Note: Phew, nearly there! Really went down the rabbit hole in this one. Once again, thank you to everyone who's commented. It really makes my day, and I look forward to hearing what you think :)

And I apologise in advance for the biscuit metaphor; it ran away from me.


They're Hiding Inside Me, part 7/8


James lets out an impressive string of expletives that would have earned Remus a month's worth of dishes duty in the Lupin household. Peter is equally taken in and only notices belatedly when the litany ends in a question.

"Pardon?" he says meekly.

"When, Wormtail," says James. "When did Sirius leave?"

"Only just now," says Peter. "If we go after him now –"

"Can't," says James. "Seriously, is no-one listening? We can't Floo into Grimmauld Place without the keyspell, we'll be ghosts! Doomed! Wandering the Floo network forever!"

James is, by now, equal parts angry and exasperated, which is not an environment in which lesser Marauders can thrive.

Thus, Peter winces. "Cheerful prospect," he says.

"You had one job, Peter," exclaims James. "One job!" He strides dramatically out of the room.

"Seriously!" says Peter, when James is momentarily out of earshot. "How is it my fault that whole family is crazy?"

Remus looks at Peter for a split moment, and he takes in all the things James must have missed, or rather, dismissed – that their friend is ruffled, and red-eyed, and that his lip is bleeding. That he put up a fight. Against Sirius. Who, yes, is a bit crazy.

"It's not your fault," Remus says quietly.

"I know that," says Peter. "Tell James, will you?"

They catch up with James at the foot of the stairs. "Anything else?" James says, as if they'd never lagged behind in the first place. "How did he seem?"

Peter is gasping from taking the stairs two steps at a time. "He asked your mum for a sandwich and ate half of it," he says. "We played Gobstones and he cheated. How in hell can you even cheat at Gobstones? I thought he was getting better!"

"Well, that's something," says James. "How did he get your wand? I mean, you had one, he didn't, shouldn't that even things out between you?"

"Well, you sort of need both hands for Gobstones –" begins Peter, but one withering look from James makes it clear he's not looking for an explanation. "I thought he'd improved!" squeals Peter. "I thought he was shaking it off! I'm sorry, I got careless…"

"Andromeda said the same," says James. "She said he'd get better now. She as good as promised!"

"She said he'd start to get better," says Remus fairly, but to be quite honest he's annoyed that it seems to be coming down to semantics.

But of course, he resorts to technicalities like James resorts to righteous anger and Peter resorts to panic, none of which is achieving anything except divide them. Sirius is in deep, deep trouble, the sort of trouble Remus doesn't even dare imagine, the sort of trouble that should be obsolete in this day and age. Remus hates how much this paralyses his brain.

Think, Lupin. Think.

"We should never have gone," insists James. "We should never have listened to a Black!"

"Yes, we should have," says Remus. "We should have listened to Sirius. Don't you realise? He was fighting it, but not the way we thought. All the times he told us he had to go back, he was warning us."

They're at the door to James's room now, and Remus lays a hand on James's arm. "This was always going to happen as soon as he got an opening," he says. "We got careless. This is not on Andromeda. And it's not on Peter. This is on us."

To say he is not bothered by how much sense Dark Magic makes to him sometimes would be a lie. It sort of reassures Remus that it doesn't make any sense at all to James, judging by his confused expression.

"Then we're fixing it," says James.

"What's the plan?" says Peter timidly. "What do we do? You're not going on the motorbike –"

"Flying takes too long," says James dismissively. "We're doing what we should have been doing all along."

"Which is what?" says Remus quietly.

James turns, and there it is again, that terrifyingly grown-up face that has been cropping up more and more since the beginning of the summer.

"We're writing to Dumbledore," says James.

Every concern Lyall Lupin has ever raised about alerting the authorities is frighteningly present in Remus's head.

Well then, he thinks. Best foot forward, Gryffindor. He nods and says, "Okay."

"Sirius was really opposed to the idea," Peter points out.

"Sirius isn't thinking straight," says James. "Dumbledore can't ignore this. It's a big intricate mess of lies and secrecy. This, right here, is exactly his jam. I'm sure he'll find something with which to blackmail the Blacks into staying quiet."

"You realise it's literally called blackmail because the Blacks invented it?" says Peter.

"Nah," says James, "that was just Sirius pulling your leg in third year."

He throws open the double door to his spacious bedroom and beelines towards the cluttered heap that used to be his desk. "But first," he says. "I'm going to tell Sirius exactly how much of an idiot he is."

"What?" says Peter.

"Got to be here somewhere…" mutters James, working through the mess on his desk, parchment, books, and knick-knacks flying everywhere.

"We're losing time, James," Remus points out, fearing some sort of hare-brained Marauder scheme that is going to take ages to develop and at least three failed attempts before it achieves anything.

"Exactly," says James. "It's happening right now. The moron has literally just left a minute ago. Let's just hope he is only ninety-nine per cent moron. Let's just hope he remembers – A-ha!"

He grabs for an object wedged between a box of owl treats and a stack of scribbled notes, and holds it up triumphantly.

The mirror.

Waving the others closer so they all have a view of the mirror's surface, James looks into it and says "Sirius!"

There's nothing.

For a long, terrifying while, there is absolutely nothing. James's shoulders sag. "That idiot," he moans, staring down the inky blackness in the mirror. "Peter, go find some parchment and a quill in this mess."

"That is entirely your mess," says Peter, but James hushes him. "Sirius!" he says again.

And then, finally, an image of Sirius's face flashes over the mirror as he examines himself in it.

" – thinks it looks absolutely ridiculous." Sirius's voice is as clear as if he were standing here beside them. "What do you think? Should I let it grow out again?"

Remus holds his breath as the Sirius in the mirror winks at them.

"Sirius, you absolute fool." The other voice belongs to Regulus Black. It is fainter, but the shock is clearly audible. "Did I not warn you?"

The mirror goes dark as Sirius puts the mirror away, probably somewhere in his sleeve.

Fortunately, the connection stays live. They can hear various sounds - bubbling, clinking, a muttering house-elf - in what Remus can only assume is the Blacks' kitchen. There's a rustling as Sirius hurries off somewhere, the sounds of steps as someone's following.

"Where is she?" says Sirius.

"Sirius, go back this instant," says Regulus. "I've never seen her so angry. There's no telling what she'll do now –"

"Oh, let me guess. Did she find out you stole my wand back?"

There is a pause. "Yes," says Regulus finally in what Remus thinks is a rather prissy tone. "Though I'd rather hoped you wouldn't. Clearly I overestimated your friends."

"Nah," says Sirius. "As usual, everyone just underestimated me."

In James's bedroom, the friends look at each other. Remus feels for Sirius's wand in his pocket. "How on earth –" he mouths.

"Did she punish you, for helping me?" says Sirius's voice from the mirror.

"I'll have you know that she didn't," says Regulus loftily.

The sound of rushing ceases as Sirius stops in his tracks. "Life lesson, I suppose," he says. "Every prima donna needs a coward." His voice is surprisingly gentle.

Involuntarily, Remus feels his teeth grind. With the Black family, the whole story is usually hidden somewhere in the gaps of what Sirius tells them. So, in a way, Remus should have guessed. After all, Sirius is comparably open about how much he hates his mother, but he never, ever mentions his other parent.

Remus hopes that man hates himself as much as he deserves.

He supposes it's telling, too, that Regulus doesn't even rise to this new insult against their family. "Never you mind," he says. "Leave. She'll just put you under again –"

"I'm armed this time," says Sirius.

Regulus laughs. "I'm not sure that wand qualifies," he says. "Actually, what is that, gooseberry and Pygmy Puff hair?"

"Spruce and Kneazle whisker," mutters Peter under his breath.

"It doesn't need to be impressive, it just needs to get the job done," says Sirius, and that is probably all the sticking up he'll ever do for Peter's wand.

"Says the one wielding fourteen inches on a daily basis," says Regulus, and they can hear the smirk in the soundwaves.

Sirius cracks up. It's the first time Remus ever hears Sirius laugh at something his younger brother said, and of course, he thinks, it has to be wand innuendo, and of course, it has to be at Peter's expense. That's probably why Regulus is doing it: Change the subject, ease the tension, take Sirius's mind off whatever he thinks his mission here is. The kid really is cleverer than they all give him credit for.

Unfortunately, Sirius is still an idiot. "Three times Hogwarts duelling champion. I'll risk it," says Sirius. "Where is she?"

There's a long-suffering sigh. "Your friends may be listening through that god-damned mirror, but they can't help you," says Regulus.

"And you?"

"I won't," says Regulus. "You leave now, and no-one will know you were ever here. You go to her, you're on your own." He pauses, and then a word crosses his lips that Remus wouldn't have expected. "Please," Regulus says. "Sirius, please, just walk away. There is no winning this."

"I can't walk away," snaps Sirius. Apparently, he has noticed it, too, if the tightness in his voice is anything to go by. "Where is she, Regulus?" he repeats.

Regulus exhales, a sound of defeat. "The drawing room," he says, "and may God have mercy on your soul."

"Thank you," says Sirius, and then there's what sounds like thunder as Sirius runs up the staircase.

James looks at his two remaining friends, shrugs, and decides to risk it. "Sirius," he hisses into the mirror. "Sirius, you colossal idiot! Listen to your brother and go."

The thunder stops as, Remus imagines, Sirius ducks down into a corner somewhere.

"The last thing I need right now is disembodied voices from my sleeve," says Sirius very, very quietly. "Shut up and listen or I'll leave the mirror right here in the staircase. Is that clear?"

"Do you know what you're doing?" hisses Remus.

Sirius laughs. "My mother is so used to acting on every single of her whims in the privacy of our house," he says. "Just once, let her insanity be public. Shut up. Listen."

"If she kills you," says James, "we're ditching you and adopting your brother, at least he doesn't have a bag of Every Flavour Beans where his brain's supposed to be." He looks around. "All in favour, I hope."

"If she kills me," says Sirius grimly, "you'd better."

The friends are silent at this, and Sirius apparently takes it as consent to hurry onwards.

Peter, meanwhile, has finally found a piece of crumpled parchment and a battered quill in James's chaos, but now he's just standing there. "She won't, will she?" he says very, very quietly. "Am I going crazy? Did we take a wrong turn into the bloody Middle Ages?"

At this point, no-one is willing to take a bet on whether they are about to witness the ritual sacrifice of their best friend. For a while, there's just noise – Grimmauld Place is many things, and one of those things is that it's ridiculously big on the inside – and then there's silence.

More silence, as they're praying for Sirius to regain his senses. No such luck.

"Well," Sirius says cheerfully. "Here goes nothing."

He takes a deep breath, and actually knocks – and Sirius has never, in all the time that Remus has known him, knocked anywhere, ever. Then a door creaks open and shut.

More silence. And then,

"Lo, the prodigal son returneth home."

Walburga Black's voice, when she's not yelling, is a surprise. As rich and soft as velvet, as cool as water. "I've been expecting you," she adds.

"Of course you have, you ordered me here," says Sirius. "Apologies for taking so long."

"And I forgive you. You were held up, I know," she says, and her voice betrays nothing. "Do you know what this is, Sirius?"

"…That is my name, floating in the air," says Sirius. "May I ask why?"

"I cut it out," says Walburga Black dreamily. "I can put it back. There's still time."

She pauses, and when she resumes speaking, her voice is warmer. "Your dinner's in the oven and Kreacher's straightened up your room. Please don't run from us anymore. Please let me put your name back in the tapestry. Will you do that for me, Sirius?"

She sounds so different from what Remus knows, so desperate, so heart-broken. Not even Sirius finds words to cut through the silence.

"I'll tell you how we'll do it," Walburga says. "We'll leave you to yourself, is that all right? We'll give you time to think things through. When you're ready, we can talk. We'll heal as a family. And then we'll put this summer behind us. No-one will ever have to know you ran away. Does that sound reasonable?"

There's another drawn-out pause, this one full of expectation, and then: "It's all I could hope for, after this summer," says Sirius softly.

At this, James covers the mirror with his hand. "He can't be bloody serious," he hisses softly.

"Unfortunately –" starts Peter, but James shushes him and takes his hand away.

"- all sixteen once," says Walburga with a clipped laugh. "It's a complicated age."

"Yes, well," says Sirius in what Remus identifies as his diplomatic voice, the one he occasionally uses on McGonagall when he wants out of detention. "Of course, my complicated age started when I was eleven. I realise it can't have been easy for you."

It never works on McGonagall, so it's positively startling when it works on Walburga.

"I remember," says Walburga. "So many letters I wrote to that Dumbledore, pleading with him to reconsider the Sorting. It was the longest in Hogwarts history, wasn't it?"

It had been, thought Remus, at least technically, but Sirius had held that particular record for a mere half hour before little Peter came along. Remus himself had almost been a Ravenclaw. Funny how things worked out sometimes.

"I was pleading, too, remember?" says Sirius. He laughs softly. "My first year, I spent whole evenings camped out in front of Dumbledore's office. He never budged."

"Suppose we let this go now," says Walburga. "Perhaps it's best not to dwell on an old hat's silly mistake any longer. At least… at least it's not Hufflepuff."

At that, her son turns serious, all mannerisms gone. "But it wasn't, was it?" he says. "It wasn't a mistake."

"How do you mean?" Walburga, too, has changed her tone. But whereas her son has grown guarded, she has grown cold.

"Gryffindor, home of the brave," Sirius says with a certain amount of derision. "Home of the foolish, as you were right to point out. If there's one thing we don't expect, it's to be cursed when our backs are turned. Had I been a Slytherin, you couldn't have done it."

There is another long, uncomfortable pause and Remus realises he can't hear anything else. No sign of movement. Just mother and son, facing each other in the large, cold drawing room of their family home.

"Had you been a Slytherin, I wouldn't have needed to," says Walburga Black softly. "Look at Regulus. Look how he thrives."

The Sirius they know would probably have pointed out how Regulus is currently thriving in the kitchen of all places, with only Kreacher for company.

"Why, Mother?" Sirius asks. "Why did you do it?"

"My son," she says. "You were struggling so much, I couldn't bear it."

Sirius's disbelief is almost tangible. "You couldn't bear it?"

"Remember the wedding," says Walburga. "You laughed with your brother. You danced with Bella. You congratulated Narcissa and wished her well. You had a cigar with your father, and you had port with me. You were kind to your family, and your family, in turn, was kind to you. How did that make you feel?"

There is another of those long pauses. "Like I'd never been so happy in my life," says Sirius. "Not with my family. Not once since I started Hogwarts."

"And do you see now," says Walburga, "how easy it is? You don't have to struggle. You could have this every day." Her voice breaks. "I did it to show you that you are loved, Sirius. So, so much. By all of us."

Sirius takes a deep breath. It's a sound that shouldn't be full of emotion, but somehow is, and Remus understands something about Sirius that has eluded him so far: How his friend is so starved for affection he'll take a scrap of it and turn it into a lifetime of devoted friendship. How they're probably all very, very lucky they and not the Slytherins got to him first.

"And you couldn't just tell me?" Sirius whispers.

Walburga laughs, and it's a tender noise none of them would have expected. "Since when have you listened to a word I said, my son?"

Sirius seems to consider this. "Point," he concedes.

No-one is saying anything for a long while. Remus is looking over at a dejected James, who looks as if he wants to reach through the mirror and shake his best friend, the boy who once spent twenty-three minutes trying to convince the Sorting Hat to put him into Slytherin.

"May I ask a question, Mother?" says Sirius finally.

"Anything," she replies.

"If you love me, then help me understand this," he says softly. "You starved me for three days. You kept me awake. You had me very nearly run into Father's Floo trap without the keyspell. Was that love, too?"

"I didn't know," says Walburga. It's almost a whisper. "I missed you so much. I couldn't eat. I couldn't sleep. Your brother returned and told me you felt the same, but still, you wouldn't come home. I only wished for you to come home, Sirius."

"Home," he repeats.

Their words hang in the air, like ink in water before it dissipates, twirling, entangling. No, not ink, thinks Remus. Poison.

"Come home to what, Mother?" he says finally. "Another Unforgivable?"

"How could you say that to me?" she says, and now her voice is choking up. "What monster must you think I am? When Regulus told me you knew about the curse, I was devastated. I never meant for you to notice."

She sighs, a long, shuddering sound. "How did you notice, Sirius?" she says. "Where did I first go wrong?"

Remus fully expects Sirius to throw his brother under the proverbial bus, but to his surprise, it doesn't happen.

"Day two. Page twelve," says Sirius calmly.

"Ah," says Walburga.

"The heir of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black turns the heads of more than a few girls of Slytherin house," Sirius quotes. "You'll find a sixteen-year-old boy has a sixth sense for his mother's presence in his head when he's trying to enjoy a snog behind the gazebo."

"I see," says Walburga. All remnants of emotion, fake or otherwise, are gone from her voice.

"Let me be perfectly clear on how fucked up that was," says Sirius conversationally. "I've never been so happy to see Reggie's stupid face in my life as when he crashed that little encounter."

"Language, Sirius," says Walburga. "Of course. The Imperius works best in the direction of your natural… inclinations. You wanted to fit in, so you never suspected a thing. But then I got ambitious. Flirting with girls -"

"Flirting with Slytherins," Sirius corrects her, but there's something in his tone, and the damage is done.

"No," says Walburga. "No, I think it was flirting with girls that did it."

There is a long, poignant pause. Then Sirius sighs.

"You are not one for subtlety, are you, Mother," he says. "That's not what made it fucked up. It was you."

There is a sharp sound that is unmistakeably a slap. No sound from Sirius. Only James is looking murderous.

"I said to watch your language," snaps Walburga.

"I find my use of language perfectly appropriate," says Sirius, disturbingly calm.

"Oh, you would." Walburga laughs bitterly. "I must admit I feared this. Ever since your despicable friend's twisted little remark at King's Cross –"

"Oh, remind me, was that when he said he'd lick whichever part of me he chose?" says Sirius. "That was a joke, Mother. What was twisted was you telling James, in the first place, that he wasn't fit to lick my boots. Who does that?"

"And you have the nerve to stand here," hisses Walburga. "In the house of your forefathers. Depraved. Defiant. Proud. You never meant it, did you? You were never going to make amends."

"Of course not," says Sirius. "You were never going to stop. Not when I'm seventeen. Probably not when I'm dead. You'll just demand and demand -"

"Only what you owe me," scoffs Walburga. "But you were never going to assume your proper place, head the House, marry well, give me grandchildren to spoil. Is that too much to ask?"

"Let me be perfectly clear, Mother," says Sirius. "I wouldn't trust you with a cactus. I certainly wouldn't let any child of mine come within a mile of you."

He pauses for effect. "I am done here, Mother," he says finally. "They don't call them Unforgivable for nothing."

They hear the door opening again, but Walburga isn't done with him yet.

"Which one is it?" she hisses after him. "Is it the Pureblood turncoat? I do hope it's the Pureblood at least. Or that defective mutt with the worm-eaten wand? Or is it the scarred one, frankly I don't even know what that young man is –"

There is a very eloquent pause. James, Remus, and Peter all look at each other. But of course, Sirius has no obligation to satisfy their curiosity in front of his mother. Whatever his response to that one is, it's non-verbal.

But effective. "I gave you life," screeches Walburga.

"And I am returning to it, Mother," says Sirius. "Enjoy your parting shots. Goodbye." There's the sound of creaking floorboards as he turns, once again, to leave. While Walburga talks herself into a rage in the background, James covers the mirror with his hand again.

"Did you guys know?" whispers Peter. "That he's, you know…"

"I… had a feeling," Remus says weakly.

"I knew," says James. Peter and Remus both stare at him.

"What? I had Moony here figured out in six months," he says. "I was just too polite to say something until the rest of you morons caught up."

"Vermin, befouling the house of my ancestors –"

At least, with all the screaming they don't have to worry they're being overheard.

"Well, I for one am completely flabbergasted," says Peter. "How did you guess, James?"

"He thinks Lily Evans is plain," says James proudly. "He said so in fourth year."

"James," Remus says with some exasperation. "Just because someone has enough self-preservation to not appear overly interested in Lily Evans while you're present doesn't mean they're gay."

"Degenerate, unnatural –"

"Current events would suggest I was right about this," says James with a shrug. "How did you guess, Moony?"

"I," says Remus. "There were subtle… signs."

"Like what?" says Peter.

Like Sirius kissing me full on the mouth in the middle of the night, I suppose that'll tip anyone off, thinks Remus, but his friends have probably had enough revelations for one day and in any case, he is still processing that one.

He improvises instead. "Really now, the leather jacket?" he says.

"Besmirching the name of this family –"

"I want a leather jacket," says James, slightly panicky.

"And I'm sure Evans will admire it," says Remus in a soothing voice. "Come on. It's obvious if you know what to look for. Have you not noticed how he eats Jammie Dodgers?"

"By inserting them into his face? I don't know, Moony," says James. "The only one here who eats biscuits weird is you."

"Subtle signs, is all I'm saying."

"Like, you disassemble and admire each one individually?" says James obliviously. "And you don't even care whether you're dunking a digestive or a custard cream into your tea?"

"Excuse me, I just really like biscuits of all kinds," says Remus, thinks this through, and cringes.

"Back to the topic on hand," says James, who, bless him, has not realised that they are, in fact, still on topic. "If either of you wankers have a problem with Sirius, you can say sayonara to me, too. Is that understood?"

Remus rolls his eyes. "I may be repeating myself here," he says, "but are you fucking kidding me right now?"

"Disgrace! Shame!"

James snorts. "Frankly, Mrs Black doesn't even know what you are, young man, but you're lucky your friends don't seem to mind –"

They look at Peter.

"For five years that moron's been fucking talking in his sleep," says Peter, "and this is what I'm supposed to have a problem with? Screw you both, seriously."

"Good boys," says James. He removes his hand from the mirror.

The situation seems to have escalated a bit in the meantime.

"I'll burn you! I'll burn you right out of - "

"Protego," shouts Sirius. He's laughing. He also appears to be running. "Three times Hogwarts duelling champion, Mother."

"You leave through that fireplace," hisses Walburga Black, "and you will never set foot in this house again."

"Promise?" says Sirius.

"Downstairs," hisses James, and they're hurrying down, James still holding on to the mirror, and into the living room.

On the stairs, Peter is tugging at Remus's sleeve. "What?"

The grin on Peter's face is surprisingly sly. "Want me to explain the biscuit thing to James?"

"I'm sure he'll figure it out eventually," says Remus, as they're hurrying downstairs. "Just give him a couple of years -"

"Decades –"

By the time they're in the downstairs corridor, the shouting has stopped. Something has interrupted Walburga's tirades, thinks Remus, but what? All that comes from Sirius's mother now is a sigh, a sound of defeat.

"Sirius, wait," says Walburga finally. "It gets cold in the night."

"… What?" Sirius sounds as surprised as Remus is.

"Allow a mother," and her voice actually breaks, "this last indulgence. Kreacher, bring Sirius's travelling cloak."

There's a crack on the other side of the mirror as Kreacher Disapparates from the kitchen.

"Mother," says a different voice. Oh, thinks Remus. That must be it. Regulus had been in the kitchen when Sirius had arrived, and he's still there. Walburga, of course, is acting the broken-hearted mother for the benefit of her younger son, who, by the sound of it, has scrambled up to comfort her.

"Are you serious, Mother?" says Sirius incredulously.

"Those things of Potter's don't fit you well," comes her muffled voice. "Look at the state of you. That leather jacket. Disgraceful!"

"No, seriously?" repeats Sirius. "What happened to I'll burn you?"

"Oh, Sirius," she sniffs. "I meant the tapestry. You didn't think -"

"Master Sirius's travelling cloak," snarls a voice that can only be Kreacher.

Sirius is laughing like he can't stop. "I hope you're taking notes, Regulus," he says. "Goodbye."

They fall into the Potters' living room now, James, and Remus and Peter. Green flames rise in the fireplace, and Sirius emerges, still laughing, clutching his expensive bespoke travelling cloak.

No-one really has anything to say for a moment.

"I would check that for curses, if I were you," says Remus finally, and Sirius turns on the spot, chucks the cloak into the fireplace, and incinerates it with a flick of Peter's wand.

"Did you hear that?" he says. "Did you bloody hear that?"

James grin covers his whole face. "Mistress gave Sirius clothes!" he intones. "Sirius is freeee!"

James is so amused by his own joke, and probably by the sheer relief they're all feeling, that he's positively cracking up. As usual, it's infectious.

Only when Sirius turns to them, he looks suddenly unsure of himself, which is not a look that settles on his face often.

James manages to stop laughing for a moment. "Don't worry, they're cool," he says. "We discussed this and we decided we don't care how you eat your biscuits."

"Or who you eat them with," Peter mutters under his breath.

"Biscuits?" says Sirius.

"An unfortunate metaphor," says Remus.

"For?"

"Uh – "

"You know how James only ever craves ginger snaps, but they don't agree with him?" says Peter, who is clearly having way too much fun with this.

"What? Literally none of that is true!" says James.

"Anyway, that sort of metaphor," says Peter.

"Ah," says Sirius.

James is beaming. "I read the signs, man."

"He really didn't," says Remus. "But his heart's in the right place."

"Seriously, though, biscuits? How in blazes did that one come about?" says Sirius. He is quite obviously so confused, he's forgotten to be worried.

"Haven't got the faintest," says James. "Don't stress yourself out, though, I laid down the law."

Then James pounces, pulling Sirius into a tight hug and burying him in expletives, telling him in no uncertain words that he is a moron and he shouldn't ever have gone back and what was he thinking.

"God damn it, Potter," says Sirius, eventually extricating himself from the temporary boy symbiosis. "I've only been disowned for about three minutes, I'm not looking to replace my mum just yet."

Remus thinks it through – recent revelations, last night's confused kissing, Sirius still looking more than a bit peaky – and gives him a more careful hug, which Sirius returns just as cautiously.

Then Sirius turns to Peter and has the good grace to look guilty for a moment.

"Sorry, Wormy," he says. "I didn't mean to hit you quite so hard."

Peter shrugs. "I let you win."

Sirius holds out the wand for Peter. "Thanks for letting me borrow this," he says. "Don't ever let anyone give you shit about your wand. It's… ah… perfectly adequate."

"You're the wand expert, of course," Peter says saltily. "Tosser." Then relief spreads across his face like a wildfire, and he hugs Sirius, too.

Then James, who is utterly unable to get rid of the huge grin on his face, hugs them all, smushes them together like a big Marauder heap.

"That's," says Sirius, who seems to have trouble breathing through all the attention. "That's quite enough, we're British."

Then James turns towards his father, who, Remus realises, has been sitting in an armchair trying to read the newspaper, and now just sits there in quiet confusion.

"Oy, Dad," he says. "Sirius is living with us now, is that okay?"


To be continued.