Perhaps he should have noticed something was going on. He is too tired to apparate without danger of splinching after last night in the New Forest, doesn't have money for the Knight Bus. Besides, Dumbledore told him to keep his head down. There are suspicions the Bus is being used to monitor the movements of wizards. Just after nine in the morning he manages to hitch a ride with a Muggle lorry driver heading back to London.
As he sits slumped, half asleep, beside the driver up in the cab of the truck he faintly hears a report on the radio of strange astral activity over parts of England. Astronomers seem baffled, can't tell if it was a meteor shower.
He is too exhausted to do more than mutter reassurances to the driver's occasional comments of 'Alright, mate?' or 'You don't half look done in' or 'What happened to that face of yours?' His head buzzes uncomfortably with the vibration of the lorry as he leans against the window, but can't summon up the energy to move.
As he drifts half in and out of fitful sleep, he makes a decision that has been forming in his mind since he watched Sirius storm out of their flat a month before – he doesn't care what Dumbledore has warned him, he is going to tell Sirius exactly where he has been going over these past months, what he was trying to do, get rid for once and for all of the suspicion between them.
And then they are going to go to bed and love each other properly, just like it was before they started fighting. The memory of the last time they had sex makes him feel ill. After a terrible argument, as Sirius tried to find out where he was going, the bitter accusations he threw, the scorn caused by his doubts. Then rough kisses, cutting his lip on Sirius's teeth as their mouths knocked against each other, holding Sirius over the table, pushing his head down with one hand tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck amidst the crumbs and papers scattered everywhere, yanking his jeans down with the other hand and thrusting inside him, just a gob of spit to ease his way, as Sirius jerked himself off. After, he saw red marks on Sirius's hips from where his fingers had grabbed him, dug in.
He can't use the excuse that the full moon was approaching. He's always been able to mostly quash that aspect of himself, perhaps been just a little more forceful, a little more abandoned before the moon, but never like that. He hopes that wasn't their last time. Immediately after, Sirius pulled his jeans up, threw on his jacket and slammed out of the flat, not even looking back at him. Still hadn't come back before he had to leave for the New Forest.
Perhaps he should have paid more attention to the cluster of people in robes in that village they drove through just before the M25 around midday. Three witches and two wizards hugging gleefully in the street, calling out greetings to passers-by, including Muggles. He doesn't respond to the lorry driver's comments about loonies and student pranks as they drive past them. He doesn't want to give away that he knows anything about such people. He too cannot understand why they are out in public so blatantly, given the danger of Voldemort's followers seeing them.
The lorry driver is entering the outskirts of London now, says he can drop him near King's Cross if he can find a place to pull over on the Euston Road. He can walk to their flat from there. He hopes Sirius will be home. He will sit there waiting, won't leave, won't even get the sleep he so urgently needs until Sirius has come back and they can talk this out.
If Sirius won't listen or throws him out, then perhaps he can go and stay with them at the Hollow for a while, if only Sirius will let him through the Fidelius charm to find the cottage. He hasn't seen the baby properly for such a long time, didn't want to bring the stench of his missions to their little home.
Last time he visited was six weeks ago, before he got caught up in this latest futile task Dumbledore had charged him with. He had gone to stay with them with Sirius over a weekend. Peter hadn't come, had muttered something about being busy, which he could see James was doing his best not to be hurt by. It was a slight relief. Peter has been a little chilly towards him recently, as if some of Sirius's mistrust might be rubbing off on him. He knows Sirius doesn't care, can take or leave Peter to an extent, but always happily tolerates him because James enjoys his acolyte's company so much.
Harry as always held his fat little arms out to Sirius to be picked up as soon as he saw him, calling 'Pa' from his playmat where he sat up surrounded by toys, many given to him by Sirius – and, by extension, himself, though Sirius is always the one who chooses and pays for them. He wouldn't have guessed before that this wild boy would have become so devoted to a baby, but there's no denying the strength of the bond between Sirius and Harry.
James was a little low that weekend, but played it down. He can understand how frustrated he must be, a boy, a man like him, always at the centre of things, now exiled and largely housebound, unable to rejoin the struggle. He was still able to joke, once Sirius had jollied him out of his mood a little, laughing that Harry's name for Sirius would cast doubt on his own paternity if only his godfather wasn't so bent. He even came up with yet another new nickname for Sirius – the Fairy Dogfather – when Lily was out of the room.
Sirius's focus on James that weekend allowed him to spend more time playing with Harry, who even started calling him 'Moo'. He's walking now, and loves flying around on that little toy broom Sirius sent him for his birthday. He supposes the boy has forgotten his name now, forgotten him altogether after such a long absence. Six weeks is a long time in the life of a child only fifteen months old.
*** A few more chapters to come! Thanks for reading this far. As always, reviews are like Sirius's cheekbones and Remus's smile… ***