Perhaps he should have seen that something was strange during his walk home after the lorry driver dropped him off near King's Cross. The driver stopped at the bottom of Pentonville Road, a road that looks up towards a part of London that is out of bounds as far as Sirius is concerned, as it approaches the home he has rejected and left behind forever.
He walks down from the station, so familiar from school days, through the quiet back streets of Bloomsbury, and again sees small clusters of people in familiar robes, some bent over copies of the Prophet, others clapping each other on the back, shaking hands.
It sends a chill down his spine, to see them like this, risking attention from Death Eaters and the thug-like Snatchers. He keeps his head down.
He is reminded of Stalin's Russia, which he read about in one of his mother's Muggle library books, where no one spoke freely or trusted their neighbours for fear of betrayal. These witches and wizards, meeting so overtly, are surely going to draw unwelcome attention, cause a new spate of night-raids and disappearances. But he can't risk his undercover work for the Order by stopping to warn them.
He cuts through the Brunswick centre, some of its shops putting up Christmas decorations now that Halloween is over, blaring out old Christmas novelty songs from speakers. He wonders if James got a photo of Harry wearing that little antler headband last night. Sirius had found it in a shop already selling Christmas gimmicks and was planning to take it to Godric's Hollow to surprise them yesterday.
The thought of Halloween reminds him of Sirius's birthday, the day after tomorrow. He is going to do it properly. A cake with twenty-two candles, a bottle of that mead Sirius likes, some sort of present, if he can find the inspiration – Sirius is far better at presents. He has a little of his own money left at home and he's willing to spend it all on the day. And bed, they can spend most of the day in bed, and he will lavish as much love and attention on Sirius as he can to make up for the neglect and hurt he has caused.
Then, if Sirius can spare the time from his Order work, they can go to the Hollow together, spend some real time with the family, see if they can help assuage James's feelings of helplessness, the pressure on Lily to act as if this is normal. Maybe they should even consider finding their own cottage there, near the Potters.
He can get to know the baby again. He thinks of the smell of the child, the warm, honeyish, milky baby smell his hair and skin give off, as the boy burrows his head under his chin, against his heart. He knows he won't become a father now, the chances are somewhat slim for a queer lycanthrope, but James and Lily are generous enough to allow this odd couple to be part of this child's life. It's hard to imagine it any other way, with James and Sirius so like brothers.
There may be more babies to come. Both James and Lily had mentioned their hopes for a large family – James the only child, wanting Harry to be surrounded by siblings, Lily hurt by the estrangement from her own sister. Is it too risky to think that far ahead in such times?
Perhaps he should have thought more about the strange behaviour of Greyback and his pack. As he nears the flat, passing the university buildings, through the run-down St Giles district, he wonders idly about what could have made them so terrified.
Greyback received an owl in the small hours of the morning, and within minutes he and the others had cleared out of their forest camp. When he tried to find out what was happening, the leader simply snarled 'piss off home, boy, if you know what's good for you'. Something in the letter made them panic, stop kicking him to the ground, taunting him as he lay curled at their feet. Perhaps Voldemort was at last, inevitably, turning on his despised allies. He was so relieved to have a reason to leave he didn't question further. Greyback was in a desperate mood, he could easily have attacked a young werewolf he didn't trust.
He glances at his hands again as he turns on to Phoenix Street. Blood under the fingernails. He shudders at the thought of what had been required of him during the full moon the night before last, the other werewolves' idea of initiation into their pack, as Dumbledore had hoped for. More likely they were just toying with him, forcing him to betray himself, a laugh at his expense. Not for the first time, he is grateful he can't remember the transformations. He hopes it's his own blood.
He unlocks the outside door to their building, climbs the stairs and takes a deep breath before the door of their flat. Please let Sirius be home. Please let him listen. Please.
*** Thanks for reading this far. What's Remus going to find when he gets home? Reviews keep me going, like a Patronus when I'm cornered by Dementors… ***