"Remus," Sirius calls out in a strangled voice.
There is a thump from above, where Remus is cleaning out his -their- room, and the sound of running footsteps. Remus pops out from the hallway and runs into the kitchen, a flurry of tawny-grey hair, wand in hand. His eyes dart around the room, and he lets out a breath.
"Jesus bloody fuck, Padfoot, I thought you were getting strangled by the curtains again!"
He seems liable to get into a strop, but stops when he sees the expression on Sirius' face. "What is it, love?"
"Harry," Sirius breathes. "What if he doesn't like me? What if he doesn't like us? What if he runs off and never wants to see us and asserts his straightness by impregnating a muggle? What if? What if?"
Remus's face goes slack. Then slowly, inexplicably, the right corner of his mouth twitches. To Sirius' horror, the bastard laughs!
"Sirius, Harry deserves more credit that you think. He is a really accepting individual, expecially at this age. But if it means so much to you, we can tell him without teling him."
"How the HELL do we do that," Sirius says incredulously
.
"We'll act like we always do any wait for him to peice it together... and at Christmas, we'll give him a joint present. Yeah?"
"Yeah."