no roadblocks. Medical specialists, schooling someday, it will all be far easier if we’re his legal parents. And the less mess we have to wade through, the less we have to defend or explain our rights to make decisions for him, the less stress falls on Harry.” 

“That…that, erm…makes sense,” Sirius admitted hesitantly. 

“It's not only that, though,” she continued. “He’s an orphan, Sirius, and he’s already been through so much. He’s going to carry the weight of the loss of his parents for the rest of his life. That’s going to be hard enough without the added stress of feeling displaced. He’s going to grow up in our home, with Callum calling us Mum and Dad, and we… well, um, there might be more children someday, too.” 

Sirius winced involuntarily, but quickly schooled his features. He couldn’t let his emotions, that stupid jealousy get the best of him if he had any hopes of understanding, of connecting with her, so he merely nodded. 

“He’ll go off to school someday, too. And all the other kids will be writing home to their parents. I could give a million more examples, but it just… honestly, Sirius, it all boils down to the fact that I refuse to let that boy live a life where he feels displaced, or less-than. He deserves everything. What you said last week, about me trying to replace Lily —” 

“That was cruel,” Sirius interjected. “And I’m so sorry for that. I wasn’t angry with you, kitten. I just…” 

“I know. You don’t have to explain. I just need to say this, okay?” When Sirius nodded, she glanced over at the bed behind him, her eyes softening as she took in Harry’s sleeping form.

“He’s so perfect, and I love him so much. I want him to grow up knowing everything he can about his parents. I want him to feel connected to them, and you and Remus can give him that. I can give him this, though. I can love him like a mother should. I do.” 

“I can see that,” Sirius admitted. “Even that first night here, I saw how good you were with him. I justeverything is so hard.” 

“I know it is. And I know you likely feel so displaced. I hate that.” There was a weight to her words, an emotion that nearly threw him off balance, because he could feel the truth in her voice. She chewed her lip contemplatively, then met his eyes, a defiant glint to her amber irises. 

“You belong here, Sirius. You belong in Harry’s life, just as Remus and I do. This adoption isn’t about cutting you out. Harry needs legal parents, so it needed to be done. For what it's worth, I even looked into how to include you in the process, but there are so many hoops, required bindings, and the like, for the Wizengamot to recognise more than two parents. So Remus and I talked about it, and this was for the best. We even discussed you and I adopting him instead of Remus. As my husband, it would make Remus his stepfather from a legal standpoint, so we’d all three have a parenting title of sorts. But he said you wouldn’t want Harry tied to the House of Black.” 

“He’s…I wouldn’t have, no. But you, erm…” Sirius floundered, searching for the right words as shock coursed through his body. “You were going to…you looked into that?” 

“Of course,” she replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Sirius, look, I know I’m a sore spot for you, and that Remus and I may be taking the legal role here, but I’m not your enemy. Even if it feels that way to you, I’m not. I’m just…here, and I love them all, and I’m doing the best that I can with this situation. But I want you in this, too. I need you in this because Harry needs you, and he deserves the world. He deserves for all three of his parents to get along, even if it's hard.”

“Parents?” Sirius felt his eyebrows shoot up into his hairline as he let out an awkward huff of shock. “You consider me…I mean, you’re okay with me taking on that role?”

“Of course,” she repeated. “That’s always been my goal. You're his godfather, Sirius. If things had worked out differently, you and Remus would have been raising him yourself. As it stands, I’m here, and I wish you would pull your head out of your arse and see that I’m standing next to you in this, not in your way.” 

“I know,” he confessed with a sigh. Sinking his teeth into the inside of his cheek, he fought for the right words to say, but came up short, only able to mumble another half-baked, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Hermione gave him a smile, far kinder than he deserved. “It’s hard for me too, you know? I know how much Remus loves you and what you two shared. I know how good that was, even when it was messy.”

“How do you do it? How — how do you even deal with me here? If I were in your shoes…” he trailed off, but Hermione understood anyway, a coy smile curving up the corners of her mouth. 

“You’d be an insufferable twat about it,” she deadpanned. “But I just…I love harder. I don’t let myself feel threatened, because as far as I’m concerned, the more love that exists in the home where my boys are going to grow up, the better.” 

“Love harder,” Sirius echoed.

“And, I relax,” she added with a wry smile. “You should try it sometime.” 

Hermione leaned in, squeezing his forearm, and Sirius stiffened, sucking in air through his teeth as her fingertips dug into his skin. 

“I’m sorry, did I hurt you?” she rushed out, jerking her hand away.

“No, no, it’s just…erm…touch. That doesn’t…that hasn’t happened in a long time. I haven't been…touched, really, so it just caught me off guard.” He felt foolish as he confessed the truth—childish, needy, gods, he could hear how pathetic he sounded. 

But it was the truth. Save for the boys, and a few short interactions, he hadn’t been touched in years, not really. Even the feeling of her hand on his bare forearm was nearly too much to bear, and not enough, all at once. 

Sirius had always been the touchy type. He’d clung to Remus like a koala, snuggled his friends any chance he got, squeezed shoulders and bumped fists and touched, and touched, and touched, like his life depended on it. 

And he supposed it had, in a way. He didn’t need Emmeline shrinking his head to know it was a product of growing up in a home where the only time he could recall his father’s touch was a firm handshake and the only touch his mother ever graced him with was a slap across the face. 

It was why, as kids, he and Regulus used to curl up to nap together when their parents weren’t home, desperate for the feeling of just having someone near. When he went to school and discovered that touches could be a casual thing between friends, that they didn’t have to hurt or make you feel bad, he had become a clingy mess.

But his friends never cared; Remus had loved it, in fact, and so for years, Sirius knew what it was to touch and be touched, and it had been far more important than he realised—until it was gone. 

“Come on,” Hermione said suddenly, standing from her chair as she once again reached for his arm. She dragged him over to where Harry slept, then walked around to the other side, lifting the sleeping baby from his cot before she turned back and nodded toward the bed.

“Get in,” she demanded, already reaching down to pull the covers back on her side.

“What?” Sirius furrowed his brow, shaking his head. “No, I don’t want to wake him, and the bed is too small and—” 

“Sirius Black, get your arse in this bed,” Hermione commanded as she situated herself to Harry’s left, nestling the baby between them. Sirius flexed his jaw, intending to stand his ground, but Harry and Callum let out the cutest little snores in tandem, and he laughed, shaking his head as he peeled back the covers.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re pushy?” he asked. 

“Yes, you have,” she responded. He furrowed his brow, trying to remember when he’d said that—though honestly, he’d been in such a state the other night that it didn’t surprise him that he couldn’t remember. 

He rolled to his side, carefully reaching out to drape his arm over Harry’s middle, and Hermione met his eyes as she reached down to place her hand on his forearm. 

“There,” she whispered. “See? It’s not so bad, yeah?”

“No, it’s not. It’s…nice. Good,” he admitted. “This is fine.” 

“This is pack,” she smiled—bright and radiant, and he found himself grinning back as she squeezed his arm softly.

“Sleep,” she ordered. “We’ll work on you not hating me some more tomorrow.” 

“Pushy,” he teased. “Are you just going to boss me around all the time now?”

“Yes,” she shot back. “You’ll adjust. Goodnight, Sirius.” 

“Goodnight, Hermione.” 

☆─────☆☾☼☽☆─────☆

Chapter Text

𝚁𝚎𝚖𝚞𝚜

.·:·.☆☾☼☽☆.·:·.

Hermione and Sirius lay in the small bed in the nursery with the boys sleeping soundly between them. Callum was half sprawled over Harry’s chest as the older boy had an arm draped over his own face. Hermione’s hair was wild, loose from the scrunchie she’d tied it up in last night, and covering her face entirely, whilst Sirius’ mouth hung open as he snored lightly. 

Their legs were tangled together beneath the blanket, and his arm was draped over the boy as his hand rested on Hermione’s hip. Remus leaned against the doorframe, taking a sip of his coffee as he continued to watch them. 

|| Pack all together. This pleases the Moony ||

Shut up, you mangy dog. Let me think. 

|| Whomp, whomp. Jealous boy ||

I’m not jealous, Remus snapped inside of his head. 

It was a lie. 

He was absolutely jealous, but not in any vicious sort of way. Remus had these moments more nights than not, curled up in his and Hermione’s bed with the boys for hours after bathtime while they read and cuddled with their sleepy pups rolling around and giggling on the bed between them, or nights in the nursery just like this, and it was all heavenly. 

So he wasn’t jealous in the general sense of the word, because this was his life, his pack, and he got them all the time.

But it was the Sirius of it all, he supposed. It had been two months since the first morning he’d found them like this; his wife and his ex, curled protectively around their boys as they all slept. It had shocked him, but in the best of ways. 

It felt like progress; Hermione even called it such when she’d joined him in the shower that morning and told him about the night before. Moony had, of course, been so bloody proud of his Mate for extending the olive branch and healing the pack. 

As for Remus, he had been nothing short of hopeful. He thought, then, that the two of them getting close would somehow route Sirius back to him, at least enough that they could really talk, maybe, if nothing else, try to work their way back toward being friends. 

But nothing had really progressed at all. They talked more easily now; that much had to be said. But it was still tense and stilted. 

Hermione and Sirius, though, they’d reached a level of comfort that Remus couldn’t get enough of watching play out. Once she’d realised Sirius’s biggest struggle—touch-starved, she’d called it—she’d begun to remedy it, always sitting a little closer, hugging him even when he pretended to be annoyed by her. 

And the way they were with each other was incredible. Hermione never tiptoed around Sirius. She argued with him, scolded him, pushed him, and he grumbled back, acting as if he couldn’t stand her half the time, but their bickering was something far different than it had once been. 

It was just…the way they were with each other. 

And Remus was grateful for it; of course, he was glad they had each other. His relationship with Hermione was unshakable, and seeing her bond with the only other adult who held as much importance to him as she did was nothing short of cathartic. 

He just knew, now, what Sirius must have felt when he first came and felt like he was on the outside. Not as far as Hermione was concerned; she never made him feel anything short of wanted, of belonging. 

But he missed his friend. 

That was the biggest problem of all. Sirius had been his lover—had been someone he loved, still loved, so desperately. But he had been his friend, first and above all else, and Remus ached for that old familiar comfort. 

He had Moody, now, and he valued their pub nights, but gods, what he wouldn’t have given to just be able to sit and have a drink with Sirius or an actual, in-depth conversation. They would get there, though. Hermione and Sirius had already come so far, and it really felt like the closer they got, the more he thawed toward Remus. 

So, there was hope to be found, though this morning, he was too distracted to feel much of it. 

He watched them sleep for a few more minutes before he checked his watch and reluctantly walked away, climbing the stairs to get a shower in before the boys woke and the day started. He heard her, the soft sound of her feet on the stairs as her scent drifted into the bathroom moments before she opened the door, and he turned, looking over his back to smile as the shower curtain opened.

“Morning, cariad,” he murmured. Hermione hummed in response and stepped in front of him, pressing her cheek to his chest and wrapping her arms around him as she let out a sleepy yawn. 

|| Sleepy. Warm. Need to take her to bed and knot her while she gets more sleep || 

“Rough night?” Remus asked, once again ignoring Moony’s one-track mind.

“Yeah,” she yawned again as he reached for the shampoo and tilted her head back to grant him better access as he set to work, lathering the soap into her wild hair as she looked up at him with a sleepy smile. “Callum woke up around one because he had a tummy ache, and naturally, he screamed so loud that he woke Harry.” 

“You silenced the nursery again,” Remus surmised. “I hate when you do that. You know I prefer to get up with them so you can rest.” 

“I know,” Hermione responded, shrugging slightly before she turned so he could finish washing her hair. “But tonight is the full, and you need your rest too. So I get my two nights a week, and you can argue with the wall.” 

“I tried that, but it gave me the silent treatment,” he intoned. 

“Shame,” Hermione deadpanned. “It wasn’t a bad night, though. The boys were restless, so I laid down with them, and then Sirius came in and told Harry a story about James playing Quidditch, you know how much he loves to hear about that.” 

“Yeah, he does,” Remus agreed. “He’ll be insufferable once he learns to stay on his toy broom, won’t he?” 

|| Don’t like the broom. Pups should be on the ground. What will he hunt for in the sky? Birds are too small for growing pups ||

I wish you understood how ridiculous you sound sometimes.

“I can’t wait,” Hermione sighed wistfully. 

“How is he?” he asked as he guided her back into the spray of the showerhead to rinse out the soap. 

“Still no nightmares on the nights he stays in the nursery. Sleeping as Padfoot still seems to be his preference, but I’m sure it's better to stretch out.” 

“We’re going to have to get a new bed in there,” Remus mused. “Those boys are getting bigger every day. They’ll take up the whole mattress soon enough.”

“Not yet. I like getting to lie so close with both of them.” Hermione shook her head and stepped back into his arms, tucking her face against his chest once more as he splayed one hand over the side of her ribcage and traced the ridges of her spine with the other. 

“And with him.”

“And with him,” Hermione agreed effortlessly. 

And it was effortless. She was a caretaker at heart. It seemed to be the most natural thing in the world to her, to wrap everyone around her up in the embrace of her love, to bleed healing and comfort into everything she did. In another life, he thought she would have made an incredible healer, maybe a paediatrician, but in this life, she’d lived enough chaos. 

She just wanted her books and a calm life—or, as calm as it could get with two rowdy young boys. Boys who were about to get rowdier, as Callum, now pushing ten months old, was already starting to take his first steps, holding on to the coffee table or Harry’s hands. 

Hermione struggled more than she let on. The hell she’d faced before his older self had sent her back in time still lived inside her head. Some days she was sad, or restless, or too antsy to sit still. 

But every day, he took care of her. Washing her hair, bathing her, minding the boys so she could rest. Hermione balanced the majority of caring for the household, took care of the boys, spent time building Sirius back up, all while carrying the weight of her own burdens, and she was his. 

His Mate. His wife. His port in a storm. 

Maybe there was something to be said for a man being perfectly content with knowing his wife left their room and ended up in bed with another man some nights, but it didn’t shock Remus in the slightest. 

She needed it as much as Sirius did, he reckoned. He had been so important to her in the future, and the months after he’d first arrived, when he couldn’t even stand to look at her, had been so painful for her. He never wanted her to have to feel that again, and, in the absence of being able to do it himself, he was so fucking relieved Sirius had someone as brilliant and tender as Hermione there to help guide him. 

“You’re quiet this morning,” she said, propping her chin on his chest as she looked up at him. “Are you hurting?” 

“Yeah,” Remus admitted. “And I’m just…antsy. You know how it is.” 

“I do know,” Hermione confirmed. “Are you still thinking about our talk last night?” 

Remus sighed, casting his eyes up to the ceiling as he thought back over their conversation. 

He’d been putting it off. 

In the letter, his older self had said to reach out to his Dad, but it was too messy, too complicated, and, if he were honest with himself, he was scared. Not that he feared his father, no. It was more that he feared his father would reject him. 

But when the birthday card his father sent every year arrived for him last month, like clockwork, it had been all the proof Hermione needed to badger him—lovingly, of course. 

“Yeah, I’ve been thinking more about it, I suppose,” he admitted. 

“And?” Hermione asked, giving him an expectant look. 

“And I—fine. You’re right. I just don’t know how to do it, you know?” Remus confessed.

“Write to him. Just start there. Tell him you have a family now, and you’re interested in having a conversation with him and seeing if the two of you can reconnect. You told me he tried so hard for you, Remus. Even if he wasn’t perfect, I think at the very least, letting him know that you’re doing okay, that you’re thriving, it's the right thing, yeah?” 

“Yeah,” he agreed. “Gods, how are you always so brilliant?” 

“It’s all the hair. It leeches all the brilliance out of the world and injects it straight into my brain,” she quipped. 

“Multifunctional.” Remus grinned, tugging at a lock of her hair. “Thank you for pushing me on this. I really do think you’re right. It won’t hurt to at least try, aye?” 

“Aye,” Hermione agreed. “I just don’t want to see you be forty-three and regretting that you never tried, again.”

“You’re so good to me.” 

“That’s my job.” She smiled up at him, trailing her fingers up his back and over his shoulders as she took a step back, and he looked down, stifling a groan as he took in the sight of her, naked and dripping wet. 

Hermione’s body was a work of art. She was so small, but strong, too, all soft curves and delicate lines. Her breasts were full, heavy with milk, and his mouth watered at the sight. He trailed his eyes down farther, taking in the faint lines stretching across her stomach, the proof of the life she’d carried inside of her body, and his mind, this close to the full moon, was far more Moony and far less Remus, so his body responded in an instant. 

Hermione smirked and looked down, then raised an eyebrow as she grinned up at him. 

“Hi, Moony,” she teased. 

“Come here,” Remus nearly growled as he reached for her arm, tugging her closer.

☆─────☆☾☼☽☆─────☆

𝚂𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚞𝚜

.·:·.☆☾☼☽☆.·:·.

“Doesn’t that hurt, Mama?” Harry asked curiously. Sirius looked up from the paper to take in the sight before him. 

It was all so domestic. 

Remus sat on the couch, braiding Hermione’s wet hair as she nursed Callum, while Harry stood diligently by, his face inches from Hermione’s head as he watched Remus work. 

“No, little love. It feels better, actually. All this hair gets so heavy.” 

“I like it when you have your braids,” Harry replied. “I gotsta learn how to do the braids, too.” 

“Oh? Looking to steal my job, washi?” Remus teased. 

“Nope. But when I get a baby sister, she’ll need me to braid her hair because you’ll be busy braiding Mama’s hair,” he said matter-of-factly before he turned to look at Sirius. 

“Uncle Paaaaaads?”

“Nope.” Sirius shook his head.

“Puh-lease? I gotsta learn,” Harry begged. “For I can get a baby sister.”

“I’ll tell you what. When you have a baby sister on the way, I’ll let you braid my hair so you can get ready before she comes. Until then, nobody touches the hair,” Sirius replied, running a hand through his locks to prove the point. 

“Fine. I won’t forget,” Harry warned, looking so serious that Hermione and Sirius both snorted. 

“Hair-tie.” Remus held his hand out, and Harry handed the elastic over, once again leaning in to watch Remus at work. 

It was cute. The hair braiding thing. Sometimes, he almost did want someone to braid his hair, simply because it looked nice, to sit and have hands working their way through your hair, to feel someone’s fingers brushing against your scalp like that.

But this was their thing. He may have still been struggling with the…Remus, of it all. But the respect he’d developed for Hermione knew no bounds, and he knew this was something she needed; something Remus needed to do for her, so he preferred to sit back and let them have their little slice of domestic bliss. 

He took advantage of Remus’s distraction, studying his face as he recited the words he wanted to say over and over in his head. 

It was so fucking strange to be this nervous, especially about this. But they weren’t…great, still, and he was desperate for some sort of connection. Even if they’d never be exactly as they once were, Remus had been his friend for so long. 

He missed that.

He’d told Emmeline as much—in part, to distract her from her insistence that he talk about his brother, yet again, when she knew as well as he did that he wasn’t going to go there—and she’d laid it out pretty clearly. 

Find a way to bridge the gap. Think of something you did together that predated the romantic relationship. 

Since stealing sweets from the Hogwarts kitchen or hexing James’ hair so it turned pink every time he thought about Lily was out of the question, this would have to do. 

“Hey, uh… the full’s tonight, yeah?” he asked, stumbling over his words.

“Yeah. I’ll leave around six, I think.” Remus replied.

“Right.” Sirius set the paper on the end table next to his chair and drummed his fingers on his leg, working up the nerve for the next part. When he was ready, he took a breath and then.

“I was thinking that—if, erm, you’d want the company of course, that maybe I could…well, I haven’t had a good run as Padfoot in a while. I’ve got my appointment with Em in the morning, but if you’re up for it, I thought I could go with you next month?” 

“You…you want to spend the full with me?” Remus asked. He paused, clearing his throat as Hermione reached up and squeezed his hand where it rested on her shoulder. 

“Yeah, well. Thought it might be nice.” Sirius shrugged, trying to make his voice sound as casual as he could muster. 

“That’s brilliant, Pads. I’d love that.” 

“Yeah. Me too,” he confessed. Their eyes met, and Sirius found himself transfixed, unable to look away as Remus gazed back at him with a mixture of relief and pure joy.

He resisted the urge to retreat to his default and throw out a bit of snark, determined to let the moment speak for itself. 

It was big, for both of them. For Moony, too, he supposed, the bloody git. Being Pack predated the years they spent shagging and fighting, and maybe it wasn’t much, but in that moment, it was everything he could give. 

☆─────☆☾☼☽☆─────☆

“You’re still awake,” Hermione said brightly as she stepped into the kitchen.

“I’m…back up, yeah,” Sirius sighed, staring down at the amber liquid in his glass. “Boys asleep?” 

“Yep. They were positively knackered. Wore themselves out with a case of the giggles when Harry kept trying to mimic Callum’s howl.” 

“That’s good. They always sleep well in the moon fort,” he responded. “Should let you get some rest tonight.” 

“Hopefully,” she sighed, stepping farther into the room to lean back against the counter. “Nightmares?” 

“Yep. It was…” Sirius trailed off, shaking his head, and she fixed him with a sympathetic stare. 

“I know you already have a therapist, but if you ever need to talk about them, I’ve had my fair share of nightmares, and I've been told I'm good at the talking thing.” 

“It’s um…it’s not that I don’t want to talk about it. I just don’t know if I can,” he confessed. 

“Alright,” Hermione pushed off the counter and took a few steps toward him, then reached down to grab his arm, tugging him out of his chair. 

“Where are we going?” he grumbled. 

“To have us a cuddle, because touch always helps ground you. And then you’re going to tell me about the nightmares.” 

“See? So godsdamn pushy,” he protested, but she ignored him, dragging him out of the kitchen and down the hall to the sitting room. They reached the sofa, and she shoved him back, forcing him to sit before she tucked herself against his side and reached for his arm again, draping it over her shoulders. 

“There,” she said triumphantly. “Now talk to me. Or if you really can’t, we can just sit. But you can’t drink alone in the dark about it every time they happen; you’ll be a lush by summer.” 

“That doesn’t sound like a bad thing to me, kitten.” 

“Oh, hush,” Hermione laughed, slapping him lightly on the chest. She turned so she could see his face, draping a leg over his, and he let his hand rest on her thigh as she propped her elbow on his arm and ran a hand through his hair.

There was nothing sexual or romantic about their touching, not really. It was just… something he needed, far more than he’d realised. He wondered, far too often, if he was leaning on her too hard, stressed about whether or not it was healthy to rely on one person for all comfort, especially when that person was the wife of his…whatever the hell Remus could be categorised as these days. 

That train of thought was due in no small part to Emmeline’s influence. She was constantly encouraging him to branch out, to get out of the house more, to connect better with Remus, but the world was still too big, too bright. 

With Hermione, things had become simple. They gave each other shit, and gods, was she pushy, but at the end of the day, she’d become a grounding point for him; a well of comfort that never seemed to run dry, and he craved her touch, lived for it. 

She gave it freely and emphatically, and Remus just…didn’t even seem to mind when he found them all snuggled up, so honestly, he wasn’t sure why he let himself stress so much about it. 

“Sirius,” Hermione urged, her eyes flicking down to meet his. He sighed, squeezing her thigh to remind himself that she was there as he let his head fall back against the couch and closed his eyes. 

“I see them. That night at Godric’s Hollow. Sometimes it’s just the memory. Sometimes it’s worse. Sometimes I—I have this dream where I get there, just in time, but I can’t get inside, like someone’s warded the doors, and I can hear them scr—” he broke off into a sob and sucked in a breath, blowing it out slowly as he tried to calm himself before he continued, “I hear them screaming for me, begging for help, and Harry is crying, and they need me, Hermione, but I just can’t ever get in the fucking door.”

“Oh, Sirius,” she whispered brokenly. He felt her shift on the sofa next to him, and then she was right there, straddling his lap as she cupped his face in her hands and forced him to look at her. 

“Listen to me,” she ordered. He sniffled, nodding against her hold as he watched a tear streak down her cheek, mirroring his own.

“It's so fucking horrible, and I’m so sorry. But it’s not your fault, Sirius. And we can’t go back, we can’t—gods, you’ve no idea how badly I wish I could go back. But you can’t keep carrying this. You have to forgive yourself.” 

“I can’t,” he protested. “I—I did it, Hermione. I convinced James that Peter would make the better Secret Keeper, because I knew the other side was trying to get to me. And Remus was gone, and that was my fault, too. It all was, and I can’t…I can’t get in the fucking door.” 

“Peter was your friend,” she emphasised the word, and he began to cry harder, tears running down his face and spilling onto her hands as she continued to grip his jaw. “He was your friend, Sirius. You are not the bad guy for having trusted a friend.” 

“But I should have known!” he nearly shouted the words, anger roiling in his gut. “I should have seen the signs that he’d switched sides, I should have been paying more attention instead of getting wasted and sobbing like a bitch because my boyfriend left me.” 

“You were hurt, and you were coping. And you knew you weren’t stable, so you did the best thing you could do, Sirius. But you couldn’t have seen the signs, because there was no way there were any indicators that he’d turn. There is no chance in hell James and Lily trusted him enough to put their baby’s life in his hands if there had been the slightest hint he would betray them,” Hermione insisted. 

“They did not make him the Keeper simply because you suggested it. I mean—honestly, Sirius, you knew them both best. Would either of them have said yes if they didn’t think it was the best idea?” 

“No,” Sirius whispered brokenly. “I never…I never thought of it like that. Not that it’s their fault, I—gods, I don’t even know what I’m trying to say.”

“It wasn’t their fault,” she went on, “but it wasn’t your fault either, Sirius, and you have to forgive yourself. The only person to blame is Peter, and he’s going to rot in Azkaban for the rest of his life. You were there yourself, so I think you’ll agree that’s exactly what he deserves.” 

“Yeah,” Sirius admitted. “It’s…terrible. Terrifying. I’m glad he’s there.” 

“Good. Will it help you to know that, when he was arrested, Remus beat him up so badly that Moody had to fudge a report stating he fell face-first out of a chair? Or that he testified at Peter’s trial the week after you got out to convince them not to give him the Kiss so he would suffer as much as possible?” 

“Shit,” Sirius let out an astonished laugh as he let his hands rest on her thighs, looking up at her in shock. “Moony did that? I—I had no idea.” 

“Yeah, well, you two haven’t exactly talked about much at all.” 

“I know. I want to improve that, I just…” 

“It’s hard,” Hermione finished for him. “I know, Sirius. But you don’t have to push yourself. Remus isn’t going anywhere, and neither am I.” 

“How are you so…gods, it's like you always know the right thing to say.” 

“I guess it comes naturally,” Hermione quipped. 

“I’m beginning to think everything does, with you,” Sirius confessed, his voice raw.

Later, when he replayed the night over and over in his mind, Sirius couldn’t recall who had moved first. He just knew that one moment he was staring up at her as she held his face, his fingers digging into the flesh of her thighs beneath one of Remus’s old shirts, and the next, his lips were on hers. 

Hermione let out a surprised squeak, then parted her lips, granting him permission, and he slid his tongue into her mouth with a groan. One of her hands slid to the back of his neck as she deepened the kiss, and his mind became hazy, swirling with need.

Tightening his grip on her thighs, he flipped them, pressing her back against the couch and covering her body with his. Hermione whimpered his name as he slanted his mouth over hers, and he broke away, cursing under his breath as he rose to his knees and ran a trembling hand through his hair.

“You’re shaking,” she whispered in concern. 

“I shouldn’t have—we can’t,” he croaked, shaking his head.

“Shut up.” She sat up, grabbing him roughly by the jaw, and kissed him again—harder this time, nipping at his bottom lip as she pulled him back on top of her. Her hands reached for the hem of his shirt, and he pulled away long enough to rip it over his head. 

Hermione sat up slightly and pulled her own shirt off, and he groaned as he took in the sight of her bare before him.

“You’re perfect,” he whispered. She blushed slightly, the prettiest shade of pink he’d ever seen staining her cheeks, and he knew, then. 

He couldn’t stop. 

He needed her in a way he’d never needed anything, like he’d been lost at sea for decades and she was the first ship that had drifted to his shore. He needed to feel her everywhere, to touch her as she touched him, and he should stop. 

A better man would have walked away. 

A better man wouldn’t have hooked his thumbs in the sides of her knickers and dragged them down her legs while she fumbled with the buckle of his belt. 

A better man wouldn’t have pressed his chest to hers and wrapped his arms around her back to hold her as close as he could as he thrust his hips forward and began to fill her. 

But when she gasped—an exquisite, breathy little moan drifting from her perfect lips—he knew. 

Maybe he’d already known. Maybe he was a piece of shit, or pathetic, or both, but above all else, he was so fucking in love with her that it hurt, and he didn’t know why or when it had happened, but he couldn’t keep pretending it wasn’t the truth. 

“You feel so good,” Hermione whimpered. “Please don’t stop.” 

“I won’t,” Sirius promised as he pressed his lips back to hers. He moved slowly, inch by inch, until he was fully hilted inside of her, and then slid his hands down to grab her hips, holding her steady as he relished in the warmth of her beneath him. 

He could feel her everywhere, and gods, she was everywhere, overtaking his mind, his fucking soul as she ran her hands up and down his sides and over his back, touching him everywhere she could reach. 

They stayed, suspended in time as he kissed her languidly, slowly rolling his tongue with hers until she was trembling beneath him. 

And then he began to move, dragging his cock out of her clenching heat until only the tip remained inside of her before he snapped his hips forward and filled her in one fluid motion. 

Hermione moaned, breaking the kiss as she let her head fall back against the arm of the sofa, and he trailed a hand up her body, flattening his palm to feel as much of her as he could as he worked his way up her stomach and over her breast until he splayed his fingers over the side of her neck to cup her jaw in his palm. 

Pressing his forehead to hers, he stared into her eyes as she brought a hand to his face, and he rocked his hips, filling her over and over. They didn’t speak; they barely made a sound beyond stuttered breaths and tiny gasps as she grew wetter with every thrust. 

He wasn’t going to last; it had been so long, and she felt like salvation, like he’d been pulled from the hell he’d spent the last two and a half years in and dropped into the arms of the sweetest bliss he’d ever known, would ever know.

Releasing his hold on her hip, he slid his hand between them and brushed his fingers over her clit to try to get her there faster. Hermione gasped, then nodded, and he continued to hold her gaze as he rubbed slow circles over her swollen nub. He moved faster, quickening his pace as she began to tighten around him, and gritting his teeth to try to hold out. 

He fell first, despite his best efforts, but she followed him over the edge with a single, whispered, “Sirius,” before her cunt locked down on his cock like a fist, milking him for all he was worth as he emptied himself inside of her.

Hermione let out another soft moan, and he kissed her again, a soft press of his lips before he pulled back, taking in the sight of her flushed face and watery eyes. 

She looked so fucking perfect, utterly ruined, as lost for him as he was for her, and it did unnamable things to his ego to see this perfect, indomitable witch so undone, all for him.

“Gods, I could watch you fall apart for me for the rest of my life, kitten,” Sirius rasped, finally breaking the spell they’d been under. He realised his words immediately—too close; too much. 

This was Remus’s wife.

He’d never come back from this. 

He wasn’t even sure if he wanted to. Now that he’d had her, now that he knew the way she felt, the sounds she made, the way her teeth sank into her lower lip as she came undone, he never wanted to let her go. 

But she wasn’t his. 

She wasn’t his, and she was Remus’s wife, and she’d just…let him fuck her on the couch like some sad, pathetic animal, and even if their relationship seemed to exist outside of the parameters of normality, this, tonight, had surely crossed a line.

Remus would never forgive him. 

“I—” he began, but she cut him off with a shake of her head, hurt flaring in her eyes as she placed a hand to his chest and pushed him away. Sirius sat back on his heels, watching as she reached for her shirt and clutched it to her chest. 

“Don’t say it,” she whispered, pleadingly. “Please, don’t back track and tell me this was a mistake, Sirius. Don’t lie to me. Not after that.” 

“Okay. I won’t. I just…” 

“I know,” she gave him a sad smile and sat up, pulling her shirt over her head. She began to climb off of the couch, then seemed to think better of it, leaning in to kiss him one more time before she reluctantly pulled away and repeated, “I know. I need to…can you stay down here with the boys tonight?” 

“Of course,” he responded in an instant. He’d already planned to do so, but even if he hadn’t, he could see that she needed… something. Time. To be alone. Whatever it was, he needed her to have it. 

What she had just given him had been transcendent. Powerful, and curative, and she was right. He didn’t want to say the words that would cheapen this, that would sully what they’d just shared and turn it into something wrong. He didn’t want to think of how badly he’d just fucked up, about how the life he’d come to love was undoubtedly going to be lost the second Remus found out.

What he did want was to pull her back down into his lap, to hold her close, to beg her to stay. But she wasn’t his, and none of this was alright, so he simply watched her go as he tucked his cock away and rebuckled his belt. 

Remus was going to kill him. 

He thought, then, that getting to have her, even once, just might have been worth it. 

☆─────☆☾☼☽☆─────☆

𝙷𝚎𝚛𝚖𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚎

.·:·.☆☾☼☽☆.·:·.

Rolling to her side, Hermione reached for Remus’s pillow and pulled it to her chest, burying her face against the satin pillowcase as she drew in his scent, a low, involuntary whine slipping from her lips. 

She missed him. He’d be home so soon, but it wasn’t soon enough. She needed him to hold her, to tell her everything was okay. 

He wouldn’t be mad, she didn’t think. He loved that she and Sirius were closer, even if the two men were still struggling to find their footing. And they’d talked about it, a few late nights, how someday, they could both see the potential for the three of them, together. 

But Sirius, of course, hadn’t shown a single sign of being receptive to that, and it had all been hypothetical, but now…

Now, she had slept with her husband-slash-mate’s best friend-slash-ex, and she didn’t know how to feel about anything. She didn’t think she’d cheated on Remus, not really. 

The Moony aspect would definitely be something to contend with, but honestly, the wolf would probably just chase his tail over the pack growing closer. He was simpler that way. The man…she just wasn’t sure how he would feel.

Remus loved her, though. That was the centre; what everything circled back to. Even if he was hurt or angry, they would work through it. They’d been prepared for this, to an extent, though all of their talks had been centred around the potential that what happened tonight between her and Sirius could happen between him and Remus. 

Still, she figured it was all the same, but it was far from simple. 

She had sex with Sirius.

She had sex with Sirius, and she loved it.

It was different from anything she’d ever felt, even with Remus. Not that it was better, but it wasn’t worse, either. It stood apart from any experience she’d had. It wasn’t fumbling in its newness; it wasn’t claiming and feral; it wasn’t even overly romantic.

Remus carved love and devotion into her body with every stroke, every time they were together, but there was a sharpened edge to it; a fervent need, all teeth and grasping hands. 

With him, it was like they could never get enough of one another, like no matter what she did, no matter how hard she clung to him, even when he was knotted inside of her and they were locked together, she still felt like she couldn’t get close enough, like she wouldn’t be fully sated until their bodies had completely fused together and become one. 

Her need for Remus was ancient, woven into the very marrow of their bones, a living thing as it danced along the bond between them, and nothing—nothing would ever top that. 

But nothing could top what had occurred earlier in the night, either. 

Sex with Sirius stood apart from anything else, just as sex with Remus did, but touching him, being touched by him, it was fucking medicinal. 

There was no other way to describe it. 

Every soft touch, every rock of their hips, every second they’d spent, staring into one another’s eyes as they moved as one, while he cupped her cheek and she touched him everywhere her hands could reach, it was like they drenched their very souls in the most ancient of healing magics with every breath they took in tandem.

She had woven silent declarations of I’ll take care of you and you’ll never be alone again into every brush of their skin as his very soul seemed to whisper back I need you, and I’m sorry, and the love—godsdamn, the love was palpable, so thick in the air between them that she nearly choked on it. 

Because she did love him. 

She was in love with Sirius Black as much as she was in love with Remus Lupin, but in the most different of ways, and the two of them, gods, they had always loved each other, but she didn’t know where to go from here. She had no idea how to weave the threads of these three distinct, individual dynamics and make it work. 

She had no idea, truly, if they even could, if they would want to, but she knew there was no going back. 

And maybe there never had been.

Maybe, in all of her willingness to share Remus, she’d missed the forest for the trees and hadn’t realised that she was the one who needed it the most.

She couldn’t go back, now that she’d had them both, and there was no way forward for her but together, with both. 

But she didn’t know what to do. She felt stuck, as if she were trying to wade through quicksand, and the sun had already risen, and then he was there, the door creaking open like the echo of a war drum as she heard Remus suck in an audible breath, his eyes flashing gold through the dimness of their bedroom. 

“He fucked you.” 

☆─────☆☾☼☽☆─────☆

Chapter Text

𝙷𝚎𝚛𝚖𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚎

.·:·.☆☾☼☽☆.·:·.

“Remus,” Hermione whispered, fear clutching at her chest as he slowly closed the door behind him and prowled toward the bed. 

“I can smell him on you.” His voice was thick and distorted, a growling sort of rumble. He grabbed her by the thigh, ignoring her yelp of surprise as he dragged her arse to the edge of the mattress.

Dropping to his knees, he splayed a hand over her stomach to pin her down as he leaned in and pressed his nose to her knickers.

“Fuck, I can smell him on you,” he repeated with a groan.

“I didn’t mean to,” she protested feebly, lifting her head to peer down at him. “Are you cross with me?”

He didn’t respond—not verbally, but the brush of his tongue over her sodden knickers was the only response she needed. 

Hermione gasped, her hands flying down to grip his hair, and Remus looked up at her as he hooked his hands in the sides of her knickers. He tore the fabric away, splitting the thin cotton down the sides before he hooked her leg over his shoulder and began to lap at her dripping cunt.

Hermione moaned, rocking her pelvis to grind against his face, and he let out a warning growl as he placed his forearm on her stomach to pin her hips to the bed.

“So fucking sweet,” he groaned. The vibrations of his voice sent a shockwave through her core, and she began to tremble beneath him. Remus flicked his eyes up, watching her face as he sucked her clit into his mouth and began to roll the sensitive nub between his lips. 

He thrust two fingers inside of her, crooking them to brush the pads of his fingertips over her G-spot, and she shattered, one hand braced on the back of his head to keep his mouth on her as she soaked his face.

Remus slipped his fingers out of her and raised his hand, swiping them over her lips, and she darted her tongue out, then gasped as she realised she could taste him. 

Sirius’s cum, mixed with hers, on Remus’s fingers. She could even taste the remnants of what Remus had left inside of her during their shower a few hours before he’d left for the full moon. 

It was utterly filthy, but there was something so intoxicating about the combination that she couldn’t help herself. She sucked Remus’s fingers into her mouth, hollowing her cheeks as he vanished their clothing.

Grabbing her hip, he dragged her back up the mattress and then sat back on his heels, wrapping one hand around his cock as he stared down at her cunt. 

“Fuck, I thought nothing would beat the sight of my cum slipping out of this perfect cunt,” he groaned. “But watching him drip out of you is—gods, I need to be inside of you.” 

“You’re not mad?” she asked, her voice wavering.

“I’m fucking…I don’t even know,” he confessed with a shaky laugh. “I’m not mad, cariad. I’m not. I’ve…gods, it feels filthy to admit. But I’ve thought about it. About you and him, together. Fucked my own fist as I imagined holding your head while he slid his cock between your lips.” 

“Oh, gods,” Hermione groaned. “You’d like that? Both of us, together? Would Moony even—”

“I have never, in twenty years, heard this fucking wolf as happy as he is right now.” He looked up at her, biting his lip as he continued to stroke himself, and Hermione shivered under the heat of his gaze.

“What’s he saying?” she asked.

“That it’s right. That you’re fucking perfect. That I need to sink inside of this pretty little pussy and feel the warmth of Sirius’s cum coating my cock while I fuck him deeper inside of you.” He looked positively feral; eyes molten gold, hair a mess, chest heaving with laborious breaths. 

He grabbed her thighs again and flipped her over, pulling her onto her knees and fisting one hand in her hair to press the side of her face to the mattress. Hermione gasped as she felt the broad head of his cock breach her entrance, and then he snapped his hips, thrusting inside of her so hard, so deep that she screamed, her upper body bowing off the bed.

Wrapping his arms around her, he pulled her back against his chest and began to fuck her with wild abandon.

“You’re mine,” he growled. “My perfect mate. My wife. Love of my life. The fucking centre, Hermione. Tell me you know. Tell me you’re mine.”

“Yours, Remus. Always yours. I didn’t—”

“Shhh,” he hushed, pressing a kiss to the side of her neck. “Baby, don't make excuses. I'm not mad. Moony is good. This is Pack, Hermione, and you're mine. I don't doubt that. He could fuck you a thousand times, and it wouldn't make you any less mine. But he…fuck, you're so tight,” he groaned.

“He's mine too. Even if he never is again, it's all the same, to me and the wolf. And the two of you together it's…fuck, I'm so jealous,” he admitted with a shaky laugh as he halted his movements and dragged his cock out of her. 

Hermione whined in protest, but he moved her again, guiding her onto her back as he settled between her thighs.

“You're mine,” he repeated, running his hands down her sides. “Always mine, Hermione Jean. But you did so well, cariad. Healing our pack. Healing him. And now, you’re going to lie right here,” he snapped his hips, impaling her on his cock in a single, punishing thrust.

“And you're going to take your reward like a good girl. You're going to feel this fat cock knot inside of you, feel how fucking far I stretch this tight body, and you're going to know he could never give you this.”

“Never. It's…oh gods, only you.”

“No. But forever me. Forever mine. You can keep fucking him, and I'll keep eating his cum out of your cunt, but at the end of the day, I'm the one who gets this,” he dipped his head, scraping his teeth over her mark, and her back arched as she let out a high, keening moan. 

“Fuck,” he groaned. “I don't…we want to bite you, so fucking bad.”

“Do it. Please. Mark me again,” Hermione begged.

“Will it even—” 

“I don't know,” she cut him off, scraping her nails down his side as he pulled away to look down at her. “I don't know if it will scar o…I don’t care, I need to feel it. Please, Remus. I want you to mark me. This you, in this time.”

Remus cocked his head, as if he were listening—likely to Moony, she surmised—and then looked back down at her, simply watching her for a moment before he pressed his lips to hers. 

Their tongues met, and she gasped at the taste of herself—and Sirius—on his mouth. She gripped his neck, deepening the kiss as he slowly rocked his hips to drag his cock through her cunt, her inner walls gripping him like a vice. She could feel how messy she was, her cunt slick with another man’s cum while her husband moved inside of her, and it was mortifying and perfect and everything, all at once. 

When she gasped, he broke the kiss and began to move. Withdrawing his cock from her clenching heat, he trailed his lips down her neck and scraped his teeth over her collarbone before he paused at her breast. 

“Where should I bite you, little Mate?” Remus murmured, dragging his lips down the swell of her breast to swirl his tongue around her nipple. 

“Here?” he asked, brushing his lips over the swell of her breast. Hermione whimpered, and he chuckled softly as he began to kiss his way down her stomach, dragging his tongue along a stretch mark that ran from her naval to her hip. 

“Right here?” he asked, nipping at her hip bone. “Should I add more marks to where this pretty little body stretched to carry my pup?” 

“Remus,” she whined, lifting her head to look down at him. His eyes softened when they met hers, the tightness around the lids relaxing, but they were still glowing—golden and feral as he cocked his head like a wild animal. 

“Moony says we should bite you everywhere,” he informed her, a taunting hint to his tone. “He says we should mark up every inch of you. Bite your jaw, so you can’t hide it.” 

“M-maybe not there,” she replied with a shaky laugh. 

“Nah. You’re right. I’d never ruin that gorgeous face. But here…” he moved his mouth down her hip, nipping at the side of her arse. “Gods, I could sink my teeth in right here. Or here,” he continued, running his lips across the upper crease of her thigh. 

“Gods, anywhere, please,” Hermione begged. 

He kissed his way to her centre, pausing to drag his tongue from her arse to her clit, and groaned against her heated flesh. “Gods, you taste so fucking good tonight, cariad.” 

“If you don’t hurry up and pick a spot, I’m going to—” Hermione broke off into a guttural scream as he struck. He slid two fingers inside of her cunt, crooking them to press against her G-spot as he pushed his thumb against her clit and then sank his teeth into her inner thigh, tearing through the skin. 

She came in an instant—a powerful, all-consuming wave of magic flooding through her chest as she squirted her release, and Remus whimpered as he tore his teeth from her flesh and began to lap at the wound. 

“Mine. Mine. Mine,” he growled

“Yours. Always, Remus,” she vowed breathlessly. Remus sat up, kneeling between her thighs as he brought his hand to his mouth and dragged his tongue over his palm before he lapped at his fingers, cleaning her mess off of his skin. 

Once he was done, he placed his hand on the bed next to her face and thrust inside of her so hard that it stole her breath. 

“Mine,” he growled again. “My Mate. Always mine. This is first, do you hear me? You can give yourself to him. You can love him, and fuck, cariad, I know you do. I can feel it. But you belong to me. This body, your fucking soul, it’s all for me. Tell me you know that.” 

“I know,” she nodded, wrapping her arms around his back to bring him closer. “I’m your Mate, Remus. That’s for life. But he—I—”

“Shhh…” He shook his head and brushed his lips over hers as he began to move, dragging his cock out at a glacial pace until only the tip remained inside, and then slamming himself to the hilt in one fluid motion, over and over until her legs began to shake. 

“There you go, cariad. Don’t you think I know that nothing could ever give you what I do?” 

“Never,” she moaned the word, clawing at his back like a feral housecat as he picked up the pace and began to rut into her so hard the headboard slammed against the wall. 

“Shit,” he groaned. Sticking a hand out, he summoned his wand and clumsily cast a silencing charm, then tossed the cypress wood onto the bed next to them and grabbed her hips. 

Rolling to his back, he sat up and scooted back against the headboard, and Hermione repositioned herself to wrap her legs around his back as she gripped his shoulders. Remus dug his fingers into the flesh of her arse and lifted her, then slammed her back down onto his cock. 

“Oh gods, Remus,” she yelled out. Remus growled, deep and rumbling, and continued his efforts, moving her up and down in his lap at breakneck speed as she clung to him. 

“Gonna breed you so fucking deep that it sticks this time,” he rasped. “And you’re going to take it so well, aren’t you? Gonna do your job and let this knot split you open while you scream for me, little Mate?” 

“Yes, fuck, Remus, don’t stop. I can—gods, I can feel it,” Hermione responded, her nails tearing into the flesh of his upper back as he began to fuck her even harder, slamming his hips up every time he dragged her down. 

“Yeah? Can you feel what you do to me, baby? That’s only for you.” 

“Only me. Mine. Mwynglawdd.” 

(Mine.)

“Fucking hell, Hermione, when you speak Cymraeg…I taught you, yeah?”

(Welsh)

“Yeah. Some. When I was pregnant, I was restless. Needed something to focus on, I—I don’t know much, but dw i'n gwybod sut i erfyn am eich ceiliog,” she told him with a breathless giggle.

(I know how to beg for your cock.)

“Yeah? Yna erfyn. Dywed wrtha i dy fod ti eisiau i mi ffycin ci bach arall i mewn i'r corff bach tynn yma, cariad.”

(Then beg. Tell me you want me to fuck another pup into this tight little body, love.)

Remus tightened his hold on her hips, keeping her pinned in his lap as he continued to thrust inside of her. She could feel his knot swelling, each short snap of his hips causing the pressure against her G-spot to increase as her cunt dripped around him.

“Please. Os gwelwch yn dda,” she moaned. “cael fi yn feichiog. Please, Remus. I’ll be good. I’ll take it all, I’ll—byddaf yn dda.”

(Please, get me pregnant. I'll be good.)

“Rwyt ti bob amser yn dda i mi.” He bit his lip, groaning as she felt him grow thicker inside of her. 

(You're always so good for me.)

“Oh, oh, gods, please, Remus,” Hermione begged. “I need it, baby, please give it to me.” 

“Words, cariad.” 

“Need you to knot me. Remus, I—fuck, I’m going to come.” 

“Take it,” he growled, his teeth clenched as he slammed into her again. His cockhead collided with her cervix like a battering ram, sending a shockwave across her lower stomach, and she broke, screaming his name as he began to spill inside of her. 

She could feel him everywhere, thick and deep, her body stretched so tight around his girth as his knot locked them together that she could barely catch her breath. She gripped his shoulders tighter, moaning louder and louder with every throb of his cock, until she finally went limp in his hold, pressing her forehead to his shoulder. 

“I love you,” Remus murmured, wrapping her braid around his fist to pull her head back so she’d meet his eyes. “I love you, Hermione. And you don’t—you can’t beat yourself up or wallow in guilt over this. I know we never talked about you and Sirius…but please know it's okay. You love him too, don’t you?”

“I do. Gods, Remus, I love him so much,” she whispered. “But it’s not like it is with you. It’s not…it doesn’t replace this. It’s completely different.” 

“I know,” Remus sighed and pressed his lips to her forehead, drawing in a breath through his nose. “I don’t feel threatened. I feel jealous, in that I wasn’t there. And I suppose because you…” 

“Because I got to be with him and you can’t,” she supplied. “Because you love him, too, and you miss him.” 

“I do.” He released her hair and leaned back against the headboard with a defeated sigh.

“You’re really not mad? Moony’s not mad?” 

“No, cariad. I'm not mad. As for Moony, well, it's all simpler for him, isn’t it? You’re my mate. You belong to me, and I have you. You take care of our kids—our pups. You’re the one who keeps me grounded. You’re the one I’ll always need. But when Moony calls you mine, it's not about possessiveness. It’s…ownership, though I hate the idea of calling it such. 

“But you simply are mine. That runs deeper than sex. And for the wolf, sex is…sex. A physical need. The knotting bit is the only part of it he has any strong opinion about at all, which is why it only happens once a wolf has chosen and marked their mate. Even when I was with Sirius before, Moony just…” 

He sighed, running a hand through his hair, then let out a small laugh, “He never cared that I was sleeping with or in love with someone; that was fine. He just thought I was being rather foolish when I could have been out finding a mate. Now that I have you, he’s been…well, he has thoughts about Sirius.”

“What thoughts?” She asked, cocking her head. Remus pursed his lips and wrapped his arms around her back. Scooting down until he lay flat, he gently rolled to the side, hitching her leg over his hip to help her lie more comfortably as his knot remained firmly locked in place inside of her. 

“Do you know, when I have you like this, he goes completely silent? It's so rare that he’s not screaming in my head. And after so long, I’d gotten used to it. But you just…gods, Hermione, I was a mess. I was drinking my days away, depressed and pissed off at the world. I’d sunk so far into the darkness that I thought I’d never see the light again. And then, there you were. Pissed off in my doorway, holding a screaming baby that stole my face.” 

She laughed at that, and he grinned, slowly shaking his head. 

“You saved me, cariad. And I could live the rest of my life with you and our boys, and never feel as if I’m going without. I could even live that life and accept this. Let you be with me, and with him, because at the end of the day, the biggest driving force of the bond beyond the obvious is to keep you happy and take care of you. 

“But I would be a liar if I said I didn’t want to be a part of that with both of you. And he hates me right now, but if there’s a day when we could have it all, together…” Remus trailed off, his smile softening into something sad, and she leaned in to kiss him, nipping at his lip before she pulled away. 

“I love you, Remus. But you’re still avoiding telling me what Moony says,” she scolded lightly.

“Right.” He pressed his lips into a thin line, rolling his eyes. “He says ‘fuck the dog so he stops being a brat’ and ‘remind him of his place in the pack’ and shit like…erm…‘just fuck him already and then go knot our mate.’ Everything with this damn wolf is just horny nonsense.” 

“Is it nonsense, though?” Hermione challenged. “I mean, you’ve written a lot of what he says about me off, only to find out that I do need those things. And you’ve learned that listening to Moony helps with me, right?” 

“Right, but that’s different,” Remus said dismissively.

“How?” 

“Well, because it’s…you’re…well, shit, cariad, I don’t know. It just is. I can hardly just go fuck Sirius out of the blue and expect it to fix shit.” 

“Honestly, you know him better than I do, but do you think he needs time and space and a million conversations? Because from what your older self told me about things with him, talking was never how you two resolved things,” she said, matter-of-factly.

“I, uh—well, I can’t argue with that,” Remus laughed, a slight blush spreading across his cheeks. He shook his head, then sighed, leaning in to press his lips to her cheek as he held her tighter against his chest.

“Are you alright?” he asked. “Was it okay with him? You two didn’t fight after or anything?” 

“It was…it was good, Remus,” she admitted. “Soft. I keep thinking it just felt like healing. We didn’t even speak, we just…felt. Stared into each other’s eyes the entire time, and he was so gentle with me. But then as soon as it was done, he baulked, and I sort of took off before he could do that Sirius thing and be an arse about it because he didn’t know how to process it.” 

“You know him well,” Remus laughed. “I’m glad you’re okay.” 

“Are you alright? The moon last night wasn’t too rough?”

“Nah. Moony’s been less of a dick lately. I’m sore as hell, but nothing sleep won’t fix.” He yawned, as if on cue, then reached down to pull the quilt over their intertwined bodies. “Rest, love. I can hear that he’s already up with the boys. We’ll just…I just want to hold you, and we’ll figure things out later, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Hermione yawned. “I like it when you hold me.” 

“Well, I suppose that’s a good thing. Imagine if you hated it,” he teased, rocking his hips slightly to emphasise his point. Hermione hissed, biting her lip as she glared at him. 

“That’s not sleeping,” she intoned. 

“Who said we should sleep? That sounds like a terrible idea.”

☆────☆☾☼☽☆────☆

𝚁𝚎𝚖𝚞𝚜

.·:·.☆☾☼☽☆.·:·.

Taking one final drag of his cigarette, Remus bent his head to the side, cracking his neck before he tossed the butt into the can and moved to open the patio door. 

He felt better now. It always took a few days to recover physically from the full moon, but after some sleep and a little time with the boys, his mind was far clearer.

Once they’d woken up, Sirius had taken one look at Hermione and Remus and retreated to his bedroom, where he’d stayed for the entire afternoon. After the boys had their nap, Hermione decided to take them to the Burrow for a playdate—which Remus knew was a thinly veiled excuse to give him and Sirius time alone. 

He’d been out back for over an hour, thinking and chain-smoking, and the conclusion he’d come to was the only one that made sense. 

She’d been right, as had Moony, which honestly just irritated him, but what could he do?

His Mate and his wolf were going to gang up on him a million times in the coming decades, so he supposed it was about time he accepted it. 

And she was right, anyway. 

He and Sirius had never talked things out. That was never what either of them needed. 

Moony had been especially vocal about that part of things; constantly reminding him for months on end now that the dog didn’t need a conversation until after, but he’d resisted. 

Doing this right was so godsdamn important to him, but he’d tried everything. He’d given him space, he’d pushed, he’d tried to open up, he’d acted casual, he’d invited him out for a pint, asked questions about his day. 

But there was too much hurt.

That was what it boiled down to. 

Hurt that ran deeper than just knowing Remus was married and had a family now. Not to diminish that hurt, but it was simply more complex than something that could be assigned to a singular fact. 

Remus had hurt Sirius, and then he’d left him alone, even before their entire world fell apart. Sirius had loved him, and Remus had loved him back, so fucking fiercely, but his self-hatred got in the way. 

It had sat dead centre in the space between them for their entire relationship, and seeing him be able to heal that wound with someone else hurt Sirius—not only because it wasn’t him, but because he had tried so many times.

And it wasn’t his fault. He needed, so desperately, to tell Sirius that. Sirius hadn’t been able to fix him because it wasn’t his job, and he wasn’t someone who could be fixed. 

It wasn’t until Hermione had shown up and he realised that some future part of himself had healed well enough to marry Sirius, to be happy, and then to move on and fall in love again, that he thought he could be someone capable of leading a normal life. 

He got the answer guide for the test of life twenty years in advance. He didn’t have to go through twelve years alone and become an empty shell of a man to realise he could be someone who deserved a life worth living.

It wasn’t fair to Sirius, but it wasn’t something he could help either. 

Remus had never thought there was a world in which he deserved anything like what he had now. Some days, he hated more than anything that he’d never know exactly how his older self was able to reach the point where he could figure that out on his own. 

More often than not, though, he was simply relieved he would never have to learn. 

Things were good now. Nearly perfect. He had Hermione and the boys, and he meant what he’d told her; he could live the rest of his life with only her and be the happiest man alive. 

But he loved Sirius. 

He loved Sirius Black in a deep-seated, unshakable way that, clearly, even twelve years apart wouldn’t have snuffed out any more than two years had. And sod it all, he knew Sirius still loved him, just as surely as he knew the look in the other man’s eye when he watched Hermione. 

The fact that the two of them had slept together hadn’t hurt. It hadn’t upset him. It just solidified something inside his head. 

Blame the Moony of it all, he supposed, but the second he’d opened the bedroom door and caught Sirius’s scent on Hermione, he’d known this was how it was supposed to be. 

His man, taking care of his girl while he was away. 

Making her theirs. 

It was right, and it was so fucking necessary for the pack, for their family, which Sirius was a far more important part of than he seemed to realise. 

But above all else, it was the only way forward. They couldn’t do this together with all of this hurt and animosity between them, and he didn’t want to do it any way but with both of them. Sirius, Hermione, and himself raising both of their boys together, taking care of each other, filling in the gaps where the others faltered. 

It was the endgame, and honestly, he was tired of pretending like it wasn’t the only way this ever would have worked out. 

As he stepped into the house, he drew in a breath through his nose, his nostrils flaring when he located Sirius. As he made his way through the house to the staircase, he focused his breathing, trying to relax as much as he could. 

I need you for this. 

|| Is this a dream? The boy admits he needs Moony’s help? Somebody pinch me ||

Would you die if you stopped being a smart arse for five seconds of our life?

|| Best not to risk it || 

Moony. 

|| Shut up. Just let me, boy. Moony will fix it all. Breathe it in ||

Remus nodded and took a deep breath as he paused outside the bathroom door. He could smell Sirius; that familiar hint of leather, the smell of his mouthwash, his soap as he cleansed himself. But underneath it all, he could still smell her on him. 

His Mate, on another man. 

Gods, even being just fine with it all, even loving the idea of Sirius and Hermione together, he was still a possessive beast at his core.

|| There it is. He took our Mate while we were under the full. Sneaky, sneaky. Should have asked before he touched what was ours. Common courtesy, as you people say || 

He let out a low laugh, shaking his head as he reached for the doorknob. 

“I’m coming in,” he called out as he opened the door. 

“Oi!” Sirius peeked his head around the edge of the shower curtain, narrowing his eyes. “You trying to stare at my arse some more?”

“Maybe,” Remus replied, flicking his tongue over his teeth as he leaned back against the door and crossed his arms over his chest. Sirius’s eyes went wide before he disappeared behind the shower curtain to turn the water off. 

The curtain opened, and Sirius stood before him, dripping wet in all his naked glory. He raised an eyebrow at Remus as he reached for a towel, and Remus let his eyes run down Sirius’s lean frame, tracing the familiar path down to where his cock hung, half-hard and heavy between his thighs. 

Sirius reached down, palming his cock self-consciously before he wrapped the towel around his waist. Remus sniffed, fighting back a smile as he caught the subtle shift in Sirius’s scent. 

|| Fear ||

That was good. 

Perfect, even, because a scared Sirius was a Sirius who catapulted himself back into his favourite set of defensive armour. Remus needed him to have a bit of fight in him if this was going to work. 

Sirius furrowed his brow as Remus continued to simply stare at him, until he finally broke and turned, making his way to the vanity to brush the teeth Remus could smell he’d already handled.

“What?” he finally asked around his toothbrush as he looked up to catch Remus’s eye in the mirror. “Why are you looking at me like that?” 

“Like what?”

“All… Moony. Your fucking eyes, man.” Sirius shook his head and leaned in to spit, then turned on the tap to rinse his toothbrush. He placed it back in the little cup Hermione kept on the counter and finally—with an obvious air of reluctance—turned around, mirroring Remus’s stance as he leaned back against the vanity and folded his arms over his chest. 

“Is there a reason you interrupted my shower to glare at me?” 

“Oh, come on now, Pads. You’ve never been as dumb as you like to pretend you are. You know exactly why I’m here.” 

“Hmmm…” Sirius reached up, scratching at the scruff lining his jaw as he appeared to mull over the possibilities. He was stalling, Remus could tell. Reticent to admit the truth on the off-chance that Remus didn’t already know. 

“Nope. Nothing,” he finally said, tapping his finger against his temple. 

“Really?” Remus tilted his head to the side. “The cum I sucked out of my wife’s cunt this morning was nothing?”

Sirius visibly flinched, casting his eyes up to the ceiling, and Remus saw the mask slide into place as if it were a tangible thing. 

|| Here we go. Let the dog be a brat. Then fix it. Get it over with before our Mate comes home so we can— ||

This is about him, Moons. 

|| Right. Fuck the dog, then ||

“That’s what you’re here about?” Sirius let out a bitter laugh, rolling his eyes. “You caught me. I fucked your wife. Pretty damn well, if I say so myself. And now, what? You gonna kick my arse, moonbeam?” 

Remus didn’t respond. He simply raised an eyebrow and fixed Sirius with an expectant stare as if to say, keep going. 

And in true fashion, he did. 

“You know, you should have seen her last night,” he said casually as he reached a hand behind him to grab the dental floss from the counter. He tore out a piece, holding it between his thumbs, and began to work it through his teeth as he continued. 

“I mean, you’re shit with a silencing charm, so I’ve heard her with you a few times. But the way she screamed for me?” he chuckled, tossing the floss into the bin before he crossed his arms once more. “She’s real good with that pretty little mouth, too, yeah?”

“Is that helping?” Remus asked in a steady voice. 

“Helping? What the fuck are you on about?” 

“Is it helping you to lie right now?” 

“Lie?” Sirius scoffed, rolling his eyes dramatically. “We both know I fucked her. Why would I lie now? You’re here to either kick my arse or toss me out on it, or both, so why bother trying to backtrack now? You went off to the shack. Hermione put the boys to bed in the moon fort. I bent her over the couch and fucked her while she wore your shirt. Then I had a smoke and went to sleep.” 

“Lie,” Remus echoed. 

“Why are you being so…” Sirius raised a hand, waving it erratically. “You’re freaking me out, man. Why aren’t you mad?”

“Why would I be mad?” 

“Because I fucked your wife!” Sirius ran a hand through his hair as he let out a weak laugh, “I fucked your Mate.”

“No, you didn’t,” Remus argued firmly. 

“Huh?”

“You didn’t fuck her.” He placed a foot on the door behind him and pushed off, taking a step toward Sirius, then another. “You didn’t bend her over the couch. You didn’t slide your cock between her lips. You didn’t make her scream.” 

“Whatever,” Sirius scoffed weakly. 

“You didn’t fuck her,” Remus repeated as he crowded in on Sirius, flattening his palms on the counter on either side of his hips. 

“Moony…” 

“You did not fuck my wife,” Remus reiterated. “You didn’t bend her over like a common slag. You made love to her because you’re in love with her.” 

“I’m not —I love—” Sirius protested, stumbling over his words. 

“Don’t,” Remus shook his head and leaned in, dragging his nose along Sirius’s jaw as he drew in his scent. Sirius shivered as he let loose a tiny gasp, and Remus pulled back to look into his eyes. “She told me everything. You can lie, try to rile me up about anything else. But not her, because she is mine.” 

“Yeah, well, she seemed to have forgotten that little bit when she spread her legs and let me—” 

“Stop it,” Remus ordered. Sirius huffed and brought his hands up, placing his palms flat against Remus’s chest to shove him away. Remus took a step back, but caught Sirius's wrists with both hands and shoved them back down. 

“I don’t know what you want from me. I slept with her. If you’re expecting an apology, I won’t do it, because I’m not fucking sorry.” Sirius pushed past him, knocking their shoulders together as he moved toward the door. 

Remus turned and watched as he came to a stop with his hand wrapped around the doorknob and then spun back around.

|| Here we go ||

You already said that. 

|| Why are you so obsessed with me? Do you keep a running log of everything Moony says? Let me live ||

“I’m not sorry,” Sirius repeated. “And I am in love with her. And I know how fucking stupid that is, when she’s your godsdamn wife, and I’m still not even over—” he cut himself off with a shake of his head. 

“This is a fucking mess, and I know that. But I’ll leave, yeah? I’m not going to fuck this up for you, Moons, or for her, or those boys. I’ll be out by morning.”

“Shut up.” Remus surged forward before he could stop himself. Grabbing Sirius roughly by the jaw, he backed him up against the door and kissed him, shoving their mouths together so hard that his teeth dug into the inside of his lips painfully. Sirius opened his mouth, sinking his teeth into Remus’s lower lip, hard, and then reached an arm up to knock his hand away. 

“Fuck you.”

“No.” Remus shook his head and placed his forearm over Sirius’s collarbone, pinning him back against the wall as he trailed his free hand down his chest to slip beneath the towel. He wrapped his hand around Sirius’s cock, fighting the urge to moan at the way he felt in his hand after all this time as he added, “But I’m going to fuck you.” 

“Moony—fuck,” Sirius groaned. “This isn’t fair.” 

“None of this is fair,” Remus agreed. He released his hold on Sirius’s cock and reached for the towel, tugging it away and letting it fall to the floor before he kissed him again. 

Sirius didn’t resist this time. He groaned, fisting a hand in Remus’s hair, and shoved his tongue into his mouth, kissing him as if he sought to dominate his entire soul, and gods, he hadn’t even realised how much he truly missed this until that exact moment. 

Remus wrapped an arm around Sirius’s back and turned them, backing him toward the counter as they kissed so hard that he could feel his face turning raw from the scratch of Sirius’s stubble. 

He felt so fucking right in his arms, all hard lines and rough edges, and he wanted to take his time, to worship every inch of the man he’d loved for half his life, but Remus had never been good at restraint. 

Sirius’s back hit the counter with a thud, and Remus hoisted him up, knocking the other man’s legs apart with his hip as he settled between them. He could feel Sirius’s cock grinding desperately against his stomach, and he pulled back, hastily, yanking off his shirt and undoing his trousers to shove them down his thighs. 

Sirius looked down, sucking in a breath, and Remus grinned lazily as he wrapped his fist around his cock and gave it a tug. He raised his free hand near his face where Sirius could see it, and twisted his fingers, unable to staunch the cocky bit of pride that bled out when Sirius whimpered at the sight. 

“Ah, fy nghariad, did you think I forgot how to take care of you?” 

“Didn’t figure you thought much about me at all,” Sirius grumbled. 

“You always were so good at lying to yourself,” Remus noted. He took a step forward, releasing his cock to grab Sirius’s thigh and pull him to the edge of the counter. 

Sirius leaned back until his shoulders rested against the wall behind him and planted his feet on the counter, letting his knees fall open. 

Remus leaned in, dragging his now-lubricated fingers over the dripping head of Sirius’s cock before he worked his way down to his arse and began to circle the tight rim. 

Their cocks brushed against each other as he moved closer, and Sirius reached down, wrapping a large hand around both of their shafts as Remus began to work his fingers inside of him. 

“Fuck, Moons,” Sirius groaned. Remus rocked his hips, shivering as the underside of his cock dragged against Sirius’s, and the other man began to move his fist, stroking them both as Remus thrust his fingers deeper, crooking them just to hear Sirius’s perfect, tortured little moan. 

He continued to work, scissoring his fingers to get Sirius ready to take him as the other man lazily stroked their cocks. 

“What’s the matter, Moony? You look about ready to burst. Did you miss me that much?” Sirius taunted.

“Yes,” Remus admitted without an ounce of shame as he withdrew his fingers. He straightened back up and pulled his cock out of Sirius’s hold, casting another wordless lubrication charm on his hand before he spread it over his cock and angled his swollen head toward Sirius’s entrance. 

Looping an arm beneath Sirius’s knee, he spread him open and began to sink, groaning when the ridge of his cockhead slipped past the tight ring of muscle. Sirius gasped and let his head fall back against the wall. His eyes drifted closed, and Remus shot a hand out, grabbing him roughly by the face. 

“Don’t,” he ordered. “You’re going to look at me while I fuck you. You don’t get to hide from this.” 

|| Good, boy. Take charge. Alpha wolf. Fuck him into submission so the pack can heal. Finally fucking listening || 

“Fuck, Moons, you’re so fucking…” Sirius grit his teeth and leaned forward, grabbing Remus by the throat as he pulled his mouth down to his. Remus groaned, sinking his cock in another inch, then another, until he was finally buried to the hilt inside of him. 

He let his hand fall to Sirius’s neck, gripping his throat in return as he slowly dragged his cock back and then filled him again, and they moaned into one another’s mouths. 

“You’re so fucking tight,” Remus groaned. 

“So’s your wife,” Sirius shot back. Remus tightened his hold on the other man’s throat, and Sirius responded in kind, giving his throat a squeeze before he dragged his nails down his chest. 

“I love it when you go all feral, beast boy,” Sirius taunted. Remus chuckled darkly, his vision blurring around the edges as Moony rose to the surface. 

“How did my Mate feel, wrapped around this pretty cock of yours?” he rasped. “Like fucking heaven, yeah?” 

“Better than you ever did,” Sirius responded. Remus scoffed and squeezed his throat, earning him a gasp as his other hand gripped Sirius’s hip, fingers digging into his flesh hard enough to bruise. 

“You and I both know there’s no comparison. This,” he emphasised the word with a particularly hard thrust, “is its own world, just like she is. Don’t fuck around and fuck it all up because you can’t admit what you feel.”

“I can—fuck, I can feel you in my stomach,” Sirius groaned. “I can admit your cock feels like it’s going to split me in half. That all you got, wolfy? You know I won’t break.” 

“And you know I will break you, you fucking brat,” Remus taunted. “You’re going to stay right here, spread out for me while I fuck your arse, and you’re going to fucking listen to me.” 

“Gods, why are you always so fucking chatty?”

“You love it.” 

“You—fuck, just shut up and fuck me,” Sirius demanded. Remus snapped his hips, raising the arm that held Sirius’s leg aloft as he began to drive into him with brutal force. Sirius moaned, slapping a hand against the wall behind him as he began to rock his hips, meeting Remus thrust for punishing thrust. 

“You take me like a fucking dream,” Remus groaned. “This tight little arse, squeezing the life out of my cock? This is as much mine as that pretty little witch you sank inside of last night. And you’re not going to forget it. You fucked her. You’ll do it again. But she is mine.” 

“She sure felt like mine when her cunt was squirting all over my fucking cock,” Sirius taunted. 

“Keep running your mouth, baby, it only makes me harder.” Remus dropped Sirius’s leg and reached between them, running his thumb over the leaking head of Sirius’s cock. He raised his hand to his mouth to lick the pre-cum off the digit, groaning at the salty taste, then smirked. “Tastes better when it's dripping out of my wife. But we’re done talking about her now.” 

He snapped his hips, releasing his hold on Sirius’s throat to trail his hand down his torso, tangling his fingers in the light smattering of hair across his chest before he worked his way down. 

He watched his fingers trace the ridges of lean muscle, sucking in a breath as the full weight of the moment hit him before he wrapped his hand around Sirius’s cock.

“Moony,” Sirius whined, a torturous, guttural sort of sound. 

“I know, fy nghariad.” Remus’s voice cracked, and he leaned in to kiss Sirius again—softer this time, one hand stroking his cock as the other gripped his hip. They gasped into each other's mouths, and he kissed him, and kissed him, incapable of breaking the contact even when he felt his body begin to tighten as Sirius’s cock began to leak all over his hand. 

“Please,” Sirius whimpered into his mouth. Remus nodded, trailing his lips over Sirius’s jaw, a deep shiver wracking his body as he felt his stubble scrape across his cheek. He found his neck, sucking the skin into his mouth as he dug his fingers harder into his hip, determined to leave his mark anywhere he could, because this was his. 

|| Ours. Keep taking. Make him heel ||

“Mine. You're still fucking mine,” Remus grunted between hard thrusts.

Sirius was his, just as Hermione was, and he couldn’t do it anymore. He couldn’t be patient, couldn’t wait it out and let things unfold, and he couldn’t—gods, it would all have been so simple. 

If he had been able to tell Sirius the truth about Hermione, he could have had him, just like this, months ago. 

But the truth was a double-edged sword, as it often was. If he and Sirius had found their way back to one another sooner, then things with Hermione wouldn’t have progressed in the way that they had, nor would things between Sirius and Hermione have. 

It was all a fucking mess, and the lies he had to tell sat like lead in his stomach, but he couldn’t focus on his guilt, not when Sirius’s arse was twitching around his cock, sucking him deeper with every long stroke of his cock. 

Remus tightened his fist, stroking Sirius faster as he rhythmically squeezed his cock, working his body like a finely tuned instrument as he drove him to the edge.

“Come on, Pads,” he begged, lifting his head to watch his face. “I’m so close. Going to pump this perfect arse so full of my cum that you can’t even sit straight. Just need you with me. Need you to—fuck, just fucking come.” 

“So bossy,” Sirius huffed, rolling his eyes. He tried to resist, clenching his teeth as he scowled, but Remus thrust deeper, circling his hips, and his resolve broke just as his cock began to throb in Remus’s grasp. 

“Ohhh, fuck, Moony, don’t stop.” 

“Never. Just…fuck, fuck, I’m coming.” The words tore from Remus’s chest on a growl, and he buried himself to the hilt with a final, hard thrust before he exploded. He came hard, spilling deep inside of Sirius, who screamed his name as his orgasm crested. 

“Fuck,” Remus panted.

“Fuck,” Sirius agreed. 

Suppressing an eyeroll, he kissed him again as he pulled out with a grunt. Straightening back up, Remus reached a hand out, cupping Sirius’s cheek. “I love you,” he stated plainly. Sirius’s eyes went wide, and he opened his mouth as if to respond, but no words came out. 

It stung, but not as badly as Remus would have thought it might. He didn’t need to hear the words to know the truth. 

“I love you,” he repeated. “And you love me, and we both love her. I know you’re not ready to face any of this yet, but when you are, I’ll be waiting, and so will she.” 

Pulling away reluctantly, he tucked his cock back into his trousers and buckled his belt before he crouched down to retrieve the discarded towel and passed it to Sirius. He turned to leave, but paused as he reached the door. 

“She makes the rules,” he began as he turned back to face Sirius, who had climbed off the counter and wrapped the towel back around his waist. 

“This is Hermione’s home, first. Her life. Her family. She is my Mate, and that doesn’t mean I can't love you both the same—and I do. But in the end, it's different with her. She is the centre, for me, for the boys, and for you, if you stay.” 

Sirius nodded, though his brows pinched together as if he didn’t quite understand, so Remus repeated, “She makes the rules. If she wants you again, and you want her, that’s her decision to make. If you need time, take it. But do not ice her out. Don’t put your fucking mask on and be a dick to her. Hermione, she’s…she’s been through a lot, Sirius, and she’s still so fucking good.

“Don’t let yourself fuck it up. Don’t pull away from her, don’t run your mouth, and try to cheapen what she gave you like you did with me. Just…soft, yeah? She deserves softness.” 

“She does,” Sirius agreed, his voice so low it was barely a whisper as he stared down at the floor.

“I’ve never deserved her, and you sure as hell don’t either. But she’s here, and we’re lucky for that. Be good to her. She deserves better than to be used or to have her head fucked with because you don’t know how to admit the way you feel, got it?” 

“I won’t. I would never harm her, Remus, I—” 

“You love her,” Remus interjected, unable to fight the smile that was tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I told you you would, didn't I?” 

☆────☆☾☼☽☆────☆

Chapter Text

𝚂𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚞𝚜

.·:·.☆☾☼☽☆.·:·.

“Well, that’s certainly an interesting turn of events,” Emmaline remarked as her hand flew across the parchment on her desk. 

“What is it that you’re always writing on that bloody thing?” Sirius grumbled. “Clever, spelling it so the patients can’t snoop, but…do you have to always be writing every time I say something big?” 

“I just take notes so that I can review them prior to our next session. It helps me keep things straight, since I currently have a dozen patients I see on a regular basis, give or take,” Emmeline explained, tilting her head as her eyes moved over his face. “Is there a particular reason why it bothers you?”

“It doesn’t bother me, per se. It’s just a bit unnerving, innit?” he huffed. “I say something, and you start writing, and then it makes my head spin trying to figure out why whatever I said was noteworthy.” 

“So, seeing me take note of what you said makes you feel as if you need to think back over your statement?” Emmeline asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Is that not what I just said? Honestly, you’re so…circular, sometimes.” 

“Hmmm,” Emmeline hummed, scratching her quill across the paper once more. “So, when you tell me that you slept with your ex-boyfriend’s wife, and then you slept with your ex-boyfriend, all in less than twenty-four hours, and then I make a note to myself… Walk me through your thought process as you try to figure out why it was worth making note of.” 

“Well, erm… In this instance, I suppose it’s sort of…” Sirius sighed, shrugging as he leaned back in the armchair and propped his foot on his knee. “I guess it made me wonder how it looks from the outside perspective.” 

“And how do you think it looks to someone outside of your household?” Emmeline prompted. 

“Bloody insane,” Sirius laughed, shaking his head. “I mean it’s…‘I was in love with a man, we broke up, I went to prison where I spent two years not knowing if he even lived, got out to find that he’d gone on to build the very life that his refusal to live had been the reason we split, I hated his wife simply for being his wife, but then I fucked her, and then he fucked me.’ Whole thing is sort of insane, if you look at it that way, yeah?” 

“I suppose, though insanity is a term I try not to use,” Emmeline remarked. “You said, ‘if you look at it that way.’ That way, of course, being from the perspective of an outsider. If you had to summarise things from the experience of someone actually living within this dynamic, how would you explain it? Honestly.” 

“Honestly,” Sirius echoed. He sighed, drumming his fingers against his thigh as he dropped his foot and leaned forward in his chair. “Could I—can I smoke in here?” 

“Of course.” Emmeline waved a hand toward the cabinet behind her, summoning an ashtray, and Sirius felt his eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

“Bloody hell, Em. I could have smoked in here all this time?” he asked as he lit a cigarette and reached for the ashtray, balancing it on his knee.

“You never asked.” 

“Touche.” He pointed at her with the two fingers that were holding the cigarette, then brought it back to his mouth, taking another drag before he added, “I suppose I’ve just gotten used to not smoking in the house because of the boys.” 

“That’s good.” Emmeline smiled kindly, but her eyes remained narrowed, fixed on his face as he squirmed slightly under her expectant stare. 

“Right, the, erm…summary.” Sirius cleared his throat and ashed the cigarette into the tray, picking at his thumbnail with his middle finger as he stared down to watch the paper burn. 

“I guess I would say something to the effect of, ‘I loved a man who hated himself. I tried for years to heal that part of him, but I couldn’t. Ultimately, he left. After we spent time apart due to tragic events in our lives, we reconnected, and then I learned he’d moved on. Seeing him healed and happy felt like a slap in the face to everything I’d tried to give him, and I resented his wife for being able to love him enough to fix him, when I never could.” 

He took another drag and blew it out slowly through his nose, watching the smoke curl up toward the panelled ceiling before he began to speak again. “I wanted to resent his wife and their child. But I couldn’t, despite my best efforts, because she might actually be the best person I’ve ever met, in terms of quality of character. She refused to let me hate her, anyway, and we grew closer. We fell in love. Or…or I fell in love with her, I don’t know if that’s reciprocal or…” 

Trailing off, he shook his head and ashed the cigarette once more, chewing his lip as he gathered his words. “Anyway, I slept with her. But it was more than that. I think I made love to someone for the first time in my entire life. It healed me in a way I never knew I needed. Then he got home, and I panicked and hid in my room because I thought he’d hate me. But he didn’t. He came to me, and we fucked, and then he basically…invited me into his marriage. Told me they both want me. And now I’m sitting in a mindhealer’s office, giving what is likely the longest summary that has ever been given, and still, there’s just one thought swirling through my head like a fucking tempest.” 

“That is a rather long summary,” Emmeline agreed. “What’s the thought, Sirius?” 

“It’s nothing.” He sighed and stamped the cigarette out, pitching forward in his seat to brace his elbows on his knees before he tangled his hands in his hair and let out a frustrated groan. Lifting his head, he slumped back in the seat, scrubbing a hand over his mouth. 

“It’s not nothing,” he corrected. “I just keep thinking that this is right. That she gives Remus things I never could, but that she also gives me things he never could. And that maybe, over time, we could have found our footing if we hadn’t been separated. But even for as much as I loved him, there was always some missing piece of the puzzle we were trying to build between us. And now I...I think it was her, all along.” 

“You think Hermione was the missing piece.” 

“I do. Maybe not even her, specifically, of course. But just…maybe, all this time, what we needed was someone between us who could balance things out. And I can see it, Em,” he told her, picking at a loose thread in his denims as he stared down at his lap. “These…well, four different dynamics. Me with Remus, me with Hermione, the two of them together, and all three of us as one. And then the fifth. All of us as a real family. I can see how it would work, and why, and that’s scary as fuck.” 

“What about finding happiness with two people that you love scares you? Sure, it’s not necessarily the most traditional relationship, but the magical world values the power of three, and triads have existed for centuries with no issue. Unless it's not about outward appearances at all?”

“Of course it’s not,” he laughed sardonically, rolling his eyes. “It’s the broken little Black heir part of it all, innit? How the fuck am I supposed to insert myself into this perfectly happy little family when I don’t know shit about what makes a healthy familial dynamic? I went to the Wallburga Black School of Parenting long enough to know what not to do, but that doesn’t mean I know what to do.” 

“So your concern is whether or not you can become a parent to the boys?” Emmeline asked, making another note on that blasted pad of parchment. 

“No. Not entirely. I just…they’re so good, Emme. They’re so happy together, and they’ve built this beautiful, completely uncomplicated little family, and I’m afraid I’ll just fuck it up,” he confessed, his voice breaking at the end. Emmeline hummed in sympathy, sitting back in her chair to look at him over her reading glasses. 

“So you’re disinclined to believe you could have a place in their family unit, because you believe they’re entirely happy and without complication?” she asked, her voice layered with that damn sense of knowing that always made him sweat.

Fucking mindhealers and all their bloody knowledge of the human condition. 

“I guess, yeah. That about sums it up,” Sirius agreed.

“Hmmm.” Emmeline once again reached for her quill and began to write, not looking up at him as she pressed, “I think this would be a wonderful time for us to delve into your dynamic with your family. Particularly, your brother.” 

“I told you, I’m not—I can’t go there,” Sirius protested. 

“I would urge you to reconsider. I really do think that once you can face your feelings over Regulus and we can have an honest conversation about that, you’ll find that you can look at the dynamic within your home from a whole new point of view,” Emmeline argued. 

“Em, I just…that’s not going to help. Can we just talk about the fucking Wizengamot or something?” 

“Sure, Sirius,” Emmeline sighed, sounding almost defeated as she stuck her quill back into the holder and relaxed into her chair once more. “The monitoring on your wand ends in just a few weeks. How do you feel about that?” 

“Like maybe I should go cast a few Unforgiveables at a wall just to make those fuckers sweat for putting the trace on me in the first place,” he snorted, rolling his eyes again. “I guess I’m still not over the fact that they put all these restrictions on me, like I’m some sort of fucking criminal, when the entire reason I’ve been released is because they know I’m not.” 

“I can only imagine how hard that must be,” Emmeline told him, her voice a bit lighter now. “But even the Wizengamot knows that Azkaban can damage the mind. I’m sure you understand it was just a general action, to cover all bases.” 

“I know. But I’m clearly not crazy, so getting the letter that I had a month left a few days ago just sort of… I guess it reminded me how fucking pissed I still am that I didn’t even get a trial. Do you know they didn’t even bother to cast a Priori Incantatem on my wand? They didn’t check my arm to see if I was marked. They didn’t do shit but just believe it the second they saw me there, and I guess it’s hard not to wonder…” Sirius trailed off, shaking his head. 

“Not to wonder why people thought you capable of that?” Emmeline supplied. “Surely you know it wasn’t about you at all, Sirius.” 

“I know. It’s because I’m a Black. Even though I fought a war alongside four of the five Aurors who arrested me, they were so quick to believe I was bad because of my blood. And I guess I just worry…if I do this, if I put that burden on those boys…” He sighed again, twisting his hands together in his lap. 

“I think, Sirius, that I’ve gotten to know your family well, from our sessions together,” Emmeline began tentatively. “Maybe it's time you accepted that you have a new family now. Maybe you’ll never fully outrun the shadows of your past—especially if you’re not willing to face those demons—” she added, raising an eyebrow pointedly, “but isn’t there something to be said for the fact that the work you do in the family you have now could speak for itself?” 

“I…I guess so, yeah.” He bit the inside of his cheek, stifling a groan of frustration before he added, “I don’t know what the hell to do, now.” 

“It sounds like Remus hit the nail on the head, from what you told me,” Emmeline responded. “Take some time, Sirius. Move when you’re ready.” 

“How do I know when that is?” Sirius asked. “How do I know when to…make a move, or whatever?”

“Well, you seemed to have figured it out just fine on the couch the other night,” she challenged with a smirk. 

☆─────☆☾☼☽☆─────☆

𝚁𝚎𝚖𝚞𝚜

.·:·.☆☾☼☽☆.·:·.

“Mama, look, a goat!” Harry said excitedly, pointing toward the pen of sheep next to the barn. 

“Good eye, washi, but those are sheep,” Remus corrected gently. “Remember the sound a sheep makes?”

“Baaaah,” Harry belted. 

“Ba! Ba!” Callum squealed, wiggling in Remus’s arms as he reached toward the sheep pen with grabby hands.

|| Open the fence. Let them out so we can hunt. Easy prey ||

They’re not prey, you dolt. 

|| To you ||

“Daddy, my baby wants to see the sheeps.” 

“I don’t know…” Remus looked over at Hermione, who shrugged and gave him a nod. “Oh, alright. But you must hold his hand, and you can not go beyond the fence, okay?” 

“Yes, sir,” Harry responded, giving a mock salute. Remus laughed softly, cutting his eyes toward Hermione, who stuck out her tongue at him. 

“Careful, before he picks up that habit, too, cariad,” Remus teased. He bent and set Callum on his feet, letting his hands hover around his midsection for a moment before the lad found his footing and began to toddle forward to where Harry stood, holding out his hand.

“Not beyond the fence,” Hermione reminded Harry sternly. He nodded, grinning as he began to babble down at Callum, and Hermione stepped up to Remus’s side, reaching down to squeeze his hand. 

|| Sweet mate. Always giving us her comfort ||

“She is awfully sweet, isn’t she?” Remus murmured aloud. Hermione giggled, wrinkling her nose as she looked up at him. 

“How are you feeling?” 

“Nervous as fuck,” Remus admitted, running his free hand through his hair. He kept an eye on the boys, watching as Harry bent down to Callum’s level and helped him hold his hand out for one of the sheep to lick through the slats in the fence.

|| Smart pups. Let the prey think they’re friends. Then they can strike and— ||

A noise — far off, but close enough to register with his senses—sounded to the left, and Remus stiffened. Hermione squeezed his hand tighter, and he let his eyes drift shut for a moment as he focused on trying not to hyperventilate. 

He still couldn’t quite wrap his mind around the fact that they were here. Hermione had handled the logistics, booking a weekend stay at a bed and breakfast in Anglesey, and they’d arrived the night before to take in some of the sights. 

Climbing up to South Stack Lighthouse with the boys hadn’t been an easy feat, especially because Harry had insisted he could walk on his own, which had led to Callum throwing a proper fit as he—a seasoned pro after an entire week of walking on his own—decided he wanted to walk as well. 

Callum had lasted for about three steps, and Harry a bit longer, but Remus had ended up with Callum strapped to his chest as he piggybacked Harry the rest of the way. Watching Harry’s face light up as they took in the sight of the Irish Sea had made it well worth the trek, though. 

Afterwards, they’d had dinner at a nearby cafe, where the locals had oohed and ahhed over the boys as Callum grinned and waved and blew kisses as if he were starring in his own one-man play before they’d headed down to the beach to let the boys dirty themselves up in the sand as they’d watched the sunset. 

Once they’d returned to their room, bathed and settled the boys and then taken a bath of their own, he’d passed out, sated and happy with one arm slung over Hermione and the boys nestled safely between them, and he’d been so bloody content that he’d forgotten what awaited him the next day.

He wished Sirius were here, with his snark as a buffer. But things were still stilted. Sirius and Hermione were still close, but it was a bit strained as he’d taken to spending more time in his room again, but at least they were still okay. As for Remus, he and Sirius had settled in the last week since everything had happened. The fight was still there between them, as it always had been, and as it always would be. 

But they were companionable now; capable of actually talking. They’d even stayed up after Hermione went to bed three nights ago and just shot the breeze, smoking and sharing a few drinks. 

There hadn’t been any more…encounters, but it was all the same. Sirius needed time, and they both knew that. But the fact that he hadn’t closed in on himself alone was enough to hold on to hope. When they’d asked if he wanted to join them on the trip, he made his excuses, but Remus knew the idea was likely just too…normal for where Sirius’s mind was at right now. 

But he had Hermione, and honestly, he couldn’t have done this without her. He wouldn’t have, if the regrets his future self had were any indication. 

Remus’s relationship with his father had never been terrible; not in the way one would expect things to go when a man’s hatred for werewolves was the very reason his own child became the thing he feared the most. 

His parents had tried. They’d uprooted their lives, sought out specialists, read and researched, and did their best for him. At the end of the day, though, they’d been out of their depth with Remus’s needs, and despite their efforts, he’d always felt the weight of the strain his condition put on them. 

After his mother passed from a sudden illness, the summer he graduated, and he moved out on his own, he and his father just…drifted. Or, more to the point, Remus drifted. He didn’t want to be a burden on Lyall. The man had given enough for a life he never wanted. 

But it was different now. 

Remus was a father, twice over, even if it had come about in the most unconventional of ways, and there was nothing his children could have done to be labelled as a burden in his mind. 

He had spent years ignoring the fact that his father existed, tossing birthday and Christmas cards into the bin, throwing unopened letters into the fire, and for what?

Lyall wasn’t the best man in the world, nor was he the best father, but honestly, by what rubric could one even begin to assess what made someone the best? He’d been good, even if they’d never been close. 

And Remus did have a family, now. Some not-so-small part of him—a part influenced by Moony, undoubtedly, but not just born of the wolf—took pride in the idea of showing that off to his father. 

Lyall drew closer, his heavy footsteps on the gravel as he exited the barn loud enough for Hermione to hear, evidenced by the way she squeezed his hand again, and Remus looked over as his father stepped up beside them. 

“Those are yours?” Lyall asked, gesturing toward the boys. 

“They are. Harry, the older one, he’s adopted. I don’t know if you remember my friend James…?” 

“James and…Lily, was it?” Lyall asked, nodding as he cleared his throat. Remus took a moment to take in his appearance—older now, but still the same. His face, nearly entirely, just like Callum's. There was something about that—about the sameness of it all that had him relaxing in an instant. 

|| Bad. No chains. Don’t like. Need to go, boy. Get the pups ||

Moony, we talked about this. Please don’t make it harder. 

|| Fine. No chains. You promised ||

No chains.

Remus sighed, chewing his lip. He couldn’t blame the wolf for his aversion to the man, but he also couldn’t blame Lyall for the measures he’d taken to ensure the safety of not only everyone else, but of Remus himself on the nights the wolf took hold. 

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he nodded. “Yeah. He’s theirs. But he’s ours, now.” 

“That’s good. I read about what happened in the papers, of course. A tragedy. But I’m glad he’s with you. And the little one, that’s…he’s yours?” Lyall squinted his eyes, then let out an astonished laugh. “Yeah, that one’s all Lupin, isn’t he?” 

“He is,” Hermione agreed. “You can hardly tell I had any part in it.” 

“His name is Callum. He’s ten months old. Born in October,” Remus explained.

“Callum,” Lyall echoed. “You know, Remus, your mother and I, we didn’t know if you could, erm…physically…sorry, I’m being rude.” 

He turned to face them, extending a hand out toward Hermione. 

“I’m sorry. Forget my manners all the way out here, I guess. I’m Lyall. Are you…?” 

“Remus’s wife,” Hermione confirmed proudly, reaching out to shake his hand. “Hermione Lupin. Mae'n braf cwrdd â chi.”

“Ymennydd a harddwch? Daliad da, washi,” Lyall chuckled, releasing Hermione’s hand to squeeze Remus’s shoulder. “I hope you know I meant no offence. We just didn’t know…well, the books…” 

“You didn’t know if I could have children,” Remus finished for him. “I understand. I didn’t know if I could—or would, but…they’re pretty great.” 

“They sure look it.” Lyall grew quiet for a moment, turning back as they all watched the boys. Harry now stood crouched down behind Callum, pointing at the sheep as they babbled excitedly. He looked over his shoulder, his brow furrowing when he caught sight of them standing with someone he didn’t recognise, and reached for Callum’s hand. 

Harry slowly made his way toward them, his little eyes narrowed into suspicious slits as he guided Callum along, and Lyall let out a low laugh. 

“Protective, that one, aye?” 

“Aye,” Remus agreed. “He takes being a big brother very seriously.” 

“As he should. They look good, washi. Happy boys you got there. I’m glad to see you…well, in general. But I’m glad you have this,” Lyall said. 

“Hey! I’m washi,” Harry huffed as he came to a stop in front of them. Callum let out a squeal and jerked his hand out of Harry’s hold, earning him a frustrated huff from the older boy as he began to toddle toward Remus. 

“Easy there, bud,” Remus laughed, bending down to scoop the baby up just as he started to tip over.

“Dada, baaaa!” Callum babbled, pointing toward the sheep.

“Did you have fun seeing the sheep, cubby?” Remus asked, grinning down at Callum before he addressed the older boy, “Harry, this is your grandad. Or, as we say in Welsh, Taid.” 

“Taid,” Harry repeated the word, drawing it out. “That’s weird. And I’m washi, not my Daddy.” 

“Well, you may be right, there, little lad. But see, your Tad—er, your Daddy, he’s my washi, and your his washi,” Lyall explained.

“Oh! Because washi means ‘my boy’ and I’m my Daddy’s boy,” Harry surmised with a nod. “What’s Tad?” 

“That’s Welsh for ‘Dad’, little love,” Hermione explained. 

“Welsh is weird. And it sounds like—huuccchhhhh,” Harry chortled. Lyall laughed, deep and booming, and shook his head.

“You’re not wrong, Ŵyr,” Lyall said. “But would you like to know my favourite Welsh word?” 

“Yes!” Harry said excitedly. “I want to learn all the words so me and my baby can make the hhuuuccchhhhhttt sounds, and it's like a secret language.”

“Hhhhhaaa,” Callum agreed, clapping his hands together with glee. 

“Well, let's start with something simple.” Lyall grinned, “Have you boys ever heard of losin?”

(sweets?)

☆─────☆☾☼☽☆─────☆

Remus leaned back in his seat, taking a sip of the coffee his father handed him as they sat on the porch, watching Hermione and the boys. She’d packed a picnic lunch, but his father had already prepared a cawl, complete with some homemade bread and a bit of Collier’s, so they’d all had their fill as Callum gnawed on the cheese and Swansea loaf. 

After lunch—because Hermione had, of course, insisted the meal come first—Lyall had broken out the sweets in the form of Welsh cakes and ice lollies. Callum had made a right mess, dribbling orange, sticky lolly juice all down his front and over his arm, while Harry had eaten a staggering five cakes. 

Once they were all sugared up and grew restless, they made their way outside, where Lyall showed them around the farm before Hermione had spread out the picnic blanket and convinced Harry to lie back and watch the clouds while she nursed Callum.

Remus had seen right through the thinly veiled attempt at keeping up with naptime—and clearly, so had Harry, as he’d lie patiently until Callum let out the first snore before he bounded up the stairs to the porch where Lyall and Remus sat smoking.

“Taid, ga i losin?” Harry asked, carefully drawing out the words he and Lyall had practised all through lunch as he clasped his hands together behind his back and batted his lashes at Lyall.

(Grandpa, may I have sweets?)

“Ask your Mam, buddy,” Lyall responded. Harry rolled his eyes, dropping his shoulders in a display of irritation, then looked behind him. Hermione laughed and waved her hand as she nodded, and it was all the permission Harry needed. 

“She said ‘yes’.”

“Well, go on then, lad. You know the way to the kitchen,” Lyall chuckled. Harry took off for the screen door, and Remus laughed before he called out after him. 

“Two cakes, washi. You’ll spoil your dinner!” 

Harry looked back at Remus, pointedly rolling his eyes before he disappeared inside the house, and Lyall laughed again. 

“A sassy one you’ve got there,” he remarked. 

“He gets that from his father,” Remus said, smiling fondly. “James was always quick with the snark.” 

“It’s good, yeah? That Harry gets to be with you. I know you boys were all so close. What, erm…” Lyall shifted in his chair, looking over to where Hermione sat, reading a book she’d pulled out of her bag as she held the sleeping baby, and Remus followed his gaze.

She looked so beautiful like this—just relaxed, completely at ease in her blue sundress with an array of curls that had sprang free from her braid to frame her face. There was something about this setting as a whole that suited her. Kilometres of open land, an abundance of fresh air. 

|| Mate belongs in the wild ||

You might be right about that.

“I don’t know how to ask this in any sort of sensitive way,” Lyall began again. “All you boys were so close, but there was that one. The name escapes me, but he had all that hair. Your Mam, she was certain that you weren’t—well, she said, the way you two looked at each other, you and the boy…”

“Are you asking why I have a wife, if Mam thought I was gay?” Remus asked, hiding his amused smile as he took another drag of his cigarette.

“Well, shit. Just out with it, then,” Lyall laughed. “Yeah, washi. I suppose I am. Not that…well, your Mam and I, we’re of an older generation. Can’t say I ever understood that. Two men…but, at the end of the day, we’d just thought the only thing that mattered was if you found someone to love. Figured you deserved that, after everything.”

“Sirius is who you’re thinking of. You said you saw the papers?” Remus asked.

“Aye. When it all went down, and then back around Christmas. I was sorry to read all of it. That you lost everyone, and then finding out that he’d been wrongfully incarcerated. I wrote to you, but…” 

“Yeah. I’m sorry for that. I wasn’t in the right place to…anyway, if you’ve read the papers, then you know Sirius didn’t do it.” 

“That’s good,” Lyall said tentatively. “So he’s…just a friend, then, if you and Hermione…” 

“No. It’s… Well, to say it’s complicated would be selling it short,” Remus chuckled. “Mam wasn’t wrong. I'm bisexual, I guess, if I had to put a label on it. Sirius and I were in love for a long time. I think I loved him before I knew what to call it. And we were together, through school and after.” 

“And then you met Hermione after he went to prison?” Lyall guessed.

“Yeah. The…erm, the story there is that she was Lily’s cousin. So after their deaths, she came to London looking for answers. Now we’re married. Had Callum, and got custody of Harry. Adoption finalises soon.”

“That’s brilliant, Remus. You’ve got this… Well, shit, boy, you’ve got a beautiful family.” 

|| Old man is proud of our Mate and Pups. Smart of him ||

“I do,” Remus agreed. “As for Sirius, it is complicated. But I did love him, and I still do. He lives with us now, and he and Hermione are…they love each other as well. So, erm…” 

“So you’re all together?” Lyall asked, without a hint of judgment in his voice. “You do know your grandparents were part of a triad, right?” 

“I didn’t…” Remus admitted, furrowing his brow. “I mean, yes, in retrospect. Gigi and Taid died when I was young, and Nain before I was born, so I don’t guess I put the pieces together. But no, we aren’t that. Not yet. Though I think that’s where we’re headed, if I’m lucky.” 

“Well, I’ll tell you what your Mam would have said,” Lyall began. Remus looked over at him, nervously digging his teeth into his lip. 

“You’re a good man, Remus. Now, I can’t say whether that’s because of us or despite us. Perhaps a bit of both,” Lyall chuckled. “But you’ve lived with a curse nobody should have to deal with, least of all a young boy. That’s my fault. Don’t—don’t shake your head at me, washi. It is.

“But you didn’t earn that curse. You deserved a beautiful life, Remus John. You always did, and now it looks like you have it. I’m proud of you, son.” 

“Thank you,” Remus said with a sniff. He hadn’t realised how much he needed to hear the words, how desperately he’d longed for them, until they’d been said.

But it was necessary, and he was so grateful for it. His father’s pride, knowing he wasn’t just something Lyall feared or regretted healed another little piece of his fractured soul. 

“Now, as to what your Mam would’ve said, 'Life is long, and the world is hard. Everyone deserves a little love to get them by'.” 

“I think I’ve got that in spades,” Remus chuckled. 

Harry chose that moment to barrel back out of the door and launched himself at Remus, giggling as he pulled him into his lap. 

“Look, Dad, I’m all sticky,” Harry laughed, holding up his hands. Remus grimaced, and Harry laughed harder as he mimed touching Remus, causing him to duck and dodge. He tickled Harry’s stomach in retaliation, and Harry scowled at him before he descended into another fit of giggles, reaching up to adjust the glasses that had slid down the bridge of his little nose.

“Well, now, let’s get you cleaned up, Harry, and then what do you say to helping your Taid feed the sheep?” Lyall asked. 

“Can I ride one?” 

“I mean, we can certainly—”

“Nope,” Hermione said firmly as she walked up the stairs onto the porch, a now wide-awake Callum in her arms, chewing on a lock of her hair as he let out a growl.

“Shit,” Lyall choked on the word, his eyes going wide. 

“Swear jar! You have to give me a sickle.” 

“Harry, why don’t you come with me to wash up, and then we can go help with the sheep, okay?” Hermione asked, giving Remus a questioning look as she passed the baby to him. 

“It’s alright,” he murmured to reassure her. She nodded, looking nervously back over at Lyall before she began to guide Harry away.

“Shit,” Lyall repeated, leaning back against the porch railing as he reached a hand up to tug at his hair. “I didn’t mean to…I just, erm…he growls?” 

“He does,” Remus confirmed. Callum turned in his lap, craning his neck back to look at Lyall, and let out a baby howl, and Lyall startled, then broke off into a fit of laughter. 

“I can’t decide if that’s adorable or terrifying,” Lyall admitted. “I don’t think you even…made wolf sounds, in your human form.”

“I didn’t. But it’s different for Callum. Since he was born the child of a werewolf, he has certain…inheritances. But he’s not a wolf. He doesn’t shift, or anything of the sort. He’s just a little animalistic. Sensitive hearing. And of course, the growling. The howl is…we think it's when he recognises someone as pack.”

“He doesn’t shift,” Lyall echoed the words, taking a step forward to crouch down in front of Remus as he reached for Callum’s hand. Callum looked down at Lyall’s large hand covering his and seemed to make a decision a split second before he launched himself at the man. 

Lyall caught him with a surprised huff and stood, clutching the baby to his chest as Callum began to sniff at his shoulder. 

Remus watched the moment with tears brimming in his lashes. It was surreal; almost unfathomably so. His father, holding his son—he could barely process the rightness he felt. 

|| Pack ||

Finally. You always hated him. 

|| Hated the chains, boy. He knows better now. See how he looks at our pup? Proud. Moony likes that ||

Me too. 

“He doesn’t shift,” Lyall repeated. “Remus, he won’t…he won’t feel that? All that pain, that—gods, I fucked up. I know that. Your mother and I tried so hard, but we still had so much to learn. And I’ve always regretted it, the way we kept you so isolated.”

“I know, Tad.” Remus’s voice cracked, and he brought a hand up, swiping away the tears that had begun to fall. “I know. You did your best, and it wasn’t good enough. But it wasn’t your fault. And I just…I think I get it now.” 

Callum chose that moment to clamp his mouth down on Lyall’s shoulder, earning him a surprised yelp that turned into another laugh. 

“Well, shit. He’s a bit beasty though, aye?” Lyall shook his head, shifting Callum to sit on his hip. “But he’s so bloody beautiful, Remus. Look at this life you built.” 

“Look at this life you built,” Remus shot back with a grin, grateful for the bit of levity. “You always dreamt of a little farm, open land.”

“It's…bittersweet, without your mother by my side,” Lyall admitted. “But it’s home. And I’m proud of it. And you, Remus. I hope you’re proud. These boys, that girl. And Sirius, you said his name is? I think you’ll work it all out. You always were the best at making the most of what life handed you, even if you struggled to see it.” 

“Thank you.” Remus cleared his throat and stood, brushing his hands off on his trousers just as Hermione and Harry made their way back outside. He reached for Callum, but Lyall pulled away, causing the baby to giggle. 

“Aht,” Lyall tutted his tongue. “He’s just fine with his Taid, ain’t ya, little wolf? Now, let's go see about getting these sheep fed.” 

“Taid, can I feed them with my hands, like at the petting zoo? Mama took us there last week, and I got to feed a goat, and there was a little horsey I got to ride, but my baby couldn’t ride it,” Harry chattered excitedly as they followed Lyall off the porch. “I like your farm. Daddy, can we stay forever, and me and my baby can feed the sheep always? Can we go get Uncle Padfoot to come see the sheep? Oh! Can we—” 

“Settle, little love,” Hermione laughed, reaching down to ruffle Harry’s hair. “Let’s do one question at a time, yeah?” 

“Okayyy,” Harry sighed. “Can we come back and visit always?” 

“Well, I’d certainly hope so,” Lyall responded. “I’m gonna need you boys to help convince your Tad to take over the place when I retire.” 

“When you’re tired?” Harry asked curiously.

“When he retires,” Hermione corrected. “It means when you’ve worked for a very long time, and you’re all done, so it’s time to let someone else do the work.” 

“Ohhhh,” Harry hummed, already disinterested in the conversation as they neared the barn and he caught sight of the sheep again. Callum squirmed in Lyall’s hold, and as soon as he bent to let him down, he took off, stumbling his way toward the fence as Harry trailed after him. 

Hermione laughed and rushed forward, reaching for Callum’s hand, and Harry circled her to take the other hand. Remus stopped in his tracks, watching as they reached the fence and she lifted Harry so he could reach over the side of the pen to pet one of the sheep as Callum pressed his face between the slats, babbling happily. 

“There it is,” Lyall chuckled. “Wouldn’t be too bad, aye? All this space for the boys to run. I think I’ve got another five years in me, but I’d like to take off, travel the world a bit. Maybe meet me a lady friend.” 

“Tad,” Remus chuckled, shaking his head. “I can’t run a sheep farm. I’m sorry, but that’s—I’m a werewolf.” 

“I’d gathered that, yeah. Figured so long as you throw up some wards around the pens, you could ward the property line and have the space to run yourself. That bit of forest over there is ours, too,” Lyall said, pointing off to the area behind the old farmhouse. “So, just something to think about.” 

He paused, reaching over to open the barn door, then nodded toward where Hermione and the boys stood. “Looks good on them, doesn’t it?” 

“Yeah, it does,” Remus agreed, taking another look around. 

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. They could get the boys out of the city, raise them with all this open sky, where they could spend weekends on the beach, take them to see the ruins of Beaumaris Castle.

|| Eat the sheep || 

Stop ruining my happy daydreams, you oaf. 

|| And what of Moony’s happiness? ||

It’s right there, isn’t it? Remus thought as Hermione looked over her shoulder, smiling brightly as the sound of the boys giggling drifted across the open field. 

☆─────☆☾☼☽☆─────☆

𝙷𝚎𝚛𝚖𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚎

.·:·.☆☾☼☽☆.·:·.

Callum lazily twirled a lock of Hermione’s hair in his fingers as he looked up, watching her with sleepy eyes while he nursed. She rocked him slowly, humming as she listened to Remus and Sirius combat Harry’s latest bedtime battle—the game of but why. 

“But why is it blue?” 

“Because when sunlight enters the atmosphere, it's scattered by the gases in the air, and blue light travels in shorter waves,” Remus replied. 

“But why is it shorter?” 

“Because sometimes, that’s just the way our eyes see it, pup,” Remus answered. 

“But why do our eyes see stuff?” 

“So we know where to find our shoes,” Sirius intoned. Remus shot him a look, and Sirius shrugged. Harry scrunched up his face and tilted his head to the side for a moment before he nodded. 

“That makes sense. But why do we wear shoes?” 

“So your mother doesn’t yell at us for tracking dirt in the house,” Sirius said. 

“But why can’t we have dirt in the house? I like dirt.” 

“Yes, washi. I know you like dirt. And if you’d lie down so we can read your story, then we can go to sleep, and tomorrow will come, and you and Callum can play in the dirt right after breakfast,” Remus offered. 

“Okay.” Harry flopped down on the bed, raising his arms over his head, and Sirius let out a bit of a laugh as he reached for the blanket. 

“Snug!” Harry ordered.

“Always, Haz.” Sirius began to work, methodically tucking the little quilt tightly around Harry as the boy wiggled to make things difficult, and Hermione fought back a laugh. 

Things were better. Not perfect, but better.

It had been two weeks since the night she and Sirius had been together, and there had been nothing between them beyond the typical closeness they’d developed in the last few months, nor had they talked about things. 

But they were just fine, beyond the underlying layer of tension. Remus and Sirius were getting along better, just as she knew they would now, and in the week since they’d returned from Lyall’s farm, Sirius had been spending nearly all of his time out of his room and had taken to helping with bedtime. 

He missed them, she thought.

She liked the thought of that. 

Remus stepped away from the bed, shaking his head as he approached Hermione with a grin and bent down to kiss Callum on the head just as the baby’s eyes drifted shut. 

He paused and jerked his head back, tilting his head to the side as he winced, and murmured aloud, “What?” before he leaned in again, drawing in an audible sniff.

“Remus?” Hermione asked curiously as she saw him clench his fists at his sides, wincing again.

“Sirius?” he murmured, not responding to her as he stood straight, stiff as a board. “Padfoot, come take the baby.”

“Moons, you alright?” Sirius asked, shooting Hermione a curious glance. She shrugged, and Sirius shrugged back, bending to scoop the baby out of her arms.

“Remus, what’s going on?” she tried again.

Remus didn’t respond. He bent at the waist, scooping her out of the chair and tossing her over his shoulder before he promptly turned and began to stalk out of the room. 

“Hey! Where’s he taking my Mama?” Harry protested. 

“Erm…I don’t rightly know, Haz. Why don’t we just read a story? Do you want to cuddle Cal while we look at Clifford?” 

Hermione didn’t hear Harry’s response as Remus began to ascend the stairs. She laughed, batting a fist against his back playfully as they reached the landing of the second floor. 

“Put me down, you oaf,” she demanded. 

“Can’t,” Remus huffed. He entered their bedroom and made a beeline for the bed, dropping her onto her back. She gasped as she hit the mattress so hard she bounced, and looked up at him curiously to find his eyes had gone gold.

“Love?” she asked nervously as her mind began to spin. Was something wrong? Was he upset? She opened her mouth to ask, but before she could get the words out, Remus crawled onto the bed and reached for the hem of her jumper, shoving it roughly up over her stomach before he dipped his head and pressed his nose to the space beneath her naval. 

He let out a growl, and her mind flashed— 

A night in the bunker. 

She’d been getting out of the shower, towelling herself off, when Remus came in behind her and caught her eyes in the mirror. She’d watched as he’d sniffed and the gold had bled into his irises. 

She could see it all, in real time. 

The way he’d groaned and dropped to his knees, pressing his nose to her stomach to draw in the scent of new life. The way he’d looked up at her—raw, tangible regret.

The way she’d sobbed for hours as they clung to one another, wallowing in their shared grief. 

The way it had felt to know a time that should have been so happy was rife with guilt and devastation, because they were bringing a baby into a world that was dying, and there was no hope for any of them. 

But now… gods, now, the difference was as clear as night and day. 

Remus sniffed her stomach again, another growl rumbling in his chest as he lifted his head and grinned up at her. 

“Say it,” she ordered, her voice cracking under the weight of more hope than she knew how to manage. “You have to say it.” 

“Hermione,” Remus croaked. He climbed up her body, settling between her thighs as he pressed his lips to hers, then pulled back. His smile widened as he cupped her face with both hands, and she let out a choked sob as tears of joy streamed down her face. 

“Happy tears?” he murmured. 

“Happy tears,” she confirmed. “You have to say it, Remus.” 

He nodded, kissing her again before he pulled back and gave her the most dazzling grin she thought she’d ever seen him wear.

“You’re pregnant, cariad.” 

☆─────☆☾☼☽☆─────☆

Chapter Text

𝙷𝚎𝚛𝚖𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚎

.·:·.☆☾☼☽☆.·:·.

“I don’t know how to tell him,” she sighed, leaning her head back against Remus’s chest as he wrapped his arms around her and placed his hands on her stomach beneath the bathwater. 

“I know, cariad,” Remus sighed. “I’m so sorry. I wish I could be there to help, but I just don’t think it’s right, you know?” 

“No, I know. You’re right. I should talk to him one-on-one. This would just be so much easier if we knew,” she sighed. 

“We’ll ask about that at your first healer appointment, aye?” he murmured, kissing her softly on the cheek. “I know there’s a spell, I just think it has to be done at the professional level. Best not to risk it, Cariad. We’ve got to keep our little bean safe.” 

“Stop calling our child a bean,” Hermione laughed, swatting at his arm with the washcloth. “Are you sure you don’t know?” 

“I don’t.” Remus trailed his fingertips over her stomach, then sighed again. “Moony is being so difficult. He says mine, but with his possessiveness, he counts everyone in this house as his, and basically says as much when I try to press him. I just…” 

“You want it to be yours.”

“Of course I do,” Remus laughed softly. “I’m going to love this baby, regardless. But things with Sirius aren’t settled yet. We’ve been at each other’s throats again for the last few days. I think he can sense something is going on, and he’s being prickly about it. And I don’t want anything to blow back on the baby, is all. If it weren’t for that risk, I wouldn’t care. This,” he emphasised the word by pressing his palm flat against her stomach, “is mine, no matter who fathered it. Ours. Tell me you know I won’t love her any less or more than our boys.” 

“Her,” Hermione sighed the word, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Is that a wishful thought, or a Moony surety?” 

“I’m not sure. I just feel like she’s a girl.”

“Well, then. Get me out of this tub, so your girls can get some rest, Mr Lupin. I’ll talk to him tomorrow when you and the boys floo to the farm.” 

☆────☆☾☼☽☆────☆

Unfortunately for Hermione, there was no guidebook for a situation like this. 

Because honestly, how does one tell their husband’s ex-boyfriend, whom they’re currently in love with that they’re pregnant, but have no idea who the father is, because they slept with the husband’s ex-boyfriend roughly eight hours after sleeping with the husband, then had sex with the husband three hours later, which, to keep track, was roughly twelve hours before the husband and the ex-boyfriend also slept together?

Hi, I’m pregnant, fuck if I know who did it.

I’m pregnant, will whoever the real father is please pass the butter?

Good morning, you look smashing, and I wish you’d kiss me again. By the way, I’m pregnant, and there’s a chance it’s yours.

You know what would be funny? If I got up the duff and we had no clue whose it was. 

Knock knock. Who’s there? Guess. Guess who? Guess who the daddy is!

Hermione snorted into her tea, shaking her head. This was all insane. Utterly, terribly, ridiculously insane. 

She felt like a proper slag.

 She knew it was silly; she certainly hadn’t felt a bit of shame about being with both of them before finding out she was pregnant. Still, there was something so…slaggy about the whole thing. 

“Something funny, kitten?” Sirius asked, raising an eyebrow at her as he walked into the kitchen. 

“Pregnant!” Hermione gasped, clamping a hand over her mouth as her eyes went wide. Sirius took a stumbling step back, one hand shooting out to grip the doorframe.

“Good morning to you, too,” he drawled, his voice tight. “You wanna run that by me again?” 

“Pregnant,” Hermione repeated, her voice barely a whisper. 

“I’d gathered that,” Sirius said slowly.

“I don’t…I don’t know.” She shook her head and sighed, forcing herself to take a breath before she clarified. “I’m sorry. This is…a lot. I’m pregnant, and the timing lines up with the last full moon. I was with Remus that morning in the shower, and then you that night, and then him again when he got home. Twice. So, there’s a small chance that—” 

Sirius held a hand up, cutting her off as he tilted his head to the side. Narrowing his eyes, he stared at her before he slowly nodded and declared, "It’s mine.” 

“Right. It could be. So…so you should know.” 

“No, I think you misunderstood.” Sirius pushed off the doorframe and began to walk toward her, sauntering across the kitchen like some predatory runway model. 

Honestly, she thought this would all have been a lot easier if he weren’t so godsdamn pretty. “I…I don’t know what you mean.” 

“I wasn’t finishing your sentence,” Sirius said as he reached the table and leaned in, bracing a hand on the back of her chair. She looked up at him, swallowing roughly, and he gave her a lazy grin. “I was telling you that this baby,” he placed his other hand on her stomach, and she sucked in a breath through her teeth, “is mine.”

“I don’t know yet. I’m…I’m going to find out,” Hermione informed him. 

“There’s no need. I’m telling you, Hermione. This is mine,” he reiterated, running his hand across her stomach. “Not his. If he were going to knock you up again, he’s had the time, yeah? Do you think it’s a coincidence that it happened as soon as I got to have you?” 

“You’re being cocky,” she huffed.

“You didn’t complain about how…cocky I can be last time,” Sirius teased. Hermione groaned, rolling her eyes as she pushed the chair back from the table and dipped under his arm. She turned to exit the kitchen, tightening her hands into fists at her sides when she heard his boots thudding along the floor as he followed her into the foyer.

“Hermione, wait.”

“No!” she turned, glaring up at him. “If you can’t be serious right now, then this conversation is over.

“I—” 

“I swear to the gods, Sirius Black, if you say ‘I’m always Sirius’, I will vomit in your boots.” 

“Could you not?” he asked, looking slightly alarmed. 

“I’m not making any promises. There’s a lot of vomit right now.” 

“Are you…are you alright?” His brow furrowed in concern as he reached a hand out toward her, then pulled it back to run his fingers through his hair. “That’s normal, right? The vomit? The baby isn’t—” 

“Everything is okay,” Hermione reassured him. “Perfectly normal, this early on. I’m healthy, I…I see the doctor June 9th, if you—” 

“Of course. Of course I’ll be there. I just…shit, Kitten,” Sirius laughed, shaking his head in disbelief. “That is my baby.” 

“You can’t know that, Sirius,” Hermione sighed.

“I don’t care if you believe me,” he said simply. He moved closer, and she retreated until her back hit the wall. Leaning in, Sirius braced a forearm on the wall above her head and brought his face close to hers, his breath ghosting over her lips as he spoke again. “This baby is mine, Hermione. I know it is, because I can feel it. Because I get something good this time. It’s my turn to have one fucking thing work out.”

“This is a baby, Sirius,” she replied, her voice cracking. “A whole, real human life. And I don’t know whose it is, and—” 

He stole the words out of her mouth with a hard press of his lips, splaying one hand over her stomach as the other tangled in her hair to angle her head back. 

Hermione parted her lips, deepening the kiss, and he groaned into her mouth as he grabbed her by the arse to pick her up. She wrapped both legs around his waist, letting out a surprise gasp when he began to ascend the stairs. 

“You can’t just—” 

Another hard, almost punishing kiss cut her off, and she tangled her hands in his hair, tightening her legs around him as he continued to climb. He carried her up the first flight of stairs, then the second, pausing as his feet hit the floor of the hallway between their bedrooms. 

“Tell me yes,” he commanded. “Tell me this is okay, because I still can’t make sense of all this shit between all of us, but the only thing I’ve been able to think of for the last month is how badly I want you again, in my fucking bed.” 

“Yes.” She nodded, “Please, Sirius, I want you.” 

“Fuck,” he groaned, reaching behind her to open the door. “Say that again.” 

“I want you, Sirius. I want you to take me to your bed, and I want you to fuck me this time, because I can’t stop thinking about you either, and because I lo—” 

“Not yet.” He shook his head, his eyes pleading as he reached down to unwind her legs from his waist. He guided her back down to her feet and grabbed her by the face, kissing her again before he pulled back to meet her eyes. “Don’t say it yet. Not until I tell you to, okay?” 

“Okay,” she agreed. He took a step back, running a hand over his mouth as he dragged his eyes down her body and back up, then took a step back to settle into the chair across from the side of the bed. 

“Strip, kitten,” he ordered. “Slowly. Let me see all of you.”

Hermione bit the inside of her cheek, suddenly feeling self-conscious. 

She had been bare beneath him the night they’d made love on the sofa, but the room had been dark, lit only by the dim light of the fireplace on the other side of the sitting room. Here, like this, with the sunlight still streaming through the windows of his bedroom, she felt exposed. 

Still, there was that little thing in the back of her brain. The part of her that had always loved to follow the rules, that sang at the commanding tone he’d used, so she obeyed. 

Bringing her hands down to the hem of her t-shirt, she began to lift it, slowly dragging it up over her stomach and breasts until she tugged it over her head and let it fall to the floor. Next, she reached for the button of her shorts, her eyes never leaving his face as she worked them over her hips until she stood before him in only her bra and knickers. 

Thankfully, she’d had the good sense to match today and had worn a set she liked. The pale blue lace complemented her skin in a way that pleased her; the bra was cut just so to give her an ample amount of cleavage, and the bottoms were cut high on the sides, showing off the dips in her hips that she’d always liked. 

But she was imperfect; she knew that. 

Her hips were wider now after giving birth. Her breasts were full and heavy with milk, her stomach soft and riddled with stretch marks, and her thighs were thicker than they’d ever been. 

Despite nearly starving to death in a tent and then turning right around and having to live on meagre rations in a bunker for over two years, she’d kept some of the weight after having Callum, and then put on more since she’d been here and able to eat whenever she wanted, so she knew she wasn’t the best thing to look at, but Sirius just…stared. 

And stared. 

And stared, for so long that she began to squirm under his heated gaze. She brought her arms up, wrapping them around her waist to shield her body from view, and he tutted his tongue. 

“Don’t hide from me, baby. Don’t you ever hide from me,” he said, crooking a finger at her. “Come here.” 

Hermione moved toward him, stepping between his spread legs, and he ran his hands up the backs of her thighs to knead the flesh of her arse as he leaned in to drag his lips over her lower stomach. 

“You’re beautiful, Hermione. Like a statue of Venus,” he murmured against her skin as his hands moved to her hips. He tugged her knickers down and pulled away to tug them off, tucking them into his pocket with a smirk before he trailed his fingers up her thigh. 

“I want to watch you,” Sirius rasped. “Spread your legs for me, kitten. Let me in.” 

Hermione nodded and followed his instruction, gasping when he ran his fingers through her soaked centre before he twisted his wrist and plunged the middle two inside of her. She gasped, stumbling a bit at the intrusion, but he pressed his other hand to the small of her back to keep her upright. 

“There you go, kitten,” he murmured. “You do know how to behave, don’t you?” 

“I do,” she whispered. He grinned, looking up at her from the chair as he began to thrust his fingers, withdrawing and then plunging back inside, curling them in to brush over that sensitive spot inside of her before he pulled back again. 

He repeated the action until she was trembling, his eyes fixed firmly on her face, before he leaned in and brushed his tongue over her clit. Already worked up, it was all the contact she needed to fall apart, and she came with a scream, her release coating his hand and dripping down his forearm. Sirius let out an astonished laugh, pulling his hand away to hold it up between them. 

“Look at this mess you made, kitten,” he tutted his tongue. “You’re going to have to be good and clean it up for me.” 

“Sirius,” she whimpered breathlessly. Gods, he was so hot, driving her wild with need, and even though she’d just gotten off, she needed more—needed him. 

He raised his hand to her face, swiping his soaked palm across her cheek before he thrust his fingers into her mouth. Hermione sucked on the digits, licking them clean as he used his free hand to reach around her back and unhook her bra. When he pulled his hand away, she dropped her arms, letting the bra fall away, and then dropped it to the floor. 

Sirius reached down to unbuckle his belt, and she took a moment to take in the view. He was shirtless, which was a habit for him, clad only in a pair of dark-wash denims that sat low on his hips, and she wanted to touch him, to kiss him, to taste him. 

“Let me,” she insisted, knocking his hands away. She reached for his belt, locking eyes with him as she slowly sank to her knees, and Sirius cursed under his breath. 

When she undid his trousers and pulled them down to free his cock, she had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from moaning at the sight of him alone. 

He wasn’t as big as Remus—a few centimetres shorter, and not as thick—but he was large all the same, girthy and weighted, and she shivered at the memory of how well he’d filled her. 

The veins, though, were a marvel she couldn’t tear her eyes away from. She dipped her head, darting her tongue out to trace the ridges, and she felt his hand snake into her hair, tugging at the roots as he guided her mouth to the head of his cock. 

She parted her lips, looking up to meet his eyes as she took him into her mouth, and Sirius let out a shaky breath. “Fuck, kitten, that pretty little mouth is almost as good as your cunt,” he groaned. Hermione hummed, and he hissed, gripping her hair harder. 

Good. 

She needed this just as much as she needed him the first time. That night had been all soft edges, reverent brushes of the skin. Healing. But right now, she needed him to want her, to need her so much that he let himself off of his leash and took her. 

She took him to the back of her throat and hummed again, pride swelling in her chest when she heard him let out a shaky whimper. Slowly, she retreated, swirling her tongue over the already-leaking head of his cock before she sank back down. 

As she repeated the action, an image flashed through her imagination—of Remus, on his knees just like she was, or Sirius, returning the favour—and she let out an involuntary moan as she squeezed her thighs together. 

“Get the fuck up here,” Sirius ordered, tugging harder on her hair. He pulled her off of his cock, and she let out a whine of protest, but quickly scrambled up into his lap. 

“Godsdamn, Kitten, you’re a greedy little thing, aren’t you?” he chuckled. Hermione rolled her eyes and leaned in, nipping at his bottom lip before she delved her tongue into his mouth. He reached a hand between them and then pushed inside of her, filling her to the brim with a single snap of his hips. 

She broke the kiss with a gasp, and Sirius placed a hand back to her stomach, looking up into her eyes as he began to move. 

“That is my fucking baby,” he told her. “I did this to you. And I’m not ever going to let you forget it. That night—fuck, you’re so fucking tight.” 

“It might be,” she agreed breathlessly. “But it doesn’t matter. Sirius, just…fucking stop. Can’t you see we both want you?” 

“Mmm.” He hummed noncommittally as he suddenly stood from the chair, guiding her legs back around his waist. He walked forward, each step causing his cock to press deeper inside of her until he lay her back on the bed, one hand gripping her thigh as the other rested on the side of her neck. 

“That baby is mine,” he told her again. “And you’re mine. You may be his first, but it doesn’t fucking matter. It doesn’t make this any less real.”

“It doesn’t,” she agreed. “I want to be yours, too. Please, Sirius, make me yours.”

“I already did, Kitten,” he grinned, brushing his fingers over her stomach. “Buried myself so deep inside of you that it took root. Fuck, I can’t get enough of you.” 

He kissed her again as he began to rock his hips, long, measured strokes that seemed specifically designed to break her apart every time the thick head of his cock dragged against her inner walls. He was so thick, and she was stretched so wide around him that she swore she could feel every vein, pulsing and throbbing as he took his pleasure. 

His hands gripped her everywhere they could reach, roughly needing her breasts and tangling in her hair as he dragged his mouth down her throat, pausing to nip at the scar on her shoulder before he pulled back to look in her eyes. 

“You’re mine, too,” he rasped. “Say it.” 

“Yours, Sirius, please, don’t stop, I’m going to come.” 

“Not yet, you’re not. Not until I tell you. Say. It.” He snapped his hips, fucking her harder, and she screamed as she raked her nails down his back. 

“Fuck yes, kitten. Let me feel your claws.” He rose up, wrapping his arms around her back to pull her against his chest as he sat back on his heels and began to bounce her on his cock, fucking up into her dripping cunt as he grit his teeth. 

“Say it. I told you to wait. Say it, Hermione. Now.” 

“Fuck. Fuck, Sirius, I love you.” 

“Say it again,” he demanded, his eyes wild, hair falling in his face as he gripped her chin and forced her eyes to his. “Don’t stop fucking telling me.” 

“I love you,” she groaned as he fucked her harder. 

“Again.” 

“I love you, Sirius, I—fuck, I love you.” 

“More,” he groaned.

“I love you.” Her voice was high, desperate, so thick with need that she barely recognised it as he dropped her back to the bed and grabbed her hips. She could feel her orgasm building, coiling white-hot inside of her lower stomach as he flattened his palm over the space between her hips. 

“Mine.” 

“Yours,” she nodded. She wasn’t even sure what she was agreeing to—that she was his, that the baby was, it was all the same, because the endgame was clear and the blood didn’t matter. She wanted to break him down, to make him admit that he felt this, too—that he wanted this, with both of them, too. She needed to hear him say the words because she was so tired of pretending she could breathe without both of them. 

“Say it,” she shot back, gripping his forearms as she planted her feet on the bed and raised her hips. Sirius went still, as if anticipating her next move, and she began to ride his cock, sliding up and down his thick shaft as she continued, “You fucking feel this, Sirius. You love him, and you love me, and I’m done watching you pretend like you’re okay going to bed at night without both of us. I’m going to—fuck, I’m going to come all over this fat cock, and you’re going to say it, and you’re going to mean it.” 

“Fuck, the way you look right now,” he chuckled darkly as he began to slowly rock his hips again, running one hand up her stomach to cup her breast. “Let me have it, baby. Come for me. Love me, because I do love you, and that baby is mine, and you’re never getting rid of me now.” 

“Wasn’t gonna.” She gritted her teeth. “Say it.” 

“I love you, Hermione.” He rocked his hips, driving his cock deeper. “Say it.” 

“I—fuck, I love you. Say it.” 

“I love you,” he responded again. “Come for me, kitten. Be a good girl and make that pretty little pussy squeeze my cock so I can fill you up again.” 

“I need…oh my fucking gods,” Hermione broke off into a scream as fireworks ignited beneath her skin. That tightly wound ball of heat in her core broke, spinning out of control as she felt her entire lower body begin to spasm. Heat flooded out of her core, and Sirius collapsed on top of her, grabbing her by the hips as he thrust once, then twice, before he came with a guttural moan.

“Fuck, yes, just like that,” he groaned. “You take me so well, kitten. Fucking made for me.” 

“Yours,” she repeated, her voice slurred with the haze of her pleasure. “I love you.” 

“I love you.” He spoke more softly this time, brushing her hair out of her eyes, and let his hand rest atop her head as he pressed his forehead to hers. “I love you, Hermione. And I love Remus, and I love those boys like they’re my own, and that is my baby. But I’m not—I’m not ready yet. Not for him. I swear to the gods I will be, I just need—” 

“It’s okay,” she cut him off, shaking her head before she kissed his chin, then the corner of his mouth. “You get time. You deserve time, Sirius. But when you’re ready, it's all three of us, all three of the kids. It's everybody, together.” 

“Together,” he nodded. “But that baby is mine.” 

“Gods, Sirius,” she laughed, rolling her eyes as she let her head fall back against the pillow. “You can’t know that.” 

“Hey! I’ll have you know that I know everything, little witch,” he said playfully, tickling her ribs. 

☆─────☆☾☼☽☆─────☆

“No wine for you tonight?” Emmeline asked, raising an eyebrow as Hermione passed her a stemmed glass and settled onto the other end of the sofa, taking a sip of her water. 

“Ah, not for another eight months or so, no,” she replied in what she hoped was a casual tone. Emmeline choked on her wine and covered her mouth, coughing a bit before she set the glass down on the coffee table. 

“I’m going to need you to run that back,” Emmeline laughed, twirling her finger in the space between where they each sat, legs pulled beneath them with their backs against the arms of the sofa to face one another.

Remus had finally—miraculously—gotten Sirius to agree to go along for pub night with Alastor and Kingsley Shacklebolt, and Emmeline had popped by after the boys’ bedtime to see Hermione. 

Over the last few months, they’d quickly developed a routine, and Hermione loved nothing more than the chance to unwind with a bit of wine—no more than two glasses, of course, and only after she’d pumped enough breastmilk in case Callum woke up through the night—and chat with another woman whom she’d quickly come to see as a friend. 

Between Emmeline and Molly, whom Hermione wasn’t surprised to learn she got on well with during the boys’ playdates, she was enjoying having female friends at all. 

During her years at school, she’d been so hyper-focused and stretched-thin between managing her studies and that pesky little bit where she, Ron, and Harry had to save the world every five minutes that she never really had the time to grow close with another woman. 

Until, of course, Padma. 

Gods, she missed her so much some days that she could barely breathe, but in the interest of moving forward with the new life she’d been thrust into, finding people she could trust had made all the difference. 

She could trust Emmeline with this, even with all the complexities, so she took another sip of her water as she reminded herself of that little fact, and carefully set the glass down. 

“I’m pregnant,” she said—stoic, calm at first, but then she broke, letting out an excited squeal as she covered her face with her hands.

“Oh my gods, if I wouldn’t feel bad about waking the boys, I swear I would be screaming right now,” Emmeline gushed, reaching over to squeeze Hermione’s knee. “Oh. Shit. Wait. Who…” 

“I don’t know,” Hermione sighed, brushing her hair out of her face as she sat back upright. “Which is…hilarious, honestly. Remus and I were sort of half-trying for a while, in that we weren’t not trying. And then we were trying, for real. But now…” 

“Now you slept with them both on the same day, so you haven’t the bloodiest idea who the father is,” Emmeline finished for her. There was no judgment in the statement; there never was with Emmeline, which was one of the things Hermione loved the most about her. 

“Right.” Hermione nodded gravely, then laughed again. “Right. A proper slag, aren’t I?” 

“Oh, hush with that,” Emmeline waved a hand dismissively. “Do both of the guys know?” 

“They do.” 

“And? Are you going to make me pry every answer out of you?” Emmeline huffed dramatically as a grin spread across her face. “I mean, I do have the skillset, but this would all go far easier if you’d just…out with it.” 

“Right,” Hermione repeated. “Just…out with it. I um…well, Remus scented it on me last week. We talked things over, and then I told Sirius last night.” 

“How did they react?” Emmeline pressed.

“Remus is elated. He says he doesn’t care who the father is, though I can’t help but wonder if part of that is…self-confidence, you know? Like maybe he’s so sure it’s his that he doesn’t feel the need to fret. As for Sirius…” She trailed off and reached for her water, mentally cursing the fact that it wasn’t a glass of chilled white, and took a sip. 

“Not great?” Emmeline surmised. 

“Not…bad,” Hermione said. “He’s overly confident. I told him, and he just informed me that it was his. And we…went up to his bedroom, afterwards.”

She blushed, and Emmeline let out a playfully scandalised gasp.

“You two had sex again? Was it…listen, you know you have to tell me if I’m crossing a boundary, because I am his mindhealer, and your friend, but I’m also just a generally nosy person. Was it as soft as it was before, though?”

“No. It was…well, it was more in line with how I would have expected Sirius Black to shag,” Hermione responded bluntly. “But he’s just completely locked in to the idea that the baby belongs to him.” 

“Maybe that helps him,” Emmeline mused. “Maybe, to Sirius, believing the baby belongs to him sort of makes him feel as if he has an anchor within your family.”

“Something that belongs to him?” Hermione asked. 

“Exactly.” She nodded, “And I think—and this is me speaking as his friend, and not his mindhealer—I think Sirius has always struggled a bit to find his footing. If the baby is his, that’s an unshakable fact. Maybe he needs that right now.” 

“So what do I do?” Hermione asked. “I mean, I want to find out who the baby belongs to, because they both deserve to know. But things finally feel like they’re falling into place, and I’m already so stressed about the fallout when he finds out we’ve been lying to him for six bloody months.” 

“I know.” Emmeline chewed her lip, sighing. “I hope you know, Hermione, that my insistence on not telling him the truth is born of only good intent. I…have I ever told you why I wanted to be the one to manage his mindhealing myself?” 

“No.” Hermione shook her head, “I suppose I assumed it was just because you cared about him.” 

“In part,” Emmeline agreed. “And I absolutely do care about him. But it was more than that. You know, of course, that Alastor and I were close with Remus and Sirius. We were all fighting a war, so there was hardly time for double dates or anything of the sort. But Sirius means as much to me as Remus does to Alastor. I think he was my best friend.” 

“Oh.” Hermione blinked in surprise. “And now you’re his healer. Is that hard?” 

“It is. But I took it on willingly. As his friend, as the woman who fought a war alongside him, I want to shake some sense into him constantly. I shouldn’t be saying this…” Emmeline trailed off, shaking her head as she downed the rest of her wine. 

“I shouldn’t be saying this,” she repeated. “But you shouldn’t be kept in the dark, either, and I’m sure he’s not exactly forthcoming with what happens in his appointments. I can’t get him to talk about his family at all, and he becomes especially closed off about Regulus. He struggles to talk about the past at all; I think he forgets that I was the one there, picking him up off the floor after Remus left him, a few months before the Potters died.” 

“Gods,” Hermione groaned. “I know how badly Remus regrets leaving him, but some part of me wants to kick the man for doing that to him. Was he in bad shape?” 

“Horrible,” Emmeline confirmed. “Drank himself stupid, and I was right there, holding his hair back while he vomited and screamed about losing people. He ranted a lot about Regulus then, though I think he was too pissed to recall most of it. So perhaps it's a bit deviant of me to hold the line about getting him to open up about his brother when I already know a lot of how he feels about it. 

“But he needs to face those feelings, because as soon as he finds out you’re a time traveller and learns the truth of who his brother really was, he’s going to crack under the weight of that truth and unwind months of progress if he’s not in a place where he can hear it.” 

Hermione nodded, pulling her knee up to rest her chin atop it as she wrapped her arms around her leg. “It’s the same with the baby, though, isn’t it? If it’s important to him to be able to believe it’s his, then it could set him back to find out it isn’t.”

“Maybe,” Emmeline agreed. “But that’s something you might not be able to avoid.” 

“I…I could, though.” 

Emmeline raised her eyebrows, nodding slowly. “You could. I’m not telling you to do anything, here. It matters to me that you know that. But if you think, solely based on your own feelings and not what I’ve said as his healer, that finding out the paternity would be detrimental to your family, then I, as your friend—and only as your friend—support that.” 

“But?” Hermione raised an eyebrow, and Emmeline laughed, nodding again.

“But,” she echoed, “this is your body, and your pregnancy. You need to make the decision that feels right to you, Hermione. If that means finding out now, waiting until the baby is born, or not finding out at all, whatever the choice, it needs to be what you want. You can’t withhold your own needs for his mental health, love. He’s doing better, and even if this is a setback, you’ll all get through it.” 

“Yeah.” Hermione sighed, turning her head to press her knee to her cheek. “I really do feel like such a slag.” 

“And what’s wrong with that?” Emmeline challenged in a teasing tone, “Slags have more fun, and you, my dear friend, sound like you’ve been having a lot of fun.

☆─────☆☾☼☽☆─────☆

The decision had been easy enough; almost too easy. 

After Emmeline left, she went out into the conservatory and sat on the daybed, looking up at the stars for a while as she mulled over the different paths she could take.

Ultimately, the only way forward was clear. 

Things were almost perfect. Everything with her and Remus was nothing short of wonderful, and after the night before, with Sirius, she could see the trajectory they were on together, and gods, it was a good one.

But the guys had years of weight between them that predated her existence in their timeline, and while they were healing as well, the tension was still thick between them. 

There were still things that needed to be talked about—or, knowing the two of them, fought about. For as long as the potential to posture and measure their wands over the paternity of the baby existed, they would never truly settle.

So, with her mind made up, she’d gone back into the sitting room to curl up on the sofa with a book and her favourite throw blanket, and waited until they returned home from the pub. 

As they entered the room, she took a breath and set her book aside, then spoke before they had the chance to greet her. “I’ve decided that I won’t be finding out who the father is.”

“You…won’t be finding out,” Sirius repeated, his brow furrowed. “Why the hell not?” 

“Because there’s been enough drama here,” she responded, sure to keep her voice as steady as she could. “There’s been enough infighting, and we’re all finally moving toward a better place. I don’t want favouritism, and I don’t want either of you pissed at the other for being the one who fathered this baby, nor do I want it to come to a pissing contest.” 

“That’s just…bollocks. Tell her, Moony,” Sirius huffed, then held up a hand, shaking his head. “Never mind. You’ll just agree with her.” 

“Why would I not?” Remus challenged, furrowing his brow at Sirius as they both stood just inside the doorway. “She’s the one who gets to decide. The paternity doesn’t matter to me at the end of the day.” 

“I know. I—it doesn’t matter,” Sirius agreed with a bit of reluctance as he ran a hand through his hair. “But it's still not right for you to just…not know.”

“This is the only way,” she said firmly. She set her book aside and rose from the chair. “I’m sorry if this is hard. But I don’t want to know, because it makes no difference to me. This baby is ours. As far as I’m concerned, he or she has three parents, just like those boys upstairs do.” 

She walked across the room, pausing to stand in front of them as she added, “I don’t want to know. And I need you both to respect that.”

Turning to Sirius, she placed a hand on the back of his neck as she pulled him down for a kiss. He sighed, then smiled against her mouth, holding his hand out to flip Remus the middle finger. Remus laughed, and Sirius gripped her hair to tilt her head back as he deepened the kiss. 

Once he released her with another small peck to the lips, she turned to Remus to do the same. He gave her a half-smile, the corner of his mouth tipping upward, and cupped her cheek as he kissed her softly, rolling his tongue with hers at a languid pace before he pulled away and kissed her nose.

“I love you, Cariad,” Remus told her softly.

“I love you, too,” she smiled up at him, then turned to Sirius. “And I love you. And I’m not finding out who fathered this baby, but I am going to bed because I’m exhausted and my boobs hurt, and you two are not allowed to fight about this.”

☆─────☆☾☼☽☆─────☆

Chapter Text

𝙷𝚎𝚛𝚖𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚎

.·:·.☆☾☼☽☆.·:·.

“So you’ve got two men to deal with then?” Molly tilted her head, nodding as she pressed her lips into a thin line. Hermione went rigid in her chair and waited for the judgment or vitriol to begin. Much to her surprise, Molly just shrugged. 

“I can’t say I envy that. My Artie certainly keeps me busy enough on his own, if you catch my drift,” she stage-whispered, wiggling her eyebrows. 

Hermione laughed around the rim of her glass of lemonade. In another life, she likely would have gagged at the mention of Molly and Arthur Weasley’s sex life. But in this life, Molly was her friend, and getting to know her on such a level made the woman who sat next to her feel far removed from the woman whom she’d known as a child.

“You know, Molly, I’d gathered that somewhere around when I met the fifth kid. Or sixth. Or seventh,” Hermione teased.

“Yes, well, what can I say? Arthur William Weasley knows his way around a bedroom. Or a kitchen. Or a pantry. Or—” 

“Enough,” Hermione chortled, waving her hand as tears of mirth streamed down her face. “I’m going to pee my pants.”

“Not yet, you won’t, but that bit does get worse with each pregnancy,” Molly told her. “Are you excited?”

“Oh, gods, I’m so excited,” Hermione gushed, placing her hand on her stomach. “Remus is positive it’s a girl.” 

“Oh, a little girl,” Molly squealed. “Ginevra will be our last, so I’ll have loads of hand-me-downs for you. How are your men taking the news?” 

“They’re both happy, as far as the baby is concerned. But it’s been…tense. They’re still finding their footing, and I told them I don’t intend to find out who the father is, so…” Hermione trailed off, chewing her lip as she looked down at where her hand rested on her stomach. 

“That’s a big decision,” Molly said, her tone more serious now. “But if you think that’s right, then I say you’re doing a wonderful job. Though, when you say tense…”

“It’s a lot,” Hermione admitted with a laugh. “Lots of weighted glares and bickering. I swear, those two are like a couple of old hens sometimes. But I think they’ll resolve it.” 

“I’m sure they will, dearie. Babies have a way of softening everyone up.” Molly smiled, “Do the boys know yet? Well, I suppose Callum wouldn’t know a thing you were saying, but have you told Harry?” 

“Not yet,” Hermione sighed, shaking her head. “We want to wait a bit, be sure that…well, things can happen, and it would just crush me to get Harry’s hopes up if —”

“What are we hoping, Mama?” Harry asked as he strode into the sitting room, taking a bite of an apple with Ron and Fred on his heels.

“I’m hoping that you boys are having so much fun playing!” Hermione smiled brightly, quickly dropping her hand away from her stomach.

“We’re best friends now,” Harry informed her. “And also, me and Ronnie’s gonna be twins like Freddie and Georgie, so you gotta call us Harold and Harold.” 

“Harold?” Hermione asked. She looked over at Molly, who shrugged and hid a laugh behind her hand.

“Yeah, Harry’s Mummy. It's for Harry and Ronald. We mushed ‘em together, like Harold, see?” Ron spoke up. 

“Yeah. Mushed ‘em,” Harry agreed. “And Fred and George are…whatsit, Fred?”

“I’m Forge, and he’s Gred,” Fred announced as he bounded over to his mum and climbed onto her lap. Molly gave him a squeeze, ruffling his hair, and he squirmed, giggling as he reached for a biscuit from the tray Molly had set out.

“Well, Forge, Harold, Harold, if you’re quite done with the mushing, what do you say you go find Gred? I think it's time you all washed up and had a spot of lunch before we go outside and play,” Molly ordered. Fred, grumbling all the while — he really was quite a mama’s boy, Hermione had noticed—climbed off of Molly’s lap and trudged toward the stairs with the other boys hot on his heels. 

“How can I help?” Hermione asked, rising from her seat.

“You can go check on Ginny and the baby, and then sit. You’re cooking a new little jellybean, and I know all too well how poorly those early days make you feel, so I won’t see you lift a finger around this kitchen,” Molly told her sternly, brandishing her wooden spoon as she moved to stir a pot of stew.

“Why does everyone keep calling my baby a bean?” Hermione huffed. 

“Well, in early pregnancy, a baby does look quite bean-like,” Percy spoke up from where he sat in the sitting room just beyond the kitchen with a large book in his lap. “I remember from the picture books Mum got us when she was having Ginny.” 

Percy Weasley was smart as a whip already. Even at seven years old, talking to him was like talking to someone who was well into their time at Hogwarts. It was fascinating to see that brain of his constantly churning, even at this age. 

Being at The Burrow had been far easier than Hermione had anticipated. The first time she brought the boys over, she had been positive it would be impossible to sit within these walls and not spiral, but the moment she’d stepped through the floo, she’d been hit with a wave of comfort so intense it nearly knocked her on her arse.

Now, she and Molly would talk for hours while the boys had their weekly playdate, and it was like another little piece of herself healed every time she sat at the kitchen table across from the woman who had once loved her like a daughter. 

Seeing Harry play with Ron and the twins or chase Charlie around the back garden as he led the younger ones into some chaotic adventure was probably the greatest sight she had ever beheld—even if she maintained an understandable amount of worry that he’d pick up on the twins’ penchant for pranks and hijinks. 

She hadn’t met Bill yet, given that they were still away at Hogwarts for a few more weeks, but she found herself counting down the days. Growing closer with the Weasley family hadn’t been something she’d anticipated at all—in fact, when she first arrived, she’d been determined not to interact with them at all. 

But then Molly had been there, saving the day with her carpet bag and a scowl, and the moment she’d seen Harry interact with the twins in the bookstore, any resistance she’d built had melted away. 

Now, as she neared the chair Percy was curled up in and ruffled his hair, she couldn’t help but wonder how on earth she’d thought, for even a moment, that she could live a life without this family. 

“I suppose you’ve got a point there, Percy,” she laughed. “What are you reading now?” 

“The Hobbit,” he replied excitedly. “It’s a Muggle book Dad found. There are a lot of really big words, but I’m a good reader.” 

“Yes, you certainly are. Did you know The Hobbit is a prequel to a trilogy of books called The Lord of the Rings?” 

“There are more?!” Percy closed his book and bounced slightly in his chair, looking up at her with bright eyes. “Trilogy means three, right?” 

“That’s Right,” Hermione agreed. “If your mum says it's alright, I’ll see if I can find the books for you next time I go to the Muggle bookshop. Or maybe we’ll see if you can go with me sometime, and we could get you a library card.” 

“I’ve always wanted to go to a Muggle library,” Percy breathed, his voice full of wonder.

“Well, we’ll have to set it up soon, then.” She smiled down at him, ruffling his hair one more time before she turned to head further into the sitting room and settled down on her knees near the hearth. 

Callum lay on his side with his thumb in his mouth and his fingers locked firmly in Ginny’s hair as the two napped on a pallet of blankets Molly had laid down for them. Ginny was on her side as well, one hand clutching Callum’s forearm, and she let out a slight snore as Hermione reached down to tuck the blanket tighter around them. 

Ginny’s eyes popped open, and Hermione winced, bracing herself for a fit, but the girl merely looked up at her with wide, curious eyes for a moment before her face melted into a sleepy smile. 

“Hi, Mimi. I wake.” 

“I see that you’re awake,” Hermione cooed, smoothing a hand over Ginny’s hair. “Would you like to get up and go have some lunch?” 

“Nuh-uh. I sleep wif baby.” Ginny yawned and released her hold on Callum’s arm before she reached out to Hermione, opening and closing her hand as she asked, “Mimi cuggle me?” 

“Oh, lovey, of course I’ll cuggle with you.” Hermione grinned and scooted to the side, carefully lying down on the floor next to Ginny, who immediately turned to tuck her face against Hermione’s chest. 

“Mimi, you my best,” Ginny mumbled sleepily, reaching a hand up to twirl her fingers in Hermione’s hair.

“Oh, sweet girl. You’re my best, too.”

☆─────☆☾☼☽☆─────☆

𝚁𝚎𝚖𝚞𝚜

.·:·.☆☾☼☽☆.·:·.

Just fucking tell me, so I can tell him, and he can stop brooding. 

|| Our Mate doesn’t want to know. Our Mate gets what she wants. I’m bored with this conversation. ||

But you know, don’t you? You can tell by the scent. I can only pick up…newness. Something earthy. But you’re literally a wolf. You know whose it is. 

|| Of course, I know. The new pup is mine ||

So… so it’s mine, then? I’m the father?

|| Didn’t say that ||

So is it his? Will you just bloody tell me? 

|| Moony didn’t say the pup is the dog's. Moony didn’t say the pup is the boy’s. Moony said the pup is mine. Everyone here is. Big pup, little pup, Mate, dog. All Moony’s ||

“Oh for the love of the gods,” Remus groaned, rubbing his temples with one hand as he braced an elbow on the table.

“Arguing with the voices in your head again?” Sirius asked, raising an eyebrow as he sauntered into the kitchen shirtless, his hair still wet from a shower. Remus watched as he walked to the fridge and reached inside, pulling out a bottle of beer, then turned to raise an eyebrow at him. 

“So how does this work, then?” Sirius asked with a cocky grin before he took a swig from the bottle. Remus sighed, pressing his lips together as he bit back the urge to groan, because he knew him, too fucking well. 

“I mean,” Sirius set the bottle on the counter, swiping a hand over his mouth before he continued, “do we just do up a little schedule on the fridge, like she does for the healer appointments? Do we each take three days a week and give her a rest on Sundays?” 

“Are you actually talking to me about her like this?” Remus asked, a challenge in his tone. Sirius grabbed his bottle, taking another drink as he shook his head, then pointed the neck of the bottle toward him. 

“Don’t,” he ordered coolly. “I’m not talking about Hermione in any sort of negative way. Don’t put that on me. I’m coming to you as…you know. The man who’s shagging your wife, which you seem to be completely fine with, fucking strange as that is.” 

“And what is that supposed to mean?” Remus leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest as he waited for a response.

“I just mean, the sharing thing. I’m not…well, it’s certainly not something I’d ever considered before. But I get it, now. She’s…it just works. I think this really works,” Sirius replied, suddenly sounding a bit self-conscious. 

Remus nearly could have ticked the seconds off on his fingers, to the count of five, as Sirius took another drink and set his bottle back down before the old familiar ‘Sirius Black is bad at Feelings’ switch flipped.

“You know, we should talk about the fact that it’s my kid,” he said. 

“You don’t know that,” Remus sighed and rose from his chair, walking toward the sink to set his glass on the counter. 

“You don’t know that I don’t,” Sirius shot back. “But you do know. You’d have to. Are you going to tell me that Moony can’t tell by the scent alone? You forget, I’ve known you half our lives.” 

|| Moony knows. New pup is Mine. All pups are Moony’s ||

Remus groaned, rubbing his temples as he turned to lean back against the counter opposite where Sirius stood. 

“What?” Sirius asked, narrowing his eyes. “Am I wrong?” 

“No, you’re not wrong that Moony knows, but I don’t know.” 

“How is that possible?”

Remus mumbled a response, and Sirius huffed in irritation. “Not all of us have super hearing, Moons. Work with me here.” 

“I said…” Remus sucked in a breath, wincing. “I said he won’t tell me.” 

“Oh, that’s fucking rich,” Sirius laughed, slapping a hand on the counter behind him. “You expect me to believe that?” 

“I’m not lying, Pads. He just says…that he knows, but it doesn’t matter because ‘all pups are Moony’s’ and that everyone in the pack is his,” Remus tried to explain. “He says you and Hermione are his, Harry and Callum are his, the new baby…believe me, I’ve tried to get him to tell me, but—”

“Oh, of course. Now he says I’m his?” Sirius scoffed. “Right. Now it’s perfectly fine, innit? You found a mate and had a kid, so now you’re allowed to fuck a man?” 

|| Yes || 

“No.” Remus shook his head, “It’s not like that. It’s never been like that, Sirius. I would have—gods, fy naghariad, I would have been with you forever. If I hadn’t had my head so far up my arse, if I had seen what I had in front of me, I never would have left. I never would have—”

“Gotten married and had a kid while I was rotting in a fucking cell thinking you were dead?!” Sirius roared. Pushing off the counter, he stepped toward Remus, jabbing a finger against his chest. “You jumped in bed with the first witch you saw, don’t you dare tell me you cared.”

“That’s not fucking fair!” Remus yelled back. Grabbing Sirius’s wrist to knock his hand away, he lowered his voice, “Don’t you dare say a single word about—” 

“I’m not going to talk shit about Hermione, I fucking love her,” Sirius yelled again. “But you stand here, acting like your love for me was some big, great thing when you left me, and then moved on the second you had the chance. You don’t love someone like that and then forget about them in less than a year, Moons. You just don’t.” 

“It’s not like that!” Remus protested. “I told you, it’s—”

“Complicated,” Sirius scoffed. “Yeah, you keep saying that, but it looks pretty fucking straightforward to me. And I’m not—I don’t blame you for loving her. I don’t feel any ill will toward her. She’s carrying my child and I—”

“Stop fucking saying that,” Remus spat.

“Oh?” Sirius smirked, raising an eyebrow. “Jealous, Moons?” 

“No, you fucking—” Remus sighed, tugging at his hair. “I’m not jealous. I don’t care who fathered that baby; it’s ours. But if you keep latching onto the idea that it’s yours, it’s going to upset her.”

“That’s not why it bothers you, and you know it,” Sirius spat. “You’re just spiralling because she’s mine now, too, and I’m still not yours.” 

“You fucking are!” Remus shouted. “We both know it, Siri, and you can be as mad at me as you want for as long as you need, but—” 

“Shut up!” 

Remus and Sirius both whipped their heads toward the doorway where Hermione stood, panic etched across her face. She was utterly furious, magic crackling along the tips of her hair, her face flushed red. 

Remus felt his heart lurch. She’d only been meant to be at the library with one of the Weasley boys and then have dinner with Molly, so of course she’d be back by now, but they’d been so embroiled in their argument that he must have missed the sound of the floo. 

“Cariad—”

“Kitten—” 

“I said shut the fuck up,” Hermione snapped. “I just came home to the sound of the two of you screaming at each other, so I went to check on the boys, and I can’t—I can’t find them, Moony.” 

Her voice broke, and Remus felt a growl rumbling in his chest at the sight of his Mate’s distress. 

|| Idiot, fool of a boy. Yelling around the pups, scaring the Mate ||

“Shut the fuck up, Moony,” Remus snapped. “Hermione, I…they should be in bed. We put them down an hour ago, just hold on, okay? Let me sniff them out.” 

He stepped forward, his arms aching with the need to pull her to him, but he could tell by the look on her face that it would have been the worst possible choice at the time, so he merely brushed past her to head into the foyer and make his way upstairs. 

He could hear Sirius’s heavy footsteps on the stairs behind him, but he didn’t bother looking back as he focused his senses and headed toward the nursery. 

|| See? Pups are safe. Moony can smell them ||

“Where?” Remus huffed, tugging at his hair again as he entered the nursery. He went straight to Harry’s bed, pulling back the rumpled quilt, then spun toward the cot, panic seizing his chest.

“I already looked in here, in all the bedrooms, the moon fort, I—I can’t—” Hermione broke off into a sob, pressing a hand to her stomach, and Sirius dropped to his knees, pulling back the bedskirt to look underneath. 

“They’re here, Cariad. They’re close, I can smell them, just—here.” Remus spun, nearly sprinting across the room. He grabbed the handle of the closet door and flung it open just as Sirius came to a skidding stop beside him.

Remus scanned the space, taking another deep sniff, then looked down, sighing in relief as he caught sight of a small foot poking out from beneath a pile of blankets on the floor.

“Harry,” Sirius let out a relieved sigh and reached down to pull the blanket away. As soon as his cover had been lifted, Harry—his hair wild from sleep, with a still snoozing Callum clutched in his arms—scooted away from them until his back hit the wall.

“Hey, washi, it’s okay,” Remus said, his voice shaky. 

|| Scared pups. Need to hold them. Scent. Make them feel safe || 

“Move,” Hermione ordered, nudging her way between Sirius and Remus. She dropped to her knees, and Harry’s eyes locked on hers, visible relief settling into his little body as he slumped back against the wall. 

“Hi, little love,” Hermione croaked. “Whatcha doin’?” 

“Loud,” Harry whispered, tapping his fingers against his chin as his eyes darted back up to Remus and Sirius. 

He didn’t look scared—thank the gods, Remus thought—but it was worse than that; the lad glared at both of them as if he’d never been more disappointed in his life.

“We’re so sorry, Haz,” Sirius mumbled, running a hand through his hair. “Did you get the baby out of his cot and go to the closet because we yelled?” 

Harry nodded, pursing his little lips as he looked down at Callum. “Uncle Vernon got loud, and I go’d to my closet, in the before place.” 

“Oh, washi. You don’t—you don’t have to hide here. You never have to hide here,” Remus said softly. “We’re so sorry we got loud. It won’t happen again, buddy.” 

“It won’t,” Hermione agreed. She reached out, smiling softly at Harry as she took the baby from his arms. “Let's get you to bed, sweet boy. I can cast the charms on the edges so Callum can sleep with you tonight. How does that sound?” 

Harry nodded, looking suddenly exhausted as he climbed to his feet. He looked between Remus and Sirius, his little brow furrowed as if he were trying to come to an important decision before he stepped forward, hugging Remus’s legs, then Sirius’s. 

“Love you, Daddy. Love you, Dadfoot. No more bedtime from you tonight, please. You go.” Harry said. Remus and Sirius shared a look of pure shame, and Remus nodded, ruffling Harry’s hair. 

“Alright, washi. We’ll go so Mama can put you to bed,” Remus nodded, pinching the bridge of his nose as he felt his eyes begin to burn.

“We love you, kiddo. We—we’re sorry,” Sirius stuttered out. Harry nodded, bending to pick his blanket up off the floor before he trudged over toward the bed. Hermione settled the baby next to him, removing the extra pillow and repositioning a few stuffed animals, then murmured to Harry that she’d be right back before she gave the guys a pointed look and headed toward the door. 

They followed her silently out of the bedroom and down the stairs, where she came to a stop in the foyer, clenching and unclenching her fists for a moment before she turned without a word and flung open the coat closet. 

“Out.” She threw Sirius’s leather jacket at him, and he caught it with a grunt, looking over at Remus in confusion. Remus shrugged, looking back at Hermione, and watched as she reached for his denim jacket and thrust it toward him. 

“Kitten, what’s—”

“Do not charm me right now, Sirius Black,” she huffed, furiously brushing her wild hair back from her face. 

“That was your only strike. Both of you. You’re fucking wizards. I understand that this is what the two of you do, but you could have gone outside or cast a silencing charm. You — you will never fight like that where the boys can hear you again,” she ordered.

“We won’t, cariad. I swear it,” Remus rushed out. He wanted to grab her, to tuck her under his arm and press his nose to her temple, to keep her pinned to him until she settled, but Hermione must have anticipated the urge. As soon as he took a step forward, she just sighed, shaking her head as she held a hand up.

“I know you won’t,” she said carefully. “Harry has been through enough, and this house will only be a place of comfort for him. There are about to be three kids here, and I will not have a repeat of this ever again. So you’re both going to get the fuck out.” 

“You can’t be serious,” Sirius argued.

|| Can’t leave the den. Need to keep the pups safe, protect the Mate ||

“We—I can’t, Hermione,” Remus protested. 

“You have to. This…Moony, this is what I need.” Hermione reached out, placing a hand on his chest as she spoke, but immediately dropped it and took a step back. 

“I love you both. I am going to go back upstairs and lie down with our children, and I’m going to make sure Harry is okay, and you are both going to leave,” she insisted again. “Get out of this house. Go have a pint, go punch each other in an alley, or fuck it out on a park bench, I don’t care what you do. But do not come back until this tension has been resolved. It was tolerable, but the second it crossed a line and scared Harry, it went too far. You have to—Remus.” 

She turned to him, then, her eyes locking with his. “You need to tell him.”

“Tell him?” Remus sputtered. “Cariad? You know we—” 

“Moony,” she pressed. “It’s time. It’s bigger than all of us now, with the baby on the way and this…” she gestured between the two men as Sirius pulled a t-shirt he must have summoned from somewhere over his head. “This isn’t sustainable. It was the right thing to do at first, but those boys…” 

She shook her head, lifting one shoulder in a half-shrug. “It’s time, Remus. I’m calling it right now. I’ll owl her and deal with the fallout.”

|| Listen to the Mate. Never wrong || 

“It’s time for what?” Sirius asked as he shrugged on his jacket. “Who are you owling?” 

Hermione didn’t respond; she merely sighed again as her eyes darted toward the staircase. “I’m going to go be with the boys. I need you both to go. I’ll see you when you’ve talked this shit out,” she said before turning to head upstairs without another word. 

☆─────☆☾☼☽☆─────☆

𝚂𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚞𝚜

.·:·.☆☾☼☽☆.·:·.

“Alright. This is our second drink, and you’ve been sat there fidgeting around like you’re about to take your Arithmancy NEWT for the last fifteen minutes,” Sirius said as he set his glass back down on the table. “Tell me what it is you’re supposed to…you know. Tell me.” 

Remus fidgeted again, nervously glancing around as he took another drink of his whisky. Sirius leaned back in his chair, watching him through narrowed eyes. 

He hated this. This constant, never-ending feeling of not fucking knowing that he’d had since he got out of Azkaban and gotten home. It seemed like every time he turned around, there was another thing he hadn’t known, or some secret thrumming beneath the surface of what he knew to be true.

Of all the impatience he had—and to be fair, he had it in spades—the thing that irritated him more than anything was when he didn’t know one-hundred percent of the information, and lately, he’d felt like he was sitting at a solid thirty. 

“There’s some big secret I’m not supposed to know, right?” Sirius surmised. 

Remus stiffened, then slowly nodded as he confessed. “Yes.”

“Figured,” Sirius continued. “I really have always known you best, moonbeam. Are you going to tell me, or are we going to sit here until we’re old and grey? Become proper lushes in some shitty Muggle pub, since that girl of ours doesn’t seem keen on letting us back in the door until you’ve let the cat out of the bag?” 

Remus snorted into his drink and set the glass down as he plucked a cigarette out of the pack sitting between them on the table. Sirius mirrored his action and leaned in, grinning around the filter in his mouth as Remus followed. He snapped his fingers, lighting both of their cigarettes at once—an old party trick—and then sat back in his seat to take a drag while he watched Remus inconspicuously slip his hand into his pocket to grip his wand. 

Once the tangible feeling of a Muffliato settled over the space around them, Remus slumped back in his seat, looking up at the ceiling as he smoked for a moment before he finally began to speak. 

“I’m going to tell you something. But before you do the thing where you tell me I’m barmy and this descends into an argument, you just…you’ve got to hear me out, aye?”

“Aye…” Sirius agreed skeptically. 

“Aye,” Remus repeated. He sat up in his chair, bracing an elbow on the table and propping his cheek in his hand as he ashed his cigarette into the little metal tray on the tabletop. 

“Hermione is a time traveller.”

“What?” Sirius laughed. “Sure, and I’m—”

“We agreed you’re going to hear me out,” Remus reminded him. 

“Fine. Listening ears on,” Sirius snarked. 

“Fine,” Remus echoed. “She’s…well, it's the truth. She’s a time traveller. Hermione was born in nineteen seventy-nine, and became best friends with Harry when she went to Hogwarts. Years later, she married me and had Callum. And then, this past October, on Halloween, she showed up at the door of my flat in Brixton with a screaming baby in her arms, pissed as hell at me because my older self shoved her and the baby through a bookcase in the Time Room at the Department of Mysteries.”

“Wait, so…seven months ago?” Sirius asked. He waited for the punchline, but it never came. Remus just continued to look at him, an earnest, almost regretful expression on his face. 

“You’re serious, aren’t you?” Sirius asked, his voice barely above a whisper. 

It was unfathomable; utterly and completely wild. 

But time magic did exist, even for as little as they knew about it, and if there was one thing he knew about Remus, it was that the man was a shitty liar. Now, though, as he simply met Sirius’s eyes and nodded, there was nothing Sirius could do but… believe him.

“No, you’re Sirius,” Remus smirked as he placed the cigarette back in his mouth. “But I am telling the truth.”

“So…wait, let me get this straight,” Sirius began. “So she’s not Lily’s cousin? That whole story about how you met, that’s just a lie?” 

“Yes,” Remus admitted. “We didn’t want to lie to you. Please know that. As for her being Lily’s cousin—legally, that’s the case. Moody assisted us with paperwork to make it official so we could gain custody of Harry. I’d never seen her before she showed up on Halloween.” 

“So is she—she’s not your wife, then? Not really?” Sirius asked.

“Yes, she fucking is,” Remus protested, a bit of a growl to his voice. He cleared his throat, smiling apologetically. “Sorry. Moony. She is my wife. The marital binding we used was a soul binding. We can both still feel it, because I guess soul magic isn’t hindered by time. And she’s my mate. I—he, my older self, he may have married her and claimed her, but she’s still mine. And Callum is my son.”

“Well, yeah. I mean, he stole your entire face. And the blood doesn’t lie. But that’s—I’m so fucking pissed,” Sirius laughed, sounding nearly maniacal even to his own ears. It was a ridiculous reaction, but he could hardly help himself. Sirius had always had an issue with laughing at the most inappropriate of times, when all of the weight of whatever emotions he was dealing with compressed his lungs and made him feel half-delirious. Clearly, tonight was no exception to that rule. 

He was so angry; He was confused, hurt and—somehow, a bit relieved? “You lied to me for months, you let me hate her—” he began, jabbing a finger against the tabletop.

“You never hated her,” Remus interrupted. “You tried. You certainly resented her. But you never hated her, because she is my Mate, and my wife, and because of how she is with the boys. You saw how happy we were, and you couldn’t hate her. If you had known how she really came to be here…”

“I would have done better. I would have…well, maybe not,” Sirius admitted, running a hand through his hair.

“Exactly,” Remus agreed, pointing a finger at him before he took another drag. “If you had been able to view Hermione through the lens of some witch who was just dropped into my lap by time magic and a decrepit old-man version of myself, you wouldn’t have had an ounce of respect for her place in my life, Pads. You forget that, for as well as you may be able to read my face, I know the way your mind works.

“You would have been horrible to her. Convinced yourself she was a mere burden that needed to be removed. And even if, over time, you’d seen how in love Hermione and I are, your knee-jerk reaction would have sullied any chance you had to get to know her.” 

“I’m so fucking pissed,” Sirius repeated. It was the only thing he could think to say. For months, they’d lied to him. Let him be angry, let him put his foot in his mouth over and over. And still, he couldn’t be mad at them for the lie, because Remus…wasn’t wrong.

That was what pissed him off the most: the fact that he understood. 

When he’d first gotten out, he’d been a trainwreck, overwhelmed and confused and pissed off at the world, and Remus was right. He wouldn’t have been able to handle the truth. 

Still, the truth was hard to swallow. He had so many questions, so many things he wanted to say, but gods, he really was pissed, and he couldn’t even figure out if he was pissed at them for not telling him, or pissed at Remus for telling him now, or—most probably—pissed at himself for the way he had handled everything, holding on to so much anger and resentment that, it turned out, had been fucking pointless. 

He really should have asked questions; this was the kind of news that required a big conversation, the kind of weight that one should sit with and talk over and try to get their head around. 

But right now, the last thing he wanted to do was talk. 

“Get up,” he ordered, kicking Remus’s chair. 

☆─────☆☾☼☽☆─────☆

𝚁𝚎𝚖𝚞𝚜

.·:·.☆☾☼☽☆.·:·.

As soon as they stumbled into the alley behind the pub, Sirius’s hands were on him. He grabbed the front of Remus’s denim jacket and shoved him back, causing Remus to wince as his back hit the brick wall. 

|| The dog needs to display his dominance, hmmm? He needs— ||

Shut up. This isn’t for you. I know exactly what he needs.

“Feeling handsy, Pads?” Remus smirked. “At least you had the decency to buy me a drink first.”

“There you go again, running that pretty little mouth,” Sirius responded with a slow shake of his head. He shot a hand out to grab Remus by the chin, and Remus winced as Sirius’s fingers dug roughly into his jaw.

“You know what your problem is, baby?” Sirius whispered, leaning in so that his breath ghosted across Remus’s mouth. “You’ve forgotten what it’s like not to be the one in charge, haven’t you?” 

“Dunno,” Remus shrugged, flicking his tongue over his teeth as a smile curled across his face. “Are you going to remind me?” 

Gods, he loved this. 

He and Sirius had always been too similar, in a million ways that shouldn’t have worked, but the dynamic between them was never clearer than in the way they fucked. They were both the type to take charge in the bedroom, constantly switching off in their displays for dominance, and he’d forgotten just how much he missed the fight.

“That what you need, wolf man?” Sirius asked. He raised an eyebrow and moved his hand to the back of Remus’s hair, grasping it firmly as he began to force him down. “Then get on your fucking knees for me and let me give you a refresher.”

Remus groaned, nodding a bit too enthusiastically as his knees hit the pavement. He brought his hands up to Sirius’s belt in an instant, but Sirius used his free hand to knock them away and began to undo his trousers. 

He pulled his cock out and wrapped his fist around it, stroking himself a few times before he tightened his hold on Remus’s hair and guided the tip to his lips. Remus opened his mouth, groaning again as Sirius thrust inside and then began to move.

“Put your hands above your head,” he ordered gruffly. Remus complied, and Sirius wrapped one hand around his wrists, pinning them to the wall as he tightened his hold on his hair and began to thrust harder into his mouth. 

Remus gagged, his eyes locked on Sirius’s face as he watched him bite his lip. His hair fell over his eyes as he looked down at Remus, his mouth dropping open in a silent Oh, and Remus hummed as he swallowed, working his throat muscles over the other man’s cock.

“Fuck, baby, does your wife know you suck almost as good as she does?” Sirius groaned. “Maybe I’ll put you both on your knees, you can make a contest of it.”

Remus rolled his eyes and twisted his wrist in Sirius’s hold to flip him off, and Sirius laughed, tugging hard on Remus’s hair to pull him off of his cock.

“I wasn’t done,” Remus protested.

“Stand up,” Sirius ordered. Remus stood, hastily unbuckling his jeans and shoving them down his hips, and Sirius grabbed him by the shoulder, turning him to press his chest against the wall.

|| Good, boy. Let the dog— ||

Quiet, you. Let me fucking have this.

|| Fine. Moody boy ||

“I’m going to fuck you so hard you can’t breathe,” Sirius taunted against his neck, nipping at the shell of his ear as Remus felt Sirius’s hand press against his entrance. Sirius murmured the lubrication spell a split second before he thrust two fingers inside of Remus’s arse, immediately scissoring them to stretch him open, and Remus groaned.

“I’ll be fine. Just fucking fuck me already,” he ordered.

“Godric, so fucking bossy,” Sirius laughed and withdrew his fingers, looping an arm around Remus’s collarbone as he guided his already-lubed cock to Remus’s entrance and began to push forward. 

Remus whined, reaching back to grab Sirius’s hip as he continued to move, sinking deeper and deeper until Remus was fully impaled on his cock.

“Alright, baby?” Sirius asked, softly trailing his lips down the side of Remus’s neck.

“Fine. I’m fine, just fuck me,” Remus begged, rocking his hips back. Sirius groaned and slid his arm up to Remus’s neck, pulling him back against his chest as he began to fuck him, slowly dragging his cock back and then slamming up, causing Remus to grunt with every hard intrusion.

“Fuck, you kept this arse nice and tight for me, didn’t you, baby? Bet you fucking—fuck, bet you dreamed of this, right here, didn’t you? Me pressing you against the wall in some seedy alley and fucking you like a whore?” Sirius rasped between thrusts. 

“Yes. Yes, I—gods, I missed you,” Remus groaned again. Sirius’s other hand snaked around to his stomach, and he flattened his palm over the slight bulge of his cock, pressing down so hard that Remus yelped.

“Yeah, you fucking missed me,” Sirius continued. “Missed the way this fat cock splits you open so much that you’re already about to come, aren’t you?” 

“Yes. Fuck, yes, Pads, please don’t stop,” Remus groaned. Sirius tightened his arm around his neck, causing him to gag again, then quickly pulled his arm away and grabbed him by the face, angling his head to the side.

Their mouths met, a painful clashing of the teeth, and Sirius bit into Remus’s lower lip hard enough to draw blood before he licked at the wound and then thrust his tongue into his mouth. 

Remus sucked on Sirius’s tongue as Sirius began to fuck him harder, faster, stealing his breath with every plunge back inside of him until they finally broke apart, heaving laboured breaths against each other’s mouths. 

“I’m done,” Sirius told him. “I’m—fuck, I’m going to fill this arse to the brim, and then I’m done. You say I’m still yours, but you are still mine, too, and I’m done pretending.”

“I’m yours,” Remus agreed, his voice thick with need. He could feel his balls drawing tight as his cock twitched helplessly against his stomach, leaking pre-cum across his skin.

“Mine,” Sirius echoed. He wrapped a hand around Remus’s cock, dragging his teeth along his jaw as he added, “And she’s ours. And I—fuck, I’m so mad, but I’m done. We’ll figure this shit out together. Right now, you’re going to cum in my hand while I fill you up, and then we’re going to go home to our witch.” 

“Ours,” Remus nodded. “I…fuck, right there, don’t stop.” 

Sirius groaned and began to move faster, his hips jerking erratically as he neared his release. He tightened his hold on Remus’s cock, stroking him until Remus came with a moan, his cum coating the other man’s hand. Sirius raised his hand to Remus’s mouth, pressing two cum-soaked fingers against his lips as he ordered, “Suck your cum off of my hand while I fill your arse, baby.”

Remus darted his tongue out, swirling them around Sirius’s fingers, then sucked them into his mouth. Sirius grunted again, cursing under his breath. “So good, fuck, Remus, you feel so good, baby, I —” 

He broke off into a choked moan as his cock throbbed, and Remus felt him fall apart, shooting thick, hot ropes of cum deep inside of his arse. He moaned around Sirius’s fingers, and Sirius ripped his hand away, crashing his mouth back to Remus’s.

He kissed him for what felt like hours—roughly at first, but it slowly tapered off into something soft and delicate before he pulled away, brushing Remus’s hair out of his eyes as he withdrew with a grunt. 

“Are you okay?” Sirius asked, his chest heaving as he tucked his cock away.

“Yeah.” Remus cleared his throat, pulling up his pants and pulling his belt back through the clasp of his buckle with trembling hands before he turned to face him. “Are we okay?” 

“We are. I think—gods, I have so many questions, and I’m so pissed. But all I want to do is go home and check on the boys and then crawl into bed with our witch,” Sirius admitted, running a hand through his hair. “If…if that’s alright?” 

“Of course, that’s alright.” Remus reached out, dragging Sirius’s mouth back to his for a final, sloppy kiss. “If she’s calmed down enough to let us back in.”

“Gods, we really fucked up, didn’t we?” Sirius asked as he dug his cigarettes out of his pocket and lit two, passing one to Remus.

“We did. We needed to have it out. We needed this. But we’re going to have to make a pact, right here and now. Because you and I both know we’re never going to stop fighting,” Remus began, taking a drag of the cigarette as he watched Sirius do the same. 

“A pact,” Sirius parroted the word. “Home has to be neutral ground. We can’t—gods, did you see Harry? Did you see how mad she was?” 

“Yeah. We really fucked up. But Harry is resilient, and Hermione knows enough about us to understand that the fight was going to come.”

“Wait—if she married you in the future, you were what, thirty? Wait, I don’t think that math is right…” Sirius trailed off, furrowing his brow as he held his cigarette between his lips, murmuring around the filter, “What year was she from?” 

“Erm…two thousand and three,” Remus admitted.

“Two thousand and… that means you were—” 

“Yeah,” Remus cut him off. “I know. But she…she loved him. And she loves me, now.”

“And she loves me,” Sirius added. “That’s why she let me get her up the duff.” 

“You’re really not going to let that go, are you?” Remus groaned.

“Not for about… eight months, no.” Sirius laughed, reaching down to stamp his cigarette out on his boot. “Next time she kicks us out, we should go for burgers. I’m bloody starving after that.”

“Next time?” Remus raised an eyebrow. “I thought we agreed no fighting at home?” 

“Well, yeah. But don’t you remember how moody Lils got when she was pregnant with Harry? You missed having to contend with the mood swings when she was pregnant with Callum, apparently, but I’ve a feeling we’ll piss her off a dozen more times,” Sirius said simply.

“Maybe you will,” Remus shot back, grinning. 

“Yeah. I definitely will,” Sirius laughed. “Let’s go home, baby. We have some grovelling to do.”

☆────☆☾☼☽☆────☆

Chapter Text

𝙷𝚎𝚛𝚖𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚎

.·:·.☆☾☼☽☆.·:·.

As Callum snored softly and Harry dozed peacefully next to him, Hermione held a finger in the air, tracing the lines of the charmed constellations cast across the ceiling.

There were so many things in life that she could find joy in, now.

Harry got to live a life where he had parents, biological or not. He would get to grow up in a home where he would know the love of siblings, where they danced in the kitchen to silly songs and laughed until their tummies hurt, and Callum, sweet little Callum, got to breathe fresh air and run in the back garden as he chased after his big brother. 

And now, there would be a new baby. A little girl, Remus thought, and gods, she hoped he was right. She could nearly see it—her wild curls, her mouth, the little V that formed between her brows when she concentrated. 

The eyes changed constantly in her mind; sometimes, they were storm-cloud grey, icy, and piercing. Others, they were rich hazel, the hint of green shining in the light of the afternoon sun. Always, though, it didn’t matter. 

Not to her, at least. 

Her decision not to find out the paternity had been meant to bring about unification, a sort of flag to wave as she proclaimed it doesn’t matter, because we’re all in this together. But unification couldn’t come until the fight had arrived. 

For all of their clashing, Remus and Sirius weren’t done; She’d known that, likely even more than they did. Sometimes, it was hard to see the full scale of a storm when you were standing in the centre of it, but Hermione had the unique perspective of Future Remus’s insight. 

For those two, fighting was the language their love spoke. It worked for them, and she would never try to take that from them. Tonight had gone too far, though, and she knew, even as she lay with the boys an hour after she’d made the guys leave, that she’d done the right thing. 

They needed to fight this out, and they would keep fighting, and honestly, she supported them in that need. But she was a mother now—nearly thrice over—and she had to draw the line in the sand. 

The moment she’d stepped through the floo and heard their voices rising, she’d bounded up the stairs to check on the boys, and the panic she felt when she couldn’t find them still clawed at her chest. 

Callum may have been too young to feel the impact of adults fighting, but Harry had lived enough time in a house with an angry man to last a lifetime. Losing their cool was bound to happen; she’d likely do it herself, more than once, in the years to come. 

But the precedent still had to be set, and enough was enough. 

With any luck, getting out of the house and being faced with no option but to talk shit out would do them some good. She could feel guilt rolling in her stomach as she thought about her plea to Remus, and she knew she was disrespecting the boundary Emmeline had set, but she couldn’t take it anymore. 

Maybe it was the pregnancy. The last few weeks, she’d felt more vulnerable than ever. She was tired all the time, and so godsdamn weepy, and she was bloated, and her boobs hurt, and — 

And there went the tears again. 

Stifling a sob, Hermione carefully sat up, pulling the blanket tighter around the boys as she watched Callum turn his head to sniff at Harry’s arm before he let out another snore. She climbed off the bed, waving her wand to set the monitoring charm before she slipped out of the room to trudge up to her bedroom, face-planting into the pillow as she finally let herself break. 

She wasn’t sure how long she lay there, crying into her pillow like a maniac, but she must have missed the sound of the guys arriving home. It wasn’t until she felt a steady hand begin to rub her back that she even realised she wasn’t alone.

“You’re alright, cariad. Let it out,” Remus murmured gently. She sobbed again, then rolled to her back, feeling rather pathetic as she sniffled and furiously wiped at her eyes.

“Hi,” she mumbled.

“Hi,” he repeated, the corner of his mouth twitching up into a half smile. “Are you okay?” 

“No! I’m pregnant,” she whined. “My boobs hurt, and everything makes me want to cry, and I just want to eat a godsdamn banana, but they stink.”

“They really do smell bad.” 

At the sound of Sirius’s voice, she pushed up to her elbows to look toward the doorway, where she found him leaning against the frame with his hands in his pockets, looking almost sheepish. She furrowed her brow, looking from Sirius to Remus, and then back again as she took in their dishevelled states.

“You two had sex,” she said, then broke again, another choked sob escaping her lips.

“Oh, fuck,” Sirius groaned. He took a few steps toward the bed but stopped short, running his hands through his hair as he looked helplessly toward Remus.

“Cariad, I—gods, I’m so sorry, I didn’t realise…I thought it would be okay. Oh, please don’t cry.” Remus reached out, cupping her face in his hand as he ran his thumb along her cheekbone. “I’m sorry.” 

“I’m not—” Hermione hiccuped, shaking her head as she moved to sit up. “I’m so happy.”

“Well, shit, kitten, you certainly look it,” Sirius laughed. She rolled her eyes and reached for Remus’s hand, lacing her fingers with his as she held the other hand out to Sirius. 

“Shut up. Come here,” she ordered. Sirius nodded and closed the distance between them to climb onto the bed facing her, and she looked between them again as a smile spread across her face.

“Does this mean you two finally talked things out?” she asked hopefully. 

“We did,” Sirius responded as he took her hand. “And I’m still losing my shit over this whole…time thing. I’m going to have questions.”

“I know.” She squeezed his hand. “And I’ll answer them, just…not tonight?” 

“Of course, cariad. You take all the time you need. Patience may not be Padfoot’s strong suit, but he’ll wait, won’t you?” Remus asked, looking over at Sirius.

“I will. I don’t—well, you seem like you’re sort of losing your shit, kitten. I guess it can hold off until you’re done with all the crying,” Sirius said, a teasing tone to his voice. 

“Best keep waiting, then,” Hermione grumbled. “The first trimester is shit. And the third. And most of the second.” 

“It’s a good thing there are two of us, aye? We can take turns battling the hormone demon,” Remus quipped. 

“I’ll hex you,” Hermione intoned, then sighed. “So is this…is this where we talk about all of us?” 

“We could,” Sirius responded. “But do we need to? I love you both, and I’m in. Whatever that looks like, you tell me, and I’ll do it. Can’t, erm… can’t really promise I won’t be shit at it, but just don’t give up on me, yeah?”

“Never.” Remus shook his head and reached over Hermione’s legs to take Sirius’s other hand. “If we do this, though, you really do have to be all in. This baby, whoever she belongs to, she’s ours. And those boys downstairs, we want you by our side with them.” 

Sirius pressed his lips into a thin line, squeezing his eyes shut before he nodded. He opened them again, looking between Hermione and Remus, then laughed.

“Some days I think I’m still back in that cell, and that this is all some elaborate daydream my mind has concocted to protect myself from the fucking dementors,” he admitted, his voice softening as a vulnerable look took over his face. 

“It’s real.” Hermione pulled her legs underneath her and rose to her knees, cupping his face in her hands. She kissed him, and he groaned softly, banding an arm around her back to keep her close. 

“It’s real. We love you, and we want you, and you have a family now,” she whispered, pulling back to look in his eyes.

“A family,” he repeated. “I really am going to be shit at this.”

“We won’t let you be,” Remus told him. Hermione felt the bed shift as he moved to settle beside them, one hand gripping her hip as the other went to Sirius’s shoulder. 

“I’m scared, too,” he confessed. “You know better than anyone how much I didn’t think I could ever have any sort of permanence. And then Hermione showed up with our son, and then we got Harry, and you came back. And this—all of this, this is pack, but it’s ours, too. We’re going to do this right, aye? With three of us, we don’t have any excuses. We’ll figure it out.” 

“Three of us,” Hermione hummed, sitting back on her heels. “I like the sound of that. Now, go shower the seedy pub off of yourselves, because I want you both in this bed tonight.” 

“Bossy, isn’t she?” Sirius quipped, raising an eyebrow as he looked over at Remus.

“That’s why we love her, you oaf. Come on. Best not to piss off the pregnant lady,” Remus replied, leaning in to kiss Hermione on the forehead. “Do you need anything before we go, cariad?” 

“Ummm… my book from downstairs? And maybe some ginger tea?” she asked hopefully. 

“Coming right up.” Sirius climbed off the bed, stretching his arms over his head. “You sit right there and grow my baby.” 

“You’re never going to let this paternity thing go, are you?” Remus grumbled.

“Nope.” Sirius grinned, “She’s ours. That’s what matters. But I’ve told you both I know I’m the one who made her.”

“Well, I’m the one who has to do all the work, and I still don’t have any tea, so off to the kitchen, the both of you,” Hermione ordered, waving her hand. 

☆────☆☾☼☽☆────☆ 

“Oh, come on,” Hermione groaned as she looked back and forth between the two men as they entered the room. Remus tilted his head, furrowing his brow in concern as he held the towel around his waist with one hand, and Sirius merely threw her a wink as he ran a hand down his chest. 

“Taking in the view, kitten?” 

“I just think it’s unfair that you both look this good, and I’m about to be as big as a house all over again,” Hermione huffed. 

“Oh, cariad,” Remus sighed and rounded the bed, leaning down to brace a hand on the back of her head as he kissed her forehead. “Bydd mwy ohonoch chi i'w garu.”

(There will just be more of you to love.)

“Ddim yn helpu,” Hermione grumbled.

(Not helping,)

“Oi! That’s so unfair,” Sirius groaned. “If you two have your own secret little made-up language, I’m going to be so paranoid.” 

“For the billionth time, Welsh isn’t a made-up language, Pads,” Remus laughed. 

“Yeah, yeah.” Sirius waved a hand dismissively and stepped over to the bed, reaching down to nudge Remus in the shoulder. “You’ll never convince me all those grunts and groans are a real language.” 

Remus flipped Sirius off, and Hermione laughed, shoving the blanket off of her legs as she rose to her knees.

“Te sens-tu exclu, chéri?” she asked, running a hand up Sirius’s stomach to rest on his chest.

(Do you feel excluded, darling?

He looked down at her, his eyes alight with amusement, and then dipped his head to nip at her jaw as he murmured, “Pleines de surprises, n'est-ce pas, mon petit chaton?”

(Full of surprises, aren't you, my little kitten?)

“My grand-mère grew up in Toulouse. My mother’s mother. I know a fair amount of Welsh, but I’m almost fluent in French,” she explained, cutting her eyes to the side to watch as Remus climbed onto the bed. He moved to kneel behind her, brushing her hair off over her shoulder before he bent his head to kiss her neck. 

Hermione gasped and raised one hand over her head to place a hand on the back of Remus’s neck as Sirius slid an arm around her waist and pressed his hand to her lower back, dragging her closer.

“Veux-tu qu'on prenne soin de toi, mon amour?” He leaned in, his breath ghosting across her lips, and Hermione could only whimper in response. 

(Would you like us to take care of you, my love?)

She could feel Remus pressed against her back. The towel had fallen away, and his cock was already hard, pressing insistently against her arse as Sirius darted his tongue out to lick along the seam of her lips.

“Kiss him,” Remus urged, his voice thick with need. He dragged his tongue over her mark, scenting her, and her lips parted on a gasp, giving Sirius all the opportunity he needed to close the final bit of distance between them. 

He kissed her hard, tangling a hand in her hair and dragging his teeth over her bottom lip. Remus ran his hand from her hip down to her centre, sliding beneath the shirt to brush his fingers over the sodden cotton of her knickers, and she moaned into Sirius’s mouth as she pressed her arse back against Remus’s hardened cock.

“So responsive, kitten,” Sirius murmured, trailing his lips down to her jaw as Remus slid his hand beneath the waistband of her knickers.

“She’s such a good girl, aren’t you, cariad?” Remus cupped her chin with his free hand, tilting her face back to meet her eyes as his fingers brushed over her clit, and she sank her teeth into her bottom lip, nodding.

“Yeah, she is,” Sirius responded. He continued to kiss his way down the side of her neck, pausing to nip playfully at her mating mark, and a low warning growl rumbled in Remus’s chest, vibrating her back.

“Play nice, Moony,” she teased, breaking off into a gasp as Remus shoved two fingers inside of her.

“Mine,” he growled as Hermione let out a sharp gasp. Sirius lifted his head, leaning over her shoulder to nip at Remus’s bottom lip as he corrected, “Ours.”

Remus grunted in response, crooking his fingers inside of her as he crashed his mouth to Sirius’s, and Hermione tilted her head, moaning at the sight of the two kissing. It was sloppy, both from the angle and from their battle for dominance, all teeth and tongue, but gods, it was the hottest thing she’d ever seen.

She could feel her cunt growing wetter by the second as Remus continued to work his fingers inside of her. Sirius tightened his hold on her hair and angled her head to the side to pull her into the kiss. Remus leaned in to drag his teeth over her jaw, and chaos erupted. She wasn’t sure whose teeth scraped roughly over her lip, whose tongue slid into which mouth. 

The only thing she knew was that she was drowning in need, sinking like an anchor into a pool of hunger far deeper than anything she’d ever felt. She came hard, tears stinging at her eyes as she screamed into whichever mouth was slanted over hers as someone else nipped at her ear, and then she was moving, flipped onto her back and pinned to the mattress beneath the weight of both men as they each took a side, half-covering her body with theirs.

Their hands were everywhere, gripping her flesh and kneading her breasts before Remus sucked her nipple into his mouth and Sirius attacked her neck again.

Sirius’s teeth scraped over her scar, and she moaned, tilting her head back to grant him better access to her neck as Remus let out another low warning growl and released her nipple with a wet pop.

“Mine,” Remus warned. 

“Ours,” Sirius corrected again. He lifted his head to look at Remus and reached out, swiping his thumb over Remus’s mouth to collect a drop of breastmilk that had begun to dribble down his chin. “Messy, messy.” Sirius tutted his tongue, and Hermione let out a laugh. 

“Is that…” Sirius glanced down at her chest and sucked in a breath. “Fuck, why is that so hot?” 

He reached down, pinching her nipple softly, and groaned as he watched milk drip down the underside of her breast before he raised his hand back to Remus’s face. Remus sucked Sirius’s fingers into his mouth, and Hermione bit back a moan, pulling away from them to sit up as she reached down to palm Remus’s cock.

“Fuck, cariad,” he groaned, then gasped when Sirius’s hand joined hers. 

“He’s always had such a pretty cock, hasn’t he, kitten?” Sirius murmured against her ear. Hermione nodded, rising up to kiss Remus as the two began to stroke him in tandem, her fist wrapped around Remus’s thick shaft as Sirius’s covered hers, guiding her movements.

“You two are going to be the death of me,” Remus groaned.

“Qu'en dis-tu, chaton? Veux-tu utiliser cette jolie bouche et donner une petite mort à notre homme?” Sirius asked, pulling back to meet her eyes with a mischievous grin.

(What do you say, kitten? Do you want to use that pretty mouth and give our man a little death?)

“Est-ce que tu vas m'aider, chéri?” she responded. Sirius grinned, and Remus looked between the two in confusion. 

(Are you going to help me, darling?"

“I don’t know if I like this secret communication thing,” he intoned.

Hermione giggled at Remus’s confused stare as he looked between the two of them, and she reached a hand up, pressing against his shoulder to force him to lie down. She kissed him, hard and fast, then began to work her way down his body, trailing her tongue down his chest and over his stomach. 

Sirius wrapped his hand around the base of Remus’s cock and guided it to her mouth, and she flicked her tongue over the head to collect the little drop of pre-cum beading at the top. She pulled back, sticking her tongue out as if presenting an offering, and Sirius leaned in to kiss her. 

“Holy fuck, I’m not going to survive this,” Remus groaned.

“Better make sure you go out in style, then, baby,” Sirius shot back. He settled next to Hermione, locking eyes with her as he licked a stripe up the side of Remus’s cock. She joined him, their tongues tangling over the tip before she took him into her mouth and sank down, bobbing her head before she pulled back. 

Sirius took his turn, his cheeks hollowing as he sucked Remus’s cock to the back of his throat, and she met him on the ascent, kissing him as their tongues slid over the leaking head once more. She heard Sirius gasp and broke the kiss to watch as Remus’s hand slid along Sirius’s lower back. 

His right hand mirrored the movements of the left, trailing along Hermione’s spine until he delved between the cleft of her arse and slid his fingers back into her cunt. 

Sirius and Hermione gasped in tandem as Remus began to work his fingers inside of them both at the same time. The sensation of Remus toying with her cunt in combination with Sirius’s needy little moans while they both continued to lap at his cock was utterly filthy, absolutely depraved, and she couldn’t get enough.

“I’m going to fuck him while he fucks you, cariad,” Remus groaned as he removed his hands and pushed up on his elbows to look down at them. “I’m going to—Rydw i'n mynd i golli fy meddwl ffycin.”

(I'm going to lose my fucking mind.)

“Please.” Hermione sat up, reaching down to wrap her hand in Sirius’s hair as he took Remus’s cock back into his mouth. “I can’t—this is all too much. If one of you doesn’t get inside of me right now, I swear to the gods, I’ll —” 

“Fucking hell, Pads, not the tongue thing,” Remus groaned again. “Knock it off so we can take care of our girl.” 

“So you admit she’s ours?” Sirius teased, wiping the back of his hand over his mouth as he sat up. 

“You’re both mine. She’s ours, you belong to both of us, it’s all the fucking same. Move her to the edge of the bed. On your back, cariad,” Remus ordered, his voice gruff as he slid off the bed to stand, one hand cupping his cock in an almost protective stance. 

She knew it was overwhelming for him—for both of her men, because they were hers now, and she was theirs, and gods, for all the hopes she’d had, she never truly believed they could make it here. 

But they were, and it was the reallest thing she’d ever known. 

“You heard him, kitten.” Sirius grinned and stood as well, reaching out to grab her by the hips. He dragged her down to the edge of the mattress and stepped between her thighs, a cocky smirk on his face as he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his pants and shoved them down. 

His cock sprang free, landing hard and heavy against her stomach, and he rolled his hips, the slick head dragging across her skin as Remus stepped behind him. Hermione looked up, her breath catching in her throat at the sight of the two of them. 

They were both so fucking beautiful. It was hardly fair, nearly impossible to wrap her mind around the fact that they were both hers, but she barely had time to process the millions of tiny explosions happening in her chest as she watched Remus wrap his hand around Sirius’s cock and guide it to her entrance. 

Sirius rocked his hips and began to sink inside of her, and Remus pulled his hand away, pausing to trail his fingers over the newer scar on her thigh. She looked up, locking eyes with him as she tried to convey a message she could only hope he would receive, and he furrowed his brow before understanding dawned.

“Do you think…” 

“Just…try, anyway.” She gasped as Sirius sank deeper, bottoming out inside of her cunt with a groan, and Remus nodded before he pressed a hand to Sirius’s back and guided him to bend forward. Sirius planted both hands on the mattress next to Hermione, and Remus let out a hum of approval.

“Hold still,” he ordered. Sirius nodded, then gasped as Remus began to fill him.

“You’re going to stay still while I fuck your cock inside of our girl,” Remus rasped, gripping Sirius’s hip. He pulled back, guiding Sirius backwards and dragging his cock out of Hermione’s cunt until only the tip remained inside, then snapped his hips forward, driving Sirius deeper into her. 

Hermione and Sirius both moaned, and Remus growled as he repeated the action. “Just like that. Fuck, you’re both so hot. Tell me how she feels, Pads.” 

“She’s so tight. Perfect, soaked little cunt gripping me like a vice. Blows my mind every time.” 

“So perfect,” Remus agreed. He ran one hand over Sirius’s hip, reaching to where he and Hermione were connected to trail a single finger around where her cunt was stretched wide around Sirius’s cock, and Hermione shivered.

“Feels so fucking good. I need more, please,” Hermione whined.

“Steady, impatient little thing,” Sirius scolded. He pinned her hips to the bed, flexing his cock inside of her as Remus settled a hand on her thigh, spreading her open farther.

Remus wrapped an arm around Sirius’s waist to pull him back against his chest and began to move, setting a steady, almost punishingly languid pace as every withdraw and plunge back inside of Sirius moved his cock inside of Hermione’s cunt. 

Sirius’s head fell back against Remus’s shoulder as Remus moved a hand to her breast, and it was all so fucking intimate that she felt tears brimming in her eyes, clumping her lashes together as her breath became staggered.

“I love you. Both of you,” she croaked, placing one hand over Sirius’s on her hip as she used the other to peel Remus’s hand away from her breast. Remus gave her a squeeze, lacing their fingers together to pin her hand to the mattress next to her head.

“Love you too, cariad. And you.” Remus nipped at Sirius’s shoulder, causing the other man to let out a groan. 

“Yeah, yeah, I love you too, now can we—fuck, Moons.” Sirius sucked in a breath, tightening his hold on Hermione’s hips as Remus delivered a particularly hard thrust, slamming Sirius so deep inside of her that it stole her breath. 

“The way you two look right now is—fuck, mae'n rhaid bod hyn yn freuddwyd,” Remus groaned. Sirius ran a hand up Hermione’s stomach, roughly kneading her breast as Remus continued to move, controlling the act as every long drag of his cock thrusted Sirius in and out of her clenching cunt, and she felt like her body was on fire. 

(Fuck, this must be a dream,)

Hermione had never, in all her years before their recent life, imagined a world in which she would want—would need—two men, but there was no going back, now. She felt like she couldn’t breathe around the space Sirius carved out inside of her as Remus fucked him into oblivion, and she knew, with no uncertainty, that this was it. 

“You’re doing so fucking well, cariad,” Remus rasped. “You take him so fucking good.” 

“Fuck yeah, she does,” Sirius grinned, then moaned as Remus snapped his hips harder. Remus kept one hand locked with hers as the other arm banded across Sirius’s chest to wrap a hand around his throat, and Hermione moaned, her cunt growing even wetter at the sight. 

Sirius whimpered as he ran his shaky hands down to grip her hips, lifting up a little more to look down at her stomach.

“Look at how well you take me, Kitten,” Sirius groaned, pressing his thumbs into her flesh to highlight the slight bulge of his cock inside of her stomach.

Hermione whimpered and pressed her palm against Sirius’s stomach, marvelling at the feel of Remus moving inside of him. 

“Look at how well you take him,” she shot back.

“I’m going to fucking snap,” Remus groaned. “I need you both to—rub her clit, Pads. Get her there so I can fill this tight arse up.” 

“Bossy, bossy,” Sirius teased. Remus huffed impatiently, tightening his grip on Sirius’s throat, and Sirius moaned again, then nodded. His hand moved between her legs, his thumb pressing to her clit as he began to rub slow, firm circles, and she arched her back, a high, keening cry escaping her lips. 

“There it is,” Remus hummed in approval. “She’s so fucking pretty when she comes, isn’t she?” 

“A work of fucking art,” Sirius agreed, his breath laboured. Hermione could feel his cock throbbing inside of her as her cunt began to spasm, and she moaned again, locking eyes with Remus. 

“Bite him,” she ordered. “Mark him while we come for you, Moony.” 

Remus’s eyes flashed gold, a growl emanating from his chest as he moved his hand to Sirius’s hair and wrenched his head to the side. “Tell me I fucking can, Pads. You know what will happen if I do, but you—you have to tell me yes. You have to mean it.” 

“You know it won’t—you have a mate,” Sirius protested weakly, stumbling over the words as his cock twitched inside of Hermione. 

“I don’t care. It’s…fucking symbolism, fy nghariad. You’re both mine, and I’m fucking keeping you. Tell me I can. Tell me—fuck, I’m going to come.” Remus gritted his teeth as he let out a shaky exhale before he repeated, “You’re both mine.”

“Yours,” Hermione agreed, her free hand flying out to grip Sirius’s shoulder as she began to roll her hips, chasing her orgasm. 

“Fuck,” Sirius groaned. “We’re yours. She’s ours. Everybody is fucking everybody’s, just…I’m going to fucking come, baby, just do it.” 

Remus growled again, deep and guttural, and used his hold on Sirius’s hair to tilt his head back. He locked eyes with Hermione, a brief pause, and she nodded in encouragement. 

And then, the world exploded, a white-hot pleasure coursing through her veins as everything detonated all at once. Remus sank his teeth into Sirius’s shoulder, tearing through his flesh. Sirius screamed “Fuck!” as he came, filling Hermione to the brim. 

Her cunt clamped down around him like a vice and then released, fluttering rapidly as she milked him for all he was worth, and Remus came with a roar, collapsing on top of Sirius and pressing him flat against Hermione’s chest. 

Sirius turned his head, kissing her slowly as Remus began to lap at his neck, soothing the ache of the bite as they all came down from their shared high. After several moments, Remus broke away, withdrawing from Sirius with a groan before he moved across the room; Sirius rolled to his side, gathering Hermione against his chest and pressing his lips to her temple. 

“Where is it in this damn bag, cariad?” Remus called out from over near the chest of drawers by their bedroom door. 

“The potions kit. The black case with a zipper,” she responded in between kisses along the slope of Sirius’s collarbone. 

She pulled back, reaching up to brush Sirius’s hair out of his face as her eyes met his. “Are you alright?” 

“I’m fine. It burns, but it’ll heal,” he responded. “We’ve talked about it in the past. My senses are already heightened thanks to Padfoot, and it’s not the full. Worst that’ll happen is I might like my meat a little bloodier or become an arse around the full moon.” 

“Well, it’s a good thing you’re already an arse,” she teased, tilting her head back to press a soft kiss to his lips.

“You’re lucky I love you, kitten,” he grumbled. 

“Stop hogging my mate and sit up so I can put this silver on your neck,” Remus said as Hermione felt the bed dip behind her. She rolled to her back, watching as Remus carefully spread the powdered silver tincture over Sirius’s shoulder, then capped the bottle and set it on the nightstand. 

Remus reached in, fisting a hand in Sirius’s hair, and the two began to kiss—fierce and punishing, as if they were battling for dominance as tongues warred and teeth scraped. 

“Oh come on,” Hermione groaned. “That’s so hot, this isn’t fair.” 

“Don’t be jealous, kitten,” Sirius teased as he flopped down onto the bed next to her. 

Remus joined her other side, pressing his lips to her temple as he softly whispered, “Always the centre, cariad.” 

She nodded, sighing in contentment as they both slung an arm over her waist and tucked their faces against her neck, and she felt her eyes already growing drowsy as Sirius pulled the blanket over them. 

So, naturally, Callum chose that moment to let out a wail, her wand vibrating on the nightstand with the sound. 

“Oh, gods,” Remus groaned. “I don’t even know if my legs will work.” 

“I’ll go.” Sirius sat up and leaned down to kiss Hermione on the forehead, then repeated the action on Remus before he moved to climb off the bed. 

“Are you sure?” she asked, turning her head to look up at him. 

“Sleep, baby. I’m a dad now, too, yeah? I’ll bring him in if he needs to eat his boobies,” he said with a grin as he reached for his pyjama pants and pulled them back on, then pointed a finger toward Remus. 

“But when I get the baby back to bed, I expect a live demonstration of this knotting thing.”

☆────☆☾☼☽☆────☆ 

Chapter Text

𝚁𝚎𝚖𝚞𝚜

.·:·.☆☾☼☽☆.·:·.

Remus woke to the feeling of a beam of sunlight falling over his face. His body felt heavy with sleep, drowsy and sated, and he kept his eyes closed for a moment, savouring the feeling of contentment that had settled over him like a warm blanket. 

He could smell them both—could smell them on each other, could smell himself on both of them—and the effect was intoxicating. His cock clearly had an agenda of its own and was already awake and ready to conquer the day, so he took a moment to listen, cataloguing everyone in the house before he peeled his eyes open. 

“Hi, baby,” Sirius whispered, locking eyes with him over a sleeping Hermione’s head. Remus squeezed his hand where they were locked together over her stomach, clearing his throat softly before he responded. 

“You’re already awake,” he whispered back. “The boys are still sleeping.” 

“Yeah, it took a long time to get them back down last night, so they might actually sleep in today.” 

“You should have woken me up. I would have helped.” Remus yawned as Hermione stirred between them, sighing in her sleep, and he dipped his head to press his nose to her hair, drawing in her warmth.

“You were both sleeping like rocks by the time I got back, and she was curled around you like a kitten, so I didn’t want to disturb her. Figured our girl needs the rest while she’s growing this kid, yeah?” Sirius responded. 

“Our girl,” Remus hummed. “I like that.” 

Sirius grinned, dragging his tongue over his teeth before he lifted his head. Remus met him in the middle for a soft, sleepy press of the lips, and he heard Hermione giggle.

“I like that,” she said, her voice groggy with sleep. “The boys?” 

“Still sleeping, cariad. It must be early.” 

“Good. That means we have time.” She yawned, stretching her arms over her head, then slipped them beneath the covers. Remus felt her fingers brushing over the skin of his abs as she worked her way down before she wrapped a hand around his cock. 

He sucked in a breath as Sirius did the same, and the realisation that she was touching both of them at the same time caused his hips to give an involuntary twitch, thrusting his cock into her hand as she tightened her hold and began to stroke him. 

“Fuck, kitten, everything about you feels so good,” Sirius groaned.

“Yeah,” Remus pinched his brows, nodding as he slid his fingertips over her stomach. “That. You’re perfect.” 

“Mmmhmm,” she hummed, sleepy and distracted as she continued to stroke them. Sirius’s hand met his, fingers brushing as they both moved over the little patch of curls at the apex of her thighs, and Hermione sighed, spreading her legs to grant them access.

“Touch me. Both of you,” she ordered. “Kiss each other while you make me come.” 

“Bossy this morning,” Sirius tutted his tongue and leaned in to kiss Hermione. 

“She is the boss,” Remus said with a shrug. He placed his hand over Sirius’s and guided him down, using the press of his fingers to move Sirius’s touch over Hermione’s clit, circling the swollen nub slowly as he watched them kiss. 

Hermione continued to move, stroking his cock as she rhythmically squeezed her fist, and he gave another involuntary thrust as she broke the kiss with a gasp. 

She turned her head toward Remus, and he took the cue, licking his way into her mouth as he guided Sirius’s fingers lower, then pulled back to look down at her. 

“Please,” she nodded. “Both of you. And I need—if you don’t kiss him right now, I’m going to scream.” 

“See? Bossy.” Sirius grinned, pushing himself up on an elbow as Remus did the same. They met in the middle once more, their lips finding each other again as Sirius changed course and moved his hand over Remus’s to guide a single finger inside of her.

“Oh, gods, that’s so hot,” Hermione whimpered. “You two, like this…I could wake up to this every damn day.” 

“Good,” Remus responded, nipping at Sirius’s lip before he pulled back to look down at their witch. Sirius crooked his finger, causing Remus’s to bend with him, and they both watched her face as she began to unravel. 

Her hold on his cock became clumsier, her movements stuttering, and Remus locked eyes with Sirius, giving him a nod—an unspoken agreement of sorts—before they both moved their mouths to her neck. 

“Gods, please don’t stop,” Hermione begged, whining when Remus brushed his thumb over her clit. 

“Never, kitten. Let go. We’ve got you,” Sirius responded, his words muffled as his mouth moved over her neck. Remus could feel himself drawing closer to his release with every pass of her hand, could hear the rapid fluttering of Sirius’s pulse, the gasping little breaths Hermione made as they both worked their fingers inside of her, could smell Sirius’s precum leaking over her hand as her cunt dripped for them, and Moony was purring inside of his head, puffing out his chest in pride as he rambled a cacophonous soundtrack of || Ours || and || Mates || and || Breed, breed, breed ||

Moony never had been a fan of Remus wasting his seed, but Remus had never been a fan of listening to the wolf, so he broke away from her neck and moved down her body, wrapping his lips around her nipple as Sirius followed suit. 

They each attacked a breast as she began to moan, the most perfect, breathy little whines escaping her lips, and he came with a groan, thrusting into her hand just as her cunt clamped down on the fingers buried inside of her. 

“Oh, gods, Remus. Sirius. Please, I’m coming, don’t stop,” Hermione begged, her voice tight. Sirius lifted his head, pressing his lips back to hers, and Remus looked up to watch them, his mouth still wrapped around her nipple. Sirius moaned into her mouth, his own release pouring out of him as he stilled the movement of his finger against Remus’s, and they withdrew from her heat as Sirius lifted his head to meet Remus’s eyes once more. 

Remus grinned, pushing back up on his elbow as he raised his cum-soaked hand in between them, and Sirius took the challenge, responding in kind. 

Hermione let out a gasp, then groaned as she watched the two men suck her cum off of one another’s fingers until Sirius finally pulled away, pinching Remus’s lower lip. 

“Brat,” Remus chuckled. 

“Always,” Sirius shot back, yawning before he slumped back on the bed and rolled to his back. Hermione turned onto her side, slinging a leg over Sirius’s thighs as Remus moved to spoon her. Sirius’s arm wrapped around both of them, his fingers trailing slow circles over Remus’s shoulder blade as they all caught their breath. 

|| Pack. Mate is bred. Dog has heeled. Two Mates, now. Moony likes all of this || 

“Me, too,” Remus murmured.

“Sickle for your Moony thoughts?” Hermione asked, yawning again. 

“Just Moony being Moony,” Remus responded. 

“Is he talking about breeding again? Because our little witch is already up the duff, but I’d be happy to bend over and let him try, if he insists,” Sirius quipped.

“Gods, Sirius, do you have any thoughts that aren’t horny?” Hermione teased. 

“Not when it's the three of us, no,” Sirius answered honestly. 

“The three of us.” Hermione drew the words out slowly, as if she were savouring the feel of them, before she rolled to her back, reaching a hand up to brush Remus’s hair off his forehead. 

“How is Moony handling it all?” 

“He’s fucking ecstatic,” Remus laughed. “Purring like a damn cat over you both wearing my marks now.”

“Wait, am I…” Sirius paled, raising his head to look over at Remus. “Look, I’m all for all things wolfy, but if you try to knot my arse—” 

“Oh, shut up,” Remus laughed. “The knot is hers.” 

“Damn right it is,” Hermione said proudly. 

“Your scar is just symbolic. The magic of the bond is all for Hermione. But still it's…it's nice to look at,” Remus admitted, reaching over to run his fingers over the mark on Sirius’s shoulder. “How does it feel?” 

“Perfectly fine,” Sirius responded, then confessed in a softer tone, “I like it.” 

Hermione grinned, turning her head to press a kiss against Sirius’s other shoulder, and Sirius sighed happily, rolling to his side to pull her against his chest. Remus snuggled back up to her back, propping his chin on her shoulder as he kissed her cheek, and Sirius opened his mouth—undoubtedly to say something lewd—just before Hermione’s wand vibrated on the nightstand. 

“Well, shit,” Sirius grumbled. “Hand me my pants.”

“Nope. You were up late with them, and you’re exhausted. We’ll handle it.” Hermione protested, kissing them both before she untangled herself and slid off the bed. Remus followed her, and Sirius rolled to his back to push up on his elbows as he pouted at them. 

“I’m going to freeze to death all alone in this bed, and then I’m going to haunt you both.” 

“Oh, calm down, Pads.” Remus rolled his eyes. “Let her get the baby fed, and I’ll send her back up for a nap.” 

“You’re the best,” Hermione grinned. 

“Yeah, well, you’re growing our pup, cariad,” Remus responded, reaching out to place his hand on her stomach. “She needs you well-rested.” 

“We’ll all need the rest,” Sirius added as he rolled to his side and pulled the covers over himself with a dramatic flourish. “She’s got Black blood, so she’s bound to be a menace.”

“You don’t know that,” Remus told him, rolling his eyes.

“Whatever you say, moonbeam. Kiss the boys for me,” Sirius yawned. “And I still want that demonstration later.” 

☆────☆☾☼☽☆────☆

𝚂𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚞𝚜

.·:·.☆☾☼☽☆.·:·.

“It’s almost unreal, how good a father he is,” Sirius remarked. Draping an arm across the back of the park bench, he trailed his fingers over Hermione’s shoulder as she snuggled closer to his side. 

“He’s brilliant,” she responded. Remus was out on the playground, chasing Callum and Harry as the baby toddled after the older boy excitedly. The sound of their laughter drifted across the open field, filling his chest with this soaring, blissful sort of feeling he wasn’t sure he’d ever felt before.

That had been a running theme lately, though. 

It had only been a week or so since they’d all finally abandoned their pretences and fallen into bed together, but he’d been with them for months now. Despite his determination to hate everything to do with the life they’d built, the abundance of light in the Lupin home had slipped through all the cracks in his armour anyway. 

And now, here he was. 

Sirius Orion Black, family man, snuggling his pregnant witch on a park bench while they watched their wizard help Harry push Callum in a baby swing. It was greater than anything he’d ever been able to call his own.

But it was new. Shaky, still, as they worked to build the foundation of whatever this life would become, and he’d lost enough to know that good things rarely care to stick around, so it was hard to allow himself to relax. 

Even now, as Hermione giggled and pressed closer to his side, waving back at Harry before the little lad dodged between Remus’s legs and made a break for the jungle gym, he felt so restless, constantly waffling between guilt and hope, worry and shame. 

A persistent, never-ending cyclone of emotions swirling in his chest as if every good moment was weighed down by that nagging voice in his head, always present to remind him he didn’t deserve this life. 

“You’re tense,” Hermione murmured, pulling away to look at him as she rubbed soothing circles over his chest. “Talk to me, darling.” 

“I like it when you call me that,” he confessed, smiling as he shifted on the bench to face her, running his hand down the arm of her leather jacket. "And I like this. A matching set, hmmm? Think we could get Moony into a bit of leather, too?" 

"Oh, no." She laughed, wrinkling her nose. "He wouldn't let go of the denim if we tried. Besides, I think I like that we have a thing." 

"Are time-travelling leather jackets our thing?" Sirius raised an eyebrow, tugging on her lapel. "You know, if you want to get technical, I think this one was mine first." 

"Maybe. It's hard to chart with all the...wonky time travel business," Hermione responded thoughtfully. "But it's mine now, so you'll just have to get over it. Yours has the better embroidery now, anyway. I wasn't sure if I should take the rat out of this one or leave it so there's one that has the original depictions that Lily did." 

Hermione lifted the breast of the jacket, showing him the original embroidery. Sirius pulled a look of distaste, furrowing his brow and pursing his lips as he ran a finger over the threads.

"Honestly, as much as I hate seeing that," he said, tapping his finger against the whiskers that denoted Peter amidst the four Marauders to emphasise his point, "I think maybe you had the right idea. Leaving it untouched. We'll pass it on to Haz someday. Although..." 

Sirius opened his own jacket, nodding once as if he'd reached a decision. "This one is incomplete. You'll have to fix that, post-haste." 

"Oh? I could add something for the new baby. Though we should probably wait until we know him or her, so I know what to even put there," Hermione responded thoughtfully.

"That, for sure," Sirius agreed. "But I meant you." 

"You want me on your jacket?" Hermione blinked in surprise, glancing over to check on Remus and the kids before she looked back at Sirius. He took his face into her hands, planting a swift kiss on her lips before he pulled away and smiled.

"I want you everywhere. But I want you here, too," he told her, tapping two fingers over the breast pocket of his jacket. "Pack, yeah? It's not complete if our queen isn't there." 

"I think technically, in the animal kingdom, I'd be referred to as a Luna," Hermione corrected. 

"Swot," Sirius teased. 

"Yes, well, that's why you love me," she replied. "Now, stop deflecting. We do have to talk about all of this, you know?"

“I know," he sighed. "But I just... I don’t know where to start. Things are just heavy. We’re here, now, and gods, Hermione, I’m so glad we are. But I—you know I hated you, right?” 

“You certainly tried,” she agreed with an amused smile. “But I like to think I made it rather hard.” 

“You certainly do make things hard,” he teased, darting his tongue out to wet his lips. 

“Sirius!” she scoffed, rolling her eyes as she nudged his shoulder. “Shut up and talk to me.”

“Contradictory little witch,” he shot back, running a hand through his hair. “I just…it's all been a lot. Getting out to find that he’d moved on, and then now, grappling with the revelation that you’re…from where you’re from,” he said, casting a cautious glance around. “I know I said I wanted a little time to sort things out in my head before we talk, and I’m trying so hard not to just… overload you with questions, but some part of me isn’t sure what I want to know. Or what you would even know, if that makes sense.”

“It does make sense.” Hermione nodded, moving her hand to rest on his leg in a gesture of comfort. Biting her lip, she studied his face for a moment. “I think…honestly, I’m fairly confident I have any answers you may seek, Sirius. But there are things that will be so hard to hear, and I don’t know where to begin or—have you talked to Emmeline about your family yet?” 

“Not you too,” he groaned, slumping back against the bench. “There’s something there that’s going to be hard, isn’t it? That’s why you act so cagey when I bring it up?” 

“Yes,” Hermione replied honestly. “I don’t want to derail your progress, and I—I like you happy. I like where you’re at right now, and I’m so worried about how you’ll handle certain emotions that may come along with the truth. And I’m carrying all this guilt, I—you have to know we didn’t want to lie to you, Sirius.” 

She sniffed, reaching up to wipe a tear from her cheekbone, and he cursed under his breath. 

“Come here,” he ordered, tugging her closer. Hermione rolled her eyes, but she followed the order, turning to sit sideways in his lap, and he wrapped his arms around her as she rested her head on his shoulder. 

“I love you, kitten, and I love that man that is currently—what is he even doing?” 

“Ummm…” Hermione craned her neck to the side and let out a laugh at the sight of Remus, kneeling in front of Harry with one hand wrapped around Callum’s torso to keep the baby from fleeing while he made a continual grabbing motion in the air with his free hand. “I think he’s trying to encourage Harry to go on the monkey bars? Maybe explaining it to him, but he really just looks like he’s pawing at the sky, doesn’t he?” 

“He really is so fucking good at this,” Sirius remarked. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to be what he is.” 

“You won’t,” she replied simply, turning to face him. “But he’ll never be you. Neither of you will ever be me. That’s why this is all going to work so well.” 

“Gods, I want this to work,” Sirius confessed as he tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. He let his hand linger, trailing his fingers over her jaw before he cupped her cheek and placed his other hand on her stomach. 

“I’m so fucking happy.” His voice cracked, and she sniffed again, nodding. 

“I know. And I’m so sick of lying and keeping things from you. But Emmeline—well, you’ve talked to her. What did she say about the choice to keep the truth from you?”

“She said it was for my own good, among other things. And she wasn’t wrong; that's the crux of it all. If I’d known, things would have been worse. You and I would have never gotten here, because I would have seen you as someone in the way. So in a way, I’m glad that I didn’t know,” Sirius told her. “But now I do know, and the questions are nonstop, and I don’t know where to begin or what you’ll even tell me or—can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’d kill to have Em here to walk us through it.” 

“Sirius!” Hermione gasped, sitting up straighter to kiss him quickly before she pulled away with a small laugh. “You’re brilliant.”

“I know that,” he replied, a slow smile spreading across his face. “But since I am so brilliant, I’m afraid you’re going to have to tell me what I’ve done this time. I’m afraid it's hard to pick out a singular act of genius when everything I do is stellar, you’ll understand.” 

“Emmeline,” Hermione said. “That’s perfect. We can…let's owl Em tonight and see if I can sit in on one of your sessions soon, so she can help guide us through how to talk about everything. She’ll be able to offer some insight to help you process the harder things; it’s a wonderful idea.” 

“Well, shit. I am brilliant.” 

Harry’s squealing laughter cut through the air, stealing whatever response she may have had, and Hermione moved off of his lap to sit beside him once more, waving as they watched the boy run as fast as his little legs would carry him across the field with Remus on his heels.

“Mummy, Dadfoot, guess what?!” Harry screeched as he came to a halt in front of them, clasping his hands together behind his back and bouncing on his feet. “Daddy says we can get ice cream, and I can get this many scoops!” 

Harry held up two fingers as Remus came to a stop next to him, shifting Callum on his hip. 

“Thought we’d pop over to Fortescue’s,” he explained. “Sit outside and people-watch for a bit, then maybe we can pop by a few of the shops. Sirius mentioned wanting to look at brooms anyway.”

“Remus…” Hermione began, but he cut her off with a shake of his head. 

“He needs to be seen in public, so the shine wears off, cariad. You should be able to take him to the bookstore or out to lunch. Until you can, we should…well, back me up here, Pads. It's safest with us,” Remus insisted. 

“He’s right, Kitten,” Sirius stood to take the baby from Remus’s arms, grinning down at him as he giggled and patted his face. “It's just ice cream, okay? Best to do it with both of your men there, anyway. Moony and I have been known to scare people off when we need to.”

“It’s true. They get one look at his ugly mug, and they run for the hills,” Remus added. 

“Oi! I don’t remember you calling me ugly last night when we—” Sirius cut himself off, quickly remembering the little ears surrounding them. “When we, erm, played chess.” 

“Daddy, can I play chess?” Harry asked, tilting his head back to squint up at Remus. 

“Not until you’re forty-five,” Remus responded, shooting Sirius a glare. He quickly fixed his face and stepped forward, taking Hermione’s hands in his as he knelt before her. “Just try it with us, cariad. You need to be able to get out, and it's never going to be safe for you to do that with the boys on your own until the novelty wears off and people stop gawking at him.” 

Hermione pursed her lips in consideration but slowly nodded. “Fine. But I’m getting two scoops, too.” 

☆────☆☾☼☽☆────☆

𝙷𝚎𝚛𝚖𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚎

.·:·.☆☾☼☽☆.·:·.

Hermione sat nervously between Remus and Sirius, her eyes constantly darting around as if scanning for danger—an old habit she wasn’t sure she’d ever break. 

Thus far, though, they’d been left alone. A few people had stopped and stared, gawked, and pointed, but having the guys really did help. It only took Remus clearing his throat or Sirius arching an eyebrow for most to tuck tail and run. 

Of course, a number of people had still stopped. One man tried to accost Harry for an autograph, but Sirius had stood up and kindly requested that he get his quill out of their child’s face, unless he wanted a demonstration on where he could shove the damn thing. 

Another woman had stopped, though she’d assessed the way they all sat—Hermione leaning in to spoonfeed Callum a bite of ice cream as he sat on Sirius’s lap—and proceeded to try to flirt with Remus. When he didn’t respond, she slipped him her address and told him to owl her. Remus simply vanished the scrap of parchment with a flick of his wrist and then glared at the woman. 

Luckily for her, she had the sense to walk away before Hermione could escape the hold Sirius now had on her waist. 

After that, an older couple had dropped by their table asking a million questions, and Hermione chased them off. Harry seemed content to ignore it all, babbling happily about the shops he wanted to visit and helping feed the baby as his own ice cream dribbled all over his arms and made a proper mess. 

When yet another patron paused as she exited the shop and tilted her head to fix them with a curious stare, Hermione rolled her eyes and moved to stand, ready to nip the bullshit in the bud, but the sight of the little boy at the older woman’s side stopped her short just as Sirius turned his head. 

“Mrs Longbottom?” he asked, rising from his chair with Callum clutched to his chest. 

“Mr…Black, yes? I remember you. You played Quidditch with my Frankie,” the woman—Augusta Longbottom, Hermione wasn’t sure how she’d missed it, given the eccentric way the woman was dressed—responded airily as she took a step closer.

Neville immediately moved back to her side, one hand clutching her skirts as the other held tightly to a waffle cone filled with pistachio ice cream. Hermione knew she was staring, but honestly, she could hardly help herself.

Neville was so small, almost frail-looking, even despite his adorably chubby little cheeks, and her arms ached with the urge to sweep him up into a hug, to clutch him to her chest and promise to keep him safe. 

Alas, she didn’t quite fancy looking barmy in public, so she busied herself with another bite of her sundae.

“I did,” Sirius said in response to Augusta’s question. “Frank was a couple of years ahead of us, but he was a wonderful mentor while we were in school. And then later, he was…”

Sirius trailed off, a sad smile on his face as he shook his head, and Remus stepped up to his side, reaching out to take the baby from him.

“We couldn’t have made it as far as we did in the war without him,” Remus said to Augusta. “Frank and Alice are good people. We miss them dearly.” 

“Are,” Augusta repeated the words, blinking back tears before she sniffed and nodded. “Sorry, not many people… well, I suppose it's easier for most to think of them in the past tense.” 

“But they’re still here,” Hermione spoke up, reaching across the table to try to dab some ice cream from Harry’s face with a napkin. “Even if…well, I just think it matters that they’re still here.” 

Her words felt flat, even to her own ears, but they seemed to comfort Augusta as her shoulders relaxed. 

“Yes, well, I appreciate that. It does matter that so many are still here. Is this…well, this has to be Monty Potter’s grandson. I’d recognise that grin anywhere,” Augusta said. 

“It is,” Sirius responded. “Would Neville — Sorry, I remember you from when you were just a baby,” he explained, bracing his hands on his knees as he bent down to address Neville directly. 

“I was friends with your Mummy and Daddy, bud. Harry over here, did you know his birthday is the day after yours?”

“I got a broom for my birthday,” Neville whispered, his eyes as wide as saucers. “Brooms are scary.” 

“Brooms are scary,” Harry laughed, looking to Hermione for permission before he climbed out of his chair and bounded over toward Neville, taking another lick of his ice cream before he held a sticky hand out to the boy. “S’not so scary when you do it lots until you get real good though. What’s your name?” 

“I’m Neville L-Longbottom,” he said, timidly accepting Harry’s sticky handshake.

“That’s a hard name.” Harry scrunched up his nose, tapping a finger against his chin, then held his finger aloft as he grinned. “I know! I can call you Nev. Hi Nev, I’m called Harry, and that’s my baby, Callum.”

“Hullo, Harry. Hullo, baby Callum,” Neville said, giving a small wave. 

“Do you like to play with toys?” Harry asked curiously. 

“I do. I’ve got loads of toys. Like dragons and…my trains,” Neville responded, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“I have dragons too! And guess what, I have play toys outside at my house, like a park! Mummy, do you think Nev can come play at our house?” 

“Ah, not today, washi. Neville and his grandma are probably busy. But we’d be happy to set up a playdate, if you’d like?” Remus asked, resting a hand atop Harry’s head as he looked over at Augusta.

“I suppose that would be lovely.” She nodded, “Neville hasn’t really been around other children much. Perhaps it would help to bring him out of his shell a bit.” 

“Well, then it's settled.” Hermione grinned, reaching for her bag to scrounge up a quill. “Why don’t we get the boys together sometime soon? Then maybe later, once Neville is comfortable, we can introduce you to my friend Molly. She’s got a whole houseful of kids right around their age.” 

“That’s…that sounds lovely. Thank you for your kindness, miss…” 

“Hermione Lupin,” she said with a grin, passing Augusta the slip of parchment she’d scribbled the address down on. “And there’s no need to thank me. It takes a village, and something tells me those two are going to be great friends.

☆────☆☾☼☽☆────☆

𝚂𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚞𝚜

.·:·.☆☾☼☽☆.·:·.

“So, what’s the dynamic here?” The obstetric healer asked as she raised her wand to cast a cleansing charm over Hermione’s stomach. “Not to be nosey, it’s just not often we see one witch and two wizards in this department, though it’s not unheard of.

“Well, it’s, erm…” 

“We—I mean, the three of us… it’s—”

“Remus is my husband, Sirius is our partner,” Hermione responded, shooting him and Remus each an exasperated look as she cut them off. “And, clearly, we’re still finding our footing.” 

“Ah, young love,” Healer Bronwen sighed wistfully, tucking a lock of her greying hair behind her ear. “And do we know, then, who the father of the baby is? Just for the records, of course.” 

“Oh, no. We’ve decided not to find out,” Remus answered. 

“I’ll make sure to note that in your chart, then. St Mungo’s traces familial magic when any baby is born, as a routine part of the tests they run, and they provide the information to parents along with the certificate of birth, but you can opt out,” Healer Bronwen said. “Now, I see in your chart that this is your second pregnancy?” 

“It’s um…my third,” Hermione confessed softly. “I had a miscarriage before I had our son, but it was so early that even—well, that nobody had been able to tell.” 

Sirius squeezed her hand as he shared a look with Remus over her head. He knew they were both thinking the same thing. The idea of anything happening to this baby, to their baby, was unfathomable, and he hated that she’d gone through that.

She’d never told him. Though, to be fair, he wasn’t sure if it was the sort of thing people really talked about.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” the Healer said in a sympathetic tone. “Though it may help to know everything looks incredibly healthy thus far. I’d just like to cast a visual spell so I can make sure everything is developing properly.” 

“Of course,” Hermione responded. She looked to the left, where Remus stood next to the examination table, then to Sirius on the right, and both men gave her an encouraging smile. 

Honestly, Sirius didn’t have the slightest idea of what to expect with Obstetric Healer appointments, save for the few things James had gushed about, but he just wanted it to be a good experience for her—or, as good an experience as getting poked and prodded while you lay on a table could be. 

Hermione hadn’t had the chance to have a normal pregnancy with Callum, and even if everything was chaotic and messy and they were still trying to find their footing, he and Remus had both agreed that it all came down to her. Anything they could do to keep her comfortable and happy would come first. 

Which was why, even though he was internally freaking out of a million different things—the healer touching Hermione’s stomach and making humming noises which he couldn’t differentiate between good or bad, the assistant healer furrowing his brow and scribbling down notes, the way Remus tensed every time they touched her—he was determined to keep a smile on his face. 

“Everything looks and feels exactly as it should,” Healer Bronwen said with a kind smile as she sat back on her stool. “I’d just like to cast a sonographic charm so we can take a look at the little miss or mister, get a feel for how far along you are, and make sure everything is coming along nicely.”

“We get to see the baby?” Hermione asked, her voice delicate, drenched in hope. “I never…I didn’t get to, the first time around.” 

“Ah, well, it's a newer charm. Only implemented in the last few years,” the healer explained. “But I think you’ll find it’s quite a sight to behold.”

Hermione squeezed their hands as Sirius and Remus shared a look over her head. Something about the moment made him anxious, and his mind began to spin as he looked back down to watch the healer waving her wand in a figure-eight motion over Hermione’s bare stomach. 

A little ball of silvery light rose from Hermione’s skin, and he braced himself as it began to take form. What if something was wrong with the baby? What if it was sick, or hurting, or—

“My gods,” Remus gasped. Hermione sucked in a breath, and Sirius bit the inside of his cheek as they watched the light form into a magical screen, hovering half a metre above where Hermione lay on the table. 

The image was grainy at first, but then it became clear—a blob, undoubtedly, but it was rather human-shaped, curled in the foetal position, its side profile on full display.

“And there's your little one. Strong magical signature, and growing like gillyweed. If you see here, you can make out the nose, and this curve here is the ear. I’d say you’re about ten weeks along. Due around January 5th.” 

“That’s our baby, cariad.” Remus’s voice cracked as he pressed a kiss to Hermione’s temple, and Sirius felt tears welling in his eyes.

“Yeah, it is,” he whispered, dumbfounded as he continued to stare at the screen. “Look at what we did.”

“Ten weeks,” Hermione repeated. “And it—they’re safe? Can you tell the gender yet? I know it's early, but—”

“Oh, pish, posh,” Healer Brownwen said, laughing as she waved her hand. “We’re magic, Mrs Lupin. It does have its perks.” 

She raised her wand again, casting another spell, and the series of runes in the corner of the screen began to shift rapidly before they settled. Sirius couldn’t make sense of the reading, but Hermione gasped, then laughed. 

“Does that mean what I think it does?” she asked. 

“Oh my gods, I knew it,” Remus laughed as well, and understanding began to dawn on Sirius.

“You have to say it,” he said excitedly. “Erm…I mean, could you tell us, please?”

“Of course. These runes right here, it's a bunch of magi-medical mumbojumbo, but in short…” Healer Bronwen paused, adjusting her glasses on the bridge of her nose as she peered at the screen before she looked back at them with a smile.

“Congratulations. You’ve got yourselves a baby girl on the way.” 

☆────☆☾☼☽☆────☆

Chapter Text

𝙷𝚎𝚛𝚖𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚎

.·:·.☆☾☼☽☆.·:·.

“Okay. So I just…out with it?” Hermione asked, looking nervously between Emmeline and Sirius. Sirius tightened his hold on her hand from the seat next to her as Emmeline gave her an encouraging nod, and she blew out a slow breath, drumming her fingers against the arm of the chair.

“This is so hard,” she admitted. “I know you have questions, Sirius. And I’ll answer them all. I’ll tell you everything about Harry’s years at Hogwarts, about you and Remus, about me. But this…what I have to tell you, I’m so worried.” 

“Don’t,” he told her, shifting in his seat to face her. “It’s not your fault, yeah? Whatever it is, even if it's hard to hear, I’m not going to be upset with you. And you’ll be there for me. I’ve got Remus and Em, Moody. I’m not going to let this break me.” 

“But you can’t say that,” she argued. “You—you can’t know that, Sirius. What if it does? What if you resent me even more for not telling you, or it's too much to handle? I can’t—I won’t watch you sink all over again, when you’ve been doing so well.” 

“If I may,” Emmeline interjected, scribbling something down on a pad of parchment before she looked up at Hermione over the rim of her spectacles. “Hermione is right in that you have made a lot of progress, Sirius. You’re doing so well. We’ve worked on ways to identify and process your emotions. The feelings of dissonance are few and far between now, and you haven’t had a nightmare in… how long has it been?”

“Over a month. Since I, erm, stopped sleeping alone,” Sirius responded, one hand scratching at the scruff along his jaw. 

“And that’s something to note, isn’t it? That you aren’t alone anymore.” Emmeline looked down at her notes, humming thoughtfully as she scribbled out a word and began to write again. They watched in silence as she worked until she set the quill aside and folded her hands on the desk in front of her. 

“You are not alone in any of this. You have a family now. Partners, children to care for, a baby on the way. I’ve known you for a long time, Sirius Black, and you are not someone who is in the habit of letting people down,” Emmeline said firmly. 

“Except for—” 

“Nope.” Emmeline shook her head, holding up a hand, “Try again.” 

“You didn’t even know what I was going to say,” Sirius grumbled, but the way he sighed and rolled his eyes let Hermione know whatever Emmeline had guessed must have been right on the money. 

“Fine. I don’t let people down. Even the most catastrophic of mistakes are not indicative of my character or reliability. Shrink, shrink, went the brain. See, kitten?” he asked, turning his head to look over at Hermione once more. “I’m all fixed up, and I have the—whatsit, Em? Tools?” 

At Emmeline’s nod, he continued, “I have the tools to manage any big emotions now. I’m not—well, it would be a lie to say I haven’t always been a bit volatile. But I’m not going to fly off the hinges. I may have been a bit unstable after Azkaban, and I may have work to do, but I’m healing. And figuring out whatever it is that you know that you think will hurt me, that’s something I can heal from, too. Simple as.” 

“Simple as,” Hermione repeated, smiling shakily as she drew in another breath. “Okay. I…I need to talk to you about… Well, to start, what do you know about Horcruxes?” 

“Horcruxes?” Sirius reared his head back in shock, furrowing his brow. “I’ve read about them in a book in my mother’s library. Couldn’t stop thinking about it for a while afterwards, magic that dark…” he trailed off, shuddering lightly before he shook his head. “That’s fucked.” 

“It is fucked,” Hermione agreed. “And, in keeping with his tendency to act fucked, Tom Riddle made a number of Horcruxes, which enabled him to come back while Harry and I were teenagers. I can explain anything you want to know about the war, about how he did it. But the Horcruxes are what I’d like to focus on today.” 

“Okay, kitten.” His brow furrowed as he tilted his head to the side. “Do you know what they are? How to destroy them, or where—you know how to stop him from coming back, right? He won’t get—” 

“He will never harm Harry again,” she reassured him. “Or anyone else. When I arrived here, in the eighties, one of the first things Remus and I did was sit down with Moody and hand over all the information I had. Within the month, the Unspeakables and the Aurors had handled them all. Save for one, and that’s…that’s half of what I need to tell you.” 

“Half.” Sirius nodded, casting his eyes up to the ceiling for a moment before he looked back at her. “Just…whatever it is, kitten, just say it.”

“Harry is a Horcrux,” Hermione blurted out.

“He’s—what the fuck? No, he’s not. He’s fine, ‘Mi, he—” Sirius cut himself off, clamping his mouth closed as a shadow fell over his eyes. “That fucking monster. What do we do? What can we do?” 

“We’re going to help him. It’s okay, love,” she reassured him, reaching out to grab his hand once more. “The Unspeakables know a way to draw it out. We just haven’t scheduled the procedure yet, but there is plenty of time. Nobody knows about the Horcruxes, and they’ve already been destroyed, so Remus and I wanted to give him time to adjust.” 

“Adjust? Will it…will it hurt him?” he asked, nervously tapping his fingers against his thigh.

“No, darling, not at all,” she reassured him. “He’ll be asleep during the procedure. But he’s still so timid, Sirius. We didn’t want to throw the anxiety of getting ready for a big, scary medical procedure on him on top of everything else until he was more settled. And Remus and I, we...it didn’t feel right to do it without you there, which we couldn’t do until you knew the truth.” 

“I’ll be there. Of course I’ll be there.” 

“Good.” Hermione sank her teeth into her lip and drew in a long breath through her nose, trying to steady herself before she continued, “The next part is in relation to the Horcruxes, too. But it’s about Regulus, and I—don’t interrupt,” she said sharply when he opened his mouth as if to protest. 

“I’m sorry, just…I know you have a lot of strong feelings about your brother. I understand why that is. But I need you to know things weren’t as simple as they seemed.” 

“What’s complicated?” Sirius scoffed. “He was a Death Eater, just like Mummy and Daddy wanted us both to be. I got out; he didn’t want to leave. He made his choice.” 

“He did make his choice,” Hermione said gently. “But then he…he changed his mind, Sirius.” 

“What…” Sirius whispered the word, shaking his head slowly, as if he couldn’t comprehend what she was telling him. “What do you mean?”

“Regulus defected, love,” she told him softly. “When he died, it wasn’t because he’d fallen out of favour with the dark lord. He wasn’t murdered, he—he died in a cave hidden within the Cliffs of Moher because he found out about the Horcruxes and set out to destroy one.” 

“Wait, he…he turned on Voldemort? How do you know this? How can you be sure?” 

“I…I have the note he left in the Horcrux. Harry and I found it when we were searching for the rest.” Pulling her bag into her lap, Hermione cast her eyes up to Emmeline, who gave her an encouraging nod. 

She reached inside, rooting around until she found the small inner pocket, and produced a worn bit of parchment, passing it to Sirius. “This doesn't explain everything. But it matters, darling.”

“It matters.” Sirius cleared his throat, staring down at the parchment as he clutched it in his trembling hand. “To the Dark Lord; I know I will be dead long before you read this, but I want you to know that it was I who discovered your secret. I have stolen the real Horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as I can. I face d-dea—” he made a choked noise, sniffling as a tear began to roll down his cheek, but when Hermione reached up to wipe it away, he snatched her hand midair, lacing her fingers with his. 

“Just let me get this out,” he asked, his voice a pitiful plea as he looked over at her briefly before he cast his eyes down to the letter. “I…I face death in the hope that when you meet your match, you will be mortal once more.” 

Sirius cleared his throat, casting his eyes up to the ceiling as he sniffed again before he lowered his head and held the parchment up. “R.A.B. I’d know his handwriting anywhere. Used to tease him about how pretty it was.” 

He grew silent for a long moment, and Hermione looked to Emmeline, who just nodded again, as if confirming that this was alright. Finally, he stood, digging his pack of cigarettes out of his pocket before he looked at Hermione and caught himself, quickly tucking them away, and began to pace.

Back and forth, in the space between the chair where Hermione sat and the front of Emmeline’s desk, he moved with his hands in his hair, muttering to himself, until he came to a stop and let out a barking laugh, causing Hermione to jolt. 

“He was good,” he said, shaking his head. Turning toward Hermione, he dropped to his knees, grabbing both of her hands as he looked up at her with an expression that was almost… happy. Relieved, even.

“He was good, Sirius. I wish I could tell you more. I don’t know his motivations, beyond the fact that the Dark Lord harmed Kreacher, which led to him finding out about the Horcrux. But he was good, in the end. He did the right thing, even knowing it would cost him his life.” 

“That stupid, stubborn boy,” Sirius rasped. He dropped his head, resting his forehead on Hermione’s thigh, and began to sob. She felt her own tears stinging in her eyes as she ran her hand through his hair in an attempt to soothe him, her heart splintering as she watched his shoulders shake. 

Finally, he lifted his head, dragging the back of his hand over his cheekbones to wipe away the tears. “I’ve carried so much guilt. I think I always will. I tried so hard to save him, begged him to leave the night I fled to the Potters, but he stayed. And he took that mark by choice; said he was honoured to do it, but…” 

“But it’s complicated,” Hermione finished for him. “As most things are. He followed the path he believed to be his duty. His bedroom was plastered with articles about Riddle, and he idolised him. But being misguided, making a mistake at sixteen, it doesn’t make him bad, Sirius.” 

“I know,” he agreed. “I know, and that’s—that’s what's been so hard. I’ve spent the last few years mourning my baby brother while simultaneously feeling so fucking guilty for doing so. And this…it doesn’t erase what he did. But he did the right thing in the end.” 

“He helped save Harry’s life. He managed to procure one of the Horcruxes, and we were able to destroy it. And there’s good in that.” 

“There’s good in that,” Sirius repeated. “And there was always good in him. It’s never just…black and white, light and dark. And Reggie…sometimes I think that I could have been him. If I’d have been sorted into Slytherin, made different friends. I tried so hard to hate him, but I loved him so much, kitten. And I…this is good. I’m glad that I know. I can’t keep beating myself up or feeling bad for loving my brother, all because he made a mistake.” 

“So what, then, of the guilt you carry for the mistake you made?” Emmeline finally spoke up. “If Regulus made a mistake that resulted in deaths—likely at his hand, as a Death Eater—and you can find forgiveness in that, then shouldn’t the same be said for your role in the changing of the Secret Keeper?” 

“Oh, she’s good,” Hermione said, a small laugh escaping her lips. “And she’s right, you know.” 

“Yeah,” Sirius agreed with a long sigh, sounding thoroughly put-out. “I hate that about her.” 

☆────☆☾☼☽☆────☆

𝚁𝚎𝚖𝚞𝚜

.·:·.☆☾☼☽☆.·:·.

Sirius sat back against Harry’s headboard, nodding along as Harry bounced on the bed next to him, regaling him with the grand tale of his afternoon at the park. To the left, Hermione sat in the rocking chair, humming softly to Callum as she ran a hand over his messy curls while he nursed. The baby was zoned in on her face, watching her with wide-eyed wonder.

It was almost too much, the sweet moments like this. Two sleepy boys, winding down for bedtime, freshly bathed and in their matching jammies. Hermione had a thing for putting the boys in stripes, and for as much as Remus thought the more fun sleepsets were adorable—like the charmed, footed onesie they’d found Harry in Diagon, with little golden snitches that zipped around on the fabric—there was something about the softer look that did him in. 

The room was dimly lit from Harry’s nightlight, and the stars charmed to move about on the ceiling cast the entire space in an ethereal, silvery sort of glow that seemed to highlight the visual. Sirius, shirtless in his plaid pyjama pants as Harry settled in to his side, Hermione in her white nightgown, the boys in tan and cream stripes, there was an angelic sort of air to it all, which Remus thought tracked, because this was nothing short of heaven. 

|| Sap ||

Tell me this isn’t your favourite part of our day, and I’ll stop being a sap. 

|| Shan't. Pack time is best time. But the boy is still a sap || 

Maybe I am. 

“Daddy, you read with us?” Harry asked, breaking Remus free of the spell he’d been under. 

“Of course, washi,” he said, stepping away from the doorway with a smile. He crossed the room to where Hermione sat and bent to place a kiss on the top of her head before he lifted the drowsy baby from her arms, earning him a satisfied, sleepy little howl as he headed toward the bed. 

Settling next to Harry, he and Sirius shared a look of amusement as Harry immediately scooted over and patted the spot next to him. Remus set Callum down, and the baby—though he wasn’t much of a baby anymore, really—immediately snuggled into Harry’s side, reaching out to toy with the antlers of the stuffed deer that sat in Harry’s lap. 

“I can’t believe he’s almost a year old,” Hermione sighed as she joined them on the bed—reminding Remus once again how glad he was that they’d upsized the bed from a single to a double.

“Next month,” Sirius hummed, reaching over Harry’s head to run his fingers through Callum’s curls.

“Pa!” Callum screeched, lunging over Harry’s stomach to clamber into Sirius’s lap.

“He loves our papa,” Harry giggled.

“As he should,” Remus remarked, reaching out to tug Hermione closer to his side. 

Papa. 

Harry had tried on a few names for Sirius—Dadfoot still being a crowd favourite amongst the adults—but he’d settled into this title over the last couple of weeks, and Sirius—Frenchie that he was at heart—loved it.

At first, Sirius had been a bit unsteady, worried about stepping into a full-on parenting role with the boys so quickly, but after Hermione’s gentle reminder that his relationship with them had been building for months, and Remus’s not-so-gentle reminder that he wasn’t going anywhere, ever, he accepted it and took to it like a dream. 

To some, it would have been too fast. But for Remus, for all of them, it was just the natural progression. He’d never been great at slow once he knew he was all-in on something, anyway. 

And this was good. Right. His pack, his partners, their family. Mama, Daddy, and Papa, curled up in bed with their pups, ready to drop the bomb on the little lad who deserved all the good news the world had to offer. 

“Did Papa show you we got a new book when we took your Mum to the healer today?” Remus asked, draping his free arm along the headboard to rest his hand on Harry’s head. 

“Him showed me when I got picked up from Ronnie’s,” Harry replied. “Do we get to read it now? I love the bears!”

“He showed you, little love,” Hermione corrected. 

“That’s what I said,” Harry replied, doing his best impression of an eyeroll as he waved his hand dismissively. “Can we read it?”

“We can read it,” Hermione looked over at Remus with an excited grin before she reached out to squeeze Sirius’s hand. She took the book from Sirius’s lap—struggling a bit as Callum tried to latch on to it and drag the corner to his mouth—and after a bit of reshuffling, they settled in. 

Hermione sat in the middle, holding the book out for everyone to see. Sirius was to her left, cradling a half-gone Callum in his arms as Harry sat in Remus’s lap to her right, leaning in to prop his head on Hermione’s shoulder. Remus draped an arm over Hermione and let his hand rest on Sirius’s shoulder, wishing more than anything that he had a camera to capture this moment. 

The realisation hit him, then, that this was it. This was the last little span of time before Harry knew that the five of them were about to become six. Before it all became real. It was a delicate, almost bittersweet thing—a closing of a chapter as they moved on to the next—and yet again, he found himself wondering how on earth he’d gotten this lucky. 

|| Strong pack. Growing. Thriving. Moony is pleased ||

It’s perfect. 

And gods, was it ever. They’d just had Hermione’s second appointment with the healer, and now that she was officially in the second trimester, she’d deemed it safe to tell Harry. The book had been Sirius’s idea, citing the fact that everything Remus and Hermione did was swotty, so this shouldn’t be any different. 

“Read, Mama, Read!” Harry urged, poking a finger at the book. Hermione giggled and opened the cover, clearing her throat softly before she began.

“The Berenstain Bears’ New Baby,” Hermione began as she turned the pages. “Down a sunny dirt road, over a log bridge, up a grassy hill, deep in Bear Country, lived a family of—” 

“Bears!” Harry interrupted.

“Bow!” Callum agreed. 

“Bears,” Hermione laughed. “Papa Bear, Mama Bear, and Small Bear.”

Harry settled into Remus’s hold, reaching one hand out to rub a lock of Hermione’s hair between his thumb and forefinger—something he often did to soothe himself when he was sleepy—and listened to the story, interjecting every so often. 

“Why they not use magic to make his bed bigger?” 

“Because they don’t have any magic, Haz,” Sirius responded. Harry seemed satisfied by that answer, and Hermione continued on. 

When she reached the picture of Mama Bear, Harry furrowed his brow, reaching out to run his hand over the image as Hermione read. “She smiled and patted her front, which had lately grown very big and round.” 

“Did her eat too much treacle tarts?” Harry asked. 

“Not quite, washi,” Remus laughed. “Let's wait and see what happens, aye?”

“Why they not tell him about his little bed?” Harry piped up a few minutes later. 

“We’re about to find out,” Hermione said, looking from right to left with a grin before she looked back down at the page. “We will have a new baby soon, who will need that little bed.”

Harry gasped dramatically, then began to bounce in Remus’s lap. Callum had already checked out, snoring softly in Sirius’s hold, and Remus yet again thanked the gods the little wolf was such a deep sleeper as Harry began to squeal. 

“Small bear is going to have a baby, like I have my baby!” 

“Very good, washi. But that’s not all,” Remus said, kissing the top of Harry’s head.

“Keep reading, Mama, I wanna see Small Bear's baby,” Harry urged. 

“Yes, sir.” Hermione gave a mock salute and read a few more lines before Harry reacted again. 

“Oh no! His little bed is gone?” 

“It is,” Sirius said. “But look at who’s there now.” 

“It was true! There was his snug little bed with a new little baby in it,” Hermione read, her voice excitedly dramatic. “Small bear had outgrown his snug little bed just in time for his new baby sister…” 

Harry sat up straight, watching with rapt attention as Hermione finished the story.

“Isn’t that so neat, Haz?” Sirius asked, carefully rising from the bed to settle Callum into his cot.

“It is neat. I wish I had a baby sister,” Harry said with a dramatic sigh. 

“Well, that’s…that’s why we wanted to read you the special book, washi,” Remus began to explain, shifting Harry to sit facing them as Sirius rejoined them on the bed. 

“That’s right.” Hermione reached for Remus’s hand, squeezing it tightly as Sirius placed a hand on the small of her back, and she drew in a shaky breath before she leaned in closer to Harry, brushing his messy hair back from his forehead.

“You know how this morning, you went to Ronnie’s to play so Mama could go to the Healer again?” 

“Yes,” Harry said, furrowing his brow. 

|| Perceptive pup. Good instincts. Knows something big is happening || 

He’s so smart, isn’t he? 

“Well, you see, we…” she faltered slightly, drawing in a shaky breath, and Remus leaned in to press his nose to her temple, ghosting his lips over the skin next to her eye. 

“It’s alright, cariad,” he murmured. 

“It's more than alright,” Sirius said with a grin. “You’ve got this, kitten.” 

“Something wrong with Mama?” Harry asked, his eyes wide and watery. “Mama, you sick?”

“No, oh, gods no, little love. Nothing is wrong at all.” Hermione reached out to pull Harry into her lap and cupped his little face in her hands. She planted a loud kiss on his forehead, then pulled back, smiling brightly at him. 

“There’s a new baby sister growing in Mama’s tummy right now, Harry. Just like Mama bear in the story.” 

“A new baby sister?!” Harry squealed, looking from Remus to Sirius rapidly, his little head swivelling as if he were looking for confirmation before he scrambled backwards and put a hand on Hermione’s stomach. 

“Get her out of there,” he demanded. “Her wants me to hold her.” 

“We can’t get her out just yet, Haz,” Sirius laughed, pulling Harry into his lap. “She has to grow for a while, yet. But after Christmas, she’ll be here, and you’ll get to hold her all you want.” 

“Carefully,” Remus added. 

“After Christmas? That’s a billion years away,” Harry groaned. 

“It is a billion years away,” Hermione agreed. “But in the meantime, we get to watch her grow through my tummy, won’t that be fun?” 

“I guess,” Harry sighed. “Oh! But maybe Santa will bring her for my Christmas present!” 

“Ah, I think it might be a little longer than that, washi, but I promise, she’s going to be so worth the wait,” Remus reassured him, reaching over to rub his back. “Did you know she can hear us, though?” 

“She can?” Harry perked up, looking to Hermione for confirmation. She nodded, reaching for Harry’s hand to place it on her stomach, where the faintest little bump had begun to form. 

“She can,” she assured him. “And we can talk to her all we want, so that when she’s born, she’ll already know her big brother’s voice.” 

“Me and my baby is going to talk to our baby sister lots,” Harry declared, rubbing his hand over Hermione’s stomach as he leaned in closer. 

“Hi, baby sister,” he cooed. “I’m your big brother Harry, and I’m going to be the bestest big brother. And we have a brother that’s called Callum, and he snores a lot, but we love him. Oh! And for Christmas I’ll get you a little puppy so youse can have a Padfoot like my Prongsie and my other baby’s Moony.” 

“That’s…that’s a good idea, Haz,” Sirius said, his voice thick with emotion.

“You always have the best ideas,” Hermione added. 

“I know,” Harry said dismissively, looking back down at her stomach. “You’re going to be a cutie little baby, and you’ll wear a little bow like Baby Sister Bear, annnndddd you’ll be called Emily Elizabeth like in my Clifford books.” 

“Well, we haven’t decided what her name is yet, washi,” Remus chuckled. 

“I just said it, Daddy,” Harry huffed in annoyance before he returned to cooing at Hermione's stomach.

“I kind of like it.” Hermione’s face turned wistful as she ran a hand over the side of her stomach that Harry wasn’t currently occupying. “Emily Lupin. Or…we haven’t talked about last names, have we?” 

“Lupin,” Sirius said quickly. “She should have the same name as the boys. The Black name is…well, we’ll let that one die out, yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Remus agreed, his voice cracking. Moony purred contentedly, settling in to let him have the moment, and he had to fight back the urge to sob. 

It was all so perfect. So beautiful, and it was happening, and it was theirs, and gods, some days it still felt like a fever dream, but if that was the case, then he hoped he never woke up. 

“Emily Lupin,” Hermione repeated, her voice high and melodic. 

“Emily Elizabeth,” Harry corrected. 

“You know what? You’re right, Harry,” Sirius declared. “Emily Elizabeth Lupin. It’s perfect.” 

“Can we read my baby sister a bedtime story before I go to sleep?” Harry asked. 

“I think Emily would love that,” Hermione grinned. “Why don’t you go pick out a book, little love?”

“Emily Elizabeth, Mama,” Harry insisted firmly as he reached for another Berenstain Bears book. 

☆────☆☾☼☽☆────☆

Commissioned Artwork by CharlieJacobs. Please do not edit, repost, or use without permission.

I do give permission for this to be used in bound copies of Break the Chain, so long as the bind is for personal or gifting purposes only.

Chapter Text

𝙷𝚎𝚛𝚖𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚎

.·:·.☆☾☼☽☆.·:·.

“What do you think about this one?” Sirius asked, holding up a little set of wooden blocks.

“Alphabet blocks?” Hermione asked curiously, taking a step closer to lean against his side. 

“Aye. But they’re charmed to say the letters out loud when you press, just here,” he explained, demonstrating by pressing his thumb to the letter A. 

“That could be useful,” she mused. Reaching for the box, she turned it over in her hands and took a moment to read the print on the back. “Oh, look here! It says that when you use the blocks to spell out words, it will say them aloud. Maybe we should get this for Harry instead? He’s far closer to reading than Callum anyway.”

“I suppose you’re right. Cubby would probably just chew on them anyway,” Sirius agreed, taking the box from her hands to tuck it under his arm. “You think just the couple of board books for now, then?” 

“Yeah. We’ve got a few weeks, and Remus will want to come shopping, too. I think I want to get him a little pair of wellies now that he’s walking, but we should check a Muggle shop for that anyway.” 

“We’ll drop the boys at the Burrow and go next week when Remus is off work, then. Let me just take care of this, and we’ll pop into the apothecary before we head home.” Sirius leaned in, pressing a kiss to her temple before he took the books out of her hand and headed for the front counter to pay for their purchases. 

It was a good day. Most were, lately. 

Hermione had been antsy all morning after a particularly rough dream, and Remus was still recovering from the full moon two nights prior, so he’d stayed home with the boys while Sirius took her out for some air.

They’d visited Gringotts and had some lunch, and they’d been having such a lovely time that they decided to do a bit of shopping so they could talk a while longer. 

The boys’ birthdays were coming up soon, and Harry’s adoption hearing was set for right between the two, so they were planning a whole big to-do, and she’d been busying herself with arrangements on top of juggling the boys, so it was nice to get out. 

Sirius paid for their wares, and the clerk tapped her wand to the bag to shrink it before she waved them off. He passed the bag to her to slip into her purse and reached for her hand as he opened the door to the bookshop, and Hermione dipped under his arm, looking back to smile at him. 

“This has been nice. Thank you, darling.” 

“Everything with you is nice, kitten,” Sirius shot back with a lazy smile. “Kind of maddening. You make it rather hard to brood.”

“That’s actually my primary goal in life. They call me ‘Hermione Lupin, anti-buzzkill, ’” she quipped. 

“I can think of a few things to call you, but I can’t say that makes the list,” he retorted, reaching out to tug at one of the curls that had fallen loose from her braid. 

“Good things, I hope. Lest ye be hexed,” she quipped.

“Absolutely terrible things, actually,” he replied with a forced sigh. “Utterly filthy.” 

“Well, in that case, we'd better make this quick,” Hermione replied, darting her tongue out to wet her lips as she looked up at him through her lashes. “Maybe after we’re done, you can take me home and tell me all your filthy, terrible thoughts.” 

“Fuck,” Sirius groaned, shaking his head as he came to a stop in front of the apothecary and reached for the door. “Hurry up, little witch, before I get us banned from Diagon.” 

“Filthy,” she mouthed as she slipped past him. Sirius swatted her on the arse, and she shot him a glare over her shoulder, but he merely put his hands in his pockets and made a big show of looking around as if he had no idea who could have done such a thing.

Hermione rolled her eyes, stifling a laugh as she dug her list out of her bag and began to shop, loading Sirius’s arms down with another round of prenatal potions, a few months’ worth of the muscle relaxant Remus used after the full moons, and the vitamin tonics the paediatrician had suggested for the boys.

When they reached the front, she talked to Rumi, the salesclerk, about the ingredients she’d inquired about the month prior, excitement building in her gut when she learned the powdered moonstone would arrive in two weeks’ time. 

Purchasing the Wolfsbane potion was a hassle, and it wasn’t cheap. While Sirius had more than enough gold left over in his inheritance from his Uncle Alphard to cover the cost, she wanted to brew it herself. 

It was a protective thing, really. She needed to know that he was getting the right dosage and to be able to control any variables herself. Moony, needless to say, wasn’t a big fan of the idea, but according to Remus, he was solidly grumpy, as opposed to the enragement he’d dealt Remus the few times he’d managed to try the potion in the past. 

Now, while Moony—understandably—didn’t want to be contained, the fact that the Mate thought it was a good idea had at least softened the wolf’s irritation, which Hermione was grateful for. 

After they’d completed the purchase and paid in advance to have a few out-of-stock items for the potions cabinet at home owled at a later date, she and Sirius began to make their way out of the shop, chattering about what to do for dinner. 

Just as she slipped past Sirius to step out onto the pavement, wrinkling her nose at the thought of lasagna—because red sauce was giving her wicked indigestion these days—a shoulder bumped into her arm, and her entire body stiffened. 

“My apologies, ma’am, I—” the familiar voice stopped, and she squeezed her eyes shut, her hands trembling at her sides as she willed herself not to look. 

“Black,” he said stiffly. “I heard that you were…back.” 

“Snape.” Sirius sniffed. Hermione peeled her eyes open, focusing her gaze on Sirius as the two men stood staring one another down before Severus simply muttered an “excuse me” and headed toward the door. 

She stared at his back as he slipped inside the apothecary, and then continued to watch him through the large window of the shop, her feet rooted in place. 

“Kitten?” Sirius’s voice sounded tight with concern, but she didn’t respond; She couldn’t force her mouth to form the correct syllables to assure him she was okay, because she was far from alright.

Her mind was hazy, strange flashes of older Severus clouding her memory as she continued to watch him move around inside the shop. 

He looked so young, so healthy as he grabbed an amber phial off the shelf and held it up to the light, but then her vision shifted, and he was pale, sickly, coughing up blood into a handkerchief as Padma sobbed into the sleeve of her sweater.

Severus turned to talk to the clerk, his kind smile visible from the side, but then he was throwing his head back laughing on one of the rickety metal chairs around their little table in the bunker, rolling his eyes at something Remus said, and then he was accepting a bag with his purchases while he pointed at something behind the register, but he was in the makeshift potions lab deep beneath the earth, his eyes watery as he confessed to her that he could barely sleep because he kept having nightmares about Padma dying in his arms. 

He was here, in 1984, alive and well, facing a future that would be free of all the terrible things he’d never even know of now, but he was in her head, older and terrified and trying to get by one day at a time as their lives crawled closer to the end with every passing day. 

He was here, and he was okay, but he had been one of the only people she’d had for so long, and now… 

Now, he was someone she would never even know. 

The realisation hit her like someone had punched her in the gut, and she let out a whimper, her nose stinging as she pressed her lips into a thin line in a desperate attempt to keep from screaming.

“Kitten, you have to breathe.” Sirius reached out, wrapping a hand around her elbow to tug her back, but Hermione barely registered the movement. 

It hit her, then, that she was staring. 

She absolutely should not be staring. 

But Severus was here, and so young, and alive. 

Alive, when she’d held his hand while he died, just as she’d held Harry while he died. Just as she’d held her hands to Molly’s stomach, screaming for help in the rubble of what used to be the very bookshop she’d just exited, as she begged the closest thing to a mother that she had left to hold on. 

It was so easy to forget it all. She’d become so numb to the war, to the losses and the bloodshed, to the illness and hopelessness, that some part of her brain had just been content to grab on to this new life with both hands, but the truth still lived beneath her skin, twisting and contorting as it batted against the confines of her resolve. 

It was real, and it happened to her, and around her, and to every single fucking person she had ever loved, and even the comfort of knowing it would never happen again—knowing that she had made sure it would never happen again—didn’t erase the fact that she’d lived it. 

“Kitten.” 

Sirius’s voice was throaty, weak, as if he could read everything she was feeling on her face. She turned to him, reaching out to clutch the lapel of his jacket as she met his eyes. “Home. Please, can you apparate us? I—I need to go, now, I can’t—” 

“Kitten,” he repeated. Placing his hand on the side of her neck, he moved his thumb to rub slow, soothing circles over her pulse point as he shook his head. “I need you to hold it together, okay? We have to get to the Leaky so we can floo home, you know we can’t apparate in your condition.” 

“Okay.” She sniffed and squeezed her eyes shut, internally cursing the fact that she’d never learned to Occlude, and instead tried to focus on any good, positive thing she could latch on to, almost as if she were preparing herself to cast a Patronus.