Harry didn't know why he liked to hear them bicker, his back to the wall next to doorways and awnings in Grimmauld Place – but he did. He knew enough to know it was odd to like the sound of two people fighting, but beyond that, there wasn't much he could have said about it.
It always began differently, but more often than not his godfather would start it, sitting in the cobwebbed kitchen; he would laugh loud, bray, and say something like "Merlin, Moons," and laugh again, and say, "you're like an old witch these days." And Remus would quietly, carefully, drop whatever he was holding – Harry would hear the clink of plates half-washed, or the clack of his wand hitting the countertop or windowsill – and he would answer tersely, "Oh? What makes you say that?" an edge to his voice sometimes, sometimes not. Harry's godfather would sometimes apologise quickly, quietly, in sheepish tones, but other times he would laugh that god-awful laugh again, make Harry cringe, and say something like "Just wondering how a werewolfgot so fucking tame."
Remus would stutter angrily in denial, and Harry would hear him cross the room and mutter darkly, "Tame?",voice laced with threat. Harry, in the doorway, almost breathless, would press his ear to the wall and hope to hear every word.
He'd tried explaining to Ron, once, but had garnered only a tilt of the head and a wary "Are you alright, mate?" – and any and all attempts to broach the subject of Remus and Sirius with Hermione only resulted in a very knowing look on her face, which Harry didn't at all appreciate.
The thing was, listening, he learned more about them – the marauders – than they would ever have candidly told him. When Sirius refused to help clean, and they became embroiled in a blazing row, close to cursing, Remus called him justlikeJames,and Harry felt that odd thrill, to know this tiny piece of information about his father. Messy was another trait to add to the tiny list in Harry's head, another excerpt of the man he rarely heard anything but 'hero' about. And he learnt about Sirius, too.
Around the third time Harry listened in, things having gotten nasty, Sirius being cold and biting, none of his usual half-playful jibes present, Harry was tempted to leave, just to escape – when Remus muttered, "Do you remember, Pads…?" and there had been silence, but for breathing. And Harry, fourteen but not stupid, knew this reallywasn't something he could talk to Ron about.
He debated going to Molly – because she was the closest things he had to a living mother, and also partly o have someone reassure him that his eavesdropping was alright, but when he finally got her alone they ended up talking about how she and Arthur fell in love, and Harry hadn't the heart, really, to break this intimacy between them by mentioning Sirius (who was, it seemed, a touchy subject with just about everyone). Harry started thinking about love, anyway, and was miraculously less confused.
So he kept on. Listening to them fight, to them gripe and grumble at one another, to the sounds o their memories – some he felt he could have coerced out of them himself, others he felt he might have been better off not knowing. His godfather and his – whatever Remus was – were none the wiser, until one day Harry stumbled into the kitchen in search of food, and found them with their faces very close, silent. Kissing. Sirius' head in Remus' hands. He stopped short in the doorway, having heardthis a couple of times before but never having seen it, feeling a bit off, and embarrassed to have trespassed on such a private moment. Separated from Remus as if burned, Sirius put a hand on the table and cleared his throat – grinned awkwardly at Harry.
"Alright?"
"Yeah. Fine. Just – wanted something to eat."
Remus stood quickly, scraping his chair across the floor. "I'll have a look. What did you want?" He made as if to move, but Sirius grabbed his sleeve and pulled him down to sit again, shaking his head. Remus sat, but reluctantly, He sat with a hand on each knee, tapping his foot. Harry made eye contact with him only briefly.
"Sorry." Harry mumbled, and Sirius waved a hand.
"Don't be. We didn't mean for you to – anyway."
"I know. I don't mind." He looked at his shoes. "I'll – I should probably be in bed.
Sirius nodded. "Probably." They looked at one another, and Harry knew he wouldn't listen in on them again – seeing it in reality, the look in his godfather's eyes, their faces – made what he'd been doing seem childish, and shameful, in an odd way. He looked at Sirius, who had barely moved.
`Embarrassed even as he did it, Harry crossed the room and hugged the seated Sirius around the shoulders. When he pulled away Sirius looked dumbstruck but said nothing. Harry shuffled out of the room, red, happy to give them their privacy again, knowing that some things were perhaps better left unsaid. Next time, he would ask them about his father. About them. When he had the courage to look them in the eyes again, that is.