Stages

Disclaimer: J K Rowling owns Harry Potter. Not me.

A/N – Hello everyone, I'm here with the next chapter! A little cautionary advice to you all: I had to stop and take a moment myself while writing the final scene, so perhaps get those tissues ready? You have been warned. Alrighty then, enjoy as much as possible and do hit me with some feedback, yes? :)

"Wotcher, Moony. Long-time no see. Let's chat."


Chapter Nine: Like an Ally


Remus Lupin loves Hermione Granger.

The father of her daughter stands in front of him, and Remus looks at him for a long time before he slowly lowers his wand. Sirius is a sight. More skin and bone than actual flesh, his tattoos stand out starkly on the too pale chest revealed by the unbuttoned collar of his prison regulation shirt. His robes are caked with dirt, his trousers in tatters, and his eyes glitter strangely from within the long, unhealthily sharp plains of his ruined face. And although this isn't the first time Remus has seen him since he escaped Azkaban, it's the first time he sees him.

Sirius spent twelve years in Azkaban for a crime he didn't commit. It definitely shows.

"Are you hungry?" he asks in a gruff voice, moving towards the kitchen. Sirius's head cocks to the side, his smirk stamped firmly in place. His eyes still have that weird intensity to them that has Remus's stomach in knots.

"'Course I am, but you ain't got any food, Moony. I've checked already."

"I've got something," Remus mutters. He slides past Sirius and heads towards the icebox, digging around in the back until he finds what he's looking for. Sitting it on the bench, he defrosts it with a tap of his wand, and five minutes later the sizzle of frying meat fills the room.

Neither man say a word as the steaks cook. Remus concentrates on the pan, and he can feel Sirius watching him. He's standing in the doorway, again leaning against the wall, and the werewolf takes note of his posture out the corner of his eye. The sight draws a frown, because there's something brittle in the way Sirius is standing; something fragile, and Remus isn't sure if that's a symptom of his wasted physique, or if the way he's feeling is being reflected in the movements of his body.

Both, most likely. Either way, Remus doesn't like it.

"Sit," he says when he turns with plate in hand, and for the first time the fake smirk shifts, a small grin taking its place.

"Woof," Sirius replies, but he sits at the island bar and snatches the plate from Remus, ignoring the knife and fork to pick the piping hot steaks up in his hands and tear the meat to pieces with his teeth. He eats like a man starved.

That's what he is.

"What are you doing here?" Remus asks quietly, turning back from watching out the window when the noisy chewing and swallowing stops. He can't watch Sirius eat. It makes it too hard to breathe.

"As I said, we need to have a chat."

"Is it important enough to get yourself caught over? You know that this'll be one of the first places they'll look."

"It is indeed, Moony old boy," Sirius answers, his glittering eyes now back on Remus. He gets to his feet. "You know it is."

Remus grimaces. Yeah, he knows. "I'm sure it can wait until after you've had a shower and changed those godawful clothes. No offence, Padfoot, but you reek."

The smirk slithers back into place and Sirius nods, once, a single dip of his head. "Fine. But enough with the procrastinating, Remus. We are talking when I come back." He leaves the room in an awkward combination of a stride and a hobble, and it's incredibly empty once he's gone. Remus carefully releases the painful burst of air stuck in his lungs and begins cleaning up the dishes. Then, using activity as a way not to think, he fetches a change of clothes for Sirius and quietly sits them on the toilet seat before exiting the steamy room, all the while pretending he doesn't hear the broken little noises from the naked man standing in the bathtub under a blistering hot spray, and goes about rebuilding the wards and making the house habitable.

So much dust. It settles everywhere.

He's only half done an hour later when the bathroom door opens and closes and Sirius is watching him again, still looking a lot worse for wear but at least now clean. Remus is silent when he waves towards the couch, and Sirius is silent when he sits.

"What do you want to talk about?" Remus asks eventually, and Sirius's barking laugh suddenly fills the choking silence. It borders on hysterical.

"Oh, I don't know, Moony. Everything? What you've been up to for thirteen years? Prongs? Fucking Wormtail?" He leans forward, eyes boring into Remus's. "The little girl that helped Harry rescue me? Wanna tell me about her, huh?"

The shock freezes his lungs. Swallowing so hard it's audible, Remus whispers, "it's not my place to tell you about her."

"Then whose is it? Her mother's?" Sirius demands, then gets up and prowls through the room, hands tugging at his hair. "Where is she? Where's Hermione? I thought you two were glued at the hip? Where the fuck is that girl's mother, Remus?"

"She isn't here obviously!"

"Then you need to get her fucking here, right fucking now!"

"I don't need to do anything until you calm the hell down!" Remus snaps, rising to his own feet. "If you think for one second that I'm bringing Hermione here while you're like this-"

"Like what, Moony?" Sirius barks back, rounding on him, "royally pissed off about the fact that I might just have a daughter that I knew nothing about, and that nobody, not even you, took the time to make my life in that place a little brighter by letting me in on a secret that I had the right to know from the very beginning?!"

The acknowledge of it, the actual words instead of hints and thoughts and whispers, deflates them both. Remus sinks back down onto the couch, falling against the back with a sigh. Sirius sits where he is, back against the wall, knees up. His head finds his hands.

There's silence again.

"I didn't know," Remus murmurs after a while, and he senses more than sees Sirius lift his head to look at him. "I didn't know about Ella until last year, when she started Hogwarts. Hermione and I… we haven't been in each other's lives. We aren't… close anymore."

"Ella," Sirius chokes out, eye wide, before swallowing hard and saying, "why the hell not? You two are as thick as thieves!"

"Not anymore," Remus mutters. "It's a long story."

"I've got time, don't I?" Sirius argues with a frown. "It must have been something big, to split you two apart. You were always the other half of each other's whole."

Startled by the comment, Remus blinks rapidly, then scowls and shakes his head. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Right," Sirius says, eyeing him. There's a heavy pause. "You should still get her here. And… Ella."

"Not Ella," Remus immediately answers, pointing at Sirius when his lips peel back in a look that's almost vicious, "and that's the reason right there. You aren't ready to see Ella. You need to speak to Hermione first, and you need to get your head on straight. She's twelve years old, Padfoot. Let's at least try and give her a decent first impression, yeah?"

"So contact Hermione then!" Sirius growls, and Remus's jaw is tight as he gets up and heads to the floo. Sticking his head in, he's soon looking into a compact, comfortable looking office, bookshelf ceiling high, the desk neat as a pin. Thick, dark carpet lines the floor and over in the corner sits a Victorian chaise lounge, a book closed and resting on the smoked glass coffee table by its head, ready and waiting to be picked up again. A decanter filled with amber liquid sits on a handled wooden platter next to it, its tumbler neatly at its side.

The room is such a mixture of the Hermione he grew up with and the Hermione he doesn't know anymore, it made his heart ache. He has to clear his throat before he can speak.

"Hermione? Are you home?"

"Remus?" comes the surprised answer from behind the closed door, so soon after his call that he figures her wards let her know someone was fire-calling. The door opens and Hermione walks into the room. "I wasn't expecting to hear from you so soon. Is everything all right?"

"Yeah, it's fine, but can you come over?" Remus asks, hiding how unsettled the somewhat polite, you're-only-my-associate type of greeting makes him feel. They really are that far gone. "Um, I have a guest who would really like to speak to you. It's important."

Comprehension dawns in Hermione's eyes, and apprehension, uneasiness and fear are quick chasers. She swallows thickly. "I'm not bringing her with me."

"I don't expect you to," Remus replies, before hesitating briefly then saying, "neither does he."

Hermione's lips press together and she nods. "All right. Just… just give me a while to sort out a babysitter, okay? I'll be there as soon as I can."

"Floo's open," Remus says, then stops her with a soft call of her name when she turns back towards the door with nerves twisting through the lines of her face. Hermione looks at him and Remus smiles gently. "It'll be all right, you know. Everything will turn out fine." I'll be there the entire time, he thinks but doesn't say, and maybe she hears it anyway, because her shoulders relax somewhat.

Her smile reminds him of years long past. There's always hope.

"See you soon," she says, and Remus nods and retreats back through the floo, turning to find Sirius's eyes fixed on him.

"She's coming. Just organizing a babysitter. I figure she'll use her next door neighbour. Ella's familiar with her, since that's who looks after Harry when needed. Want a drink?"

Getting up, Remus heads to the kitchen and the cabinet above the sink, where he knows is an old, rather dusty bottle of firewhiskey. He's glad for the excuse because he's verging on babbling and it's strange. He's nervous.

Why is he nervous? He's not the one Sirius needs to speak to.

"Speaking of Harry, you've time to tell me about him then."

Ah. That's why.

His heart slams when Remus steps back into the room, the firewhiskey still unopened in the kitchen. His throat is closed and it's hard to get words out. He doesn't want to talk about Harry but there isn't a choice. "What do you want to know?" he asks, silently terrified of the answer, because whatever it is, he knows he won't be able to answer it.

He doesn't know Harry. Not like he should.

Sirius is rightfully going to blow a gasket.

"Everything. I sent him a letter on the train, but that, the tunnel and the rescue's the only communication I've had with him. It isn't enough. What's his favourite colour? Favourite food? It used to be bread-and-butter pudding, has that changed? Is he more like Lily or James? He's like James, isn't he? What was his first piece of accidental magic? He's brilliant at Quidditch, how old was he when he first flew? Did you teach him? He had to have learnt from someone, and I know flying isn't your thing, but you're loads better at it than you think… Remus, mate, why do you look like Minnie's used you as a favoured scratching post?"

The guilt claws at him and Sirius's eyes are narrowed, worry and an achingly familiar suspicion chasing away the eager puppy look that lit his bony face. He slowly gets to his feet, calves, then thighs, then torso, then neck stretching up, and Remus's chest hurts, and he can't take it. He needs to speak.

"Moony? What's going on?"

"I wasn't there," Remus mutters, eyes dropping to the floor. His throat opening all of a sudden makes the words pour out, louder with every sentence. "I don't know what his first bit of accidental magic was because I only met him when I started teaching at Hogwarts. I never saw him, never checked on him or made myself a part of his life, after he went to live with his relatives. I ignored him, him and Hermione, and Ella as a result, and he grew up with people who hate what he is. He grew up unhappy and I never did anything to change that. Hermione went after him but I didn't, and all three of them went twelve years without a word from me. I hate that. I hate it. I'll so sorry for it, and I'll regret it for the rest of my life, I swear I will."

The significant pause that follows vibrates with tension. "You… weren't there for him?" asks Sirius finally, in a much too calm voice. Remus swallows hard and goes to answer, but Sirius speaks right over top of him.

His voice is dangerously even. Remus's head snaps up.

"You weren't there for him, Moony? You abandoned James's son when he needed you most? When I was locked up in that hellhole for something I didn't do, you turned tail and ran like a fucking coward? When you were the only thing he had left, when everyone who was familiar and comfortable, who loved him, was gone, you left him alone?"

Every word is a shaft, and Remus's lips are numb. "He had Hermione," he whispers even though he knows that Hermione hadn't moved into the area until Ella was a toddler. Sirius sneers, and the wild anger the calmness hides peeks through.

"Oh yes, he had Hermione, the girl who was pregnant and then had her own kid to concentrate on. He needed undivided attention, Remus. Why didn't you give that to him? Are you that selfish and self-centred? Do you feel so fucking sorry for yourself that you can't comprehend anyone having bigger, greater needs than you do?"

"No!" Remus bursts out, "it wasn't like that at all!"

"Then what was it like, Moony?" Sirius demands, taking a deliberate step towards him. "He was just a kid! A fucking baby! How could you leave him to face an unknown world alone?!"

His own anger takes Remus by surprise and he's advancing on Sirius, drilling a finger into his chest, before he can think that maybe retaliating might not be such a good idea. "Don't you dare talk about leaving Harry on his own, you right royal hypocrite! You're the one who got yourself locked up in Azkaban his entire childhood!"

"And you're the one who believed I was a traitor and a cold blooded murderer!" Sirius spits back, grabbing his hand and tossing it aside. The change in subject is fluid and isn't contested by either man. "He's my best mate! I'd never betray him like that!"

Alarm bells go off in Remus's mind, but he's too pissed to pay them much attention. "Oh, so I would? Wasn't there a time that you believed I was on Voldemort's side? He was my friend too, Padfoot, as was Lily! They're dead, nothing's ever going to change that, and you're only angry because you feel just as goddamn guilty as I do that you didn't see it was fucking Peter in time to guarantee Harry didn't grow up an unwanted orphan!"

Sirius's answer is a roar of fury and he lunges at Remus in a move so sudden that it catches the werewolf off guard. They tumble backwards and crash through the wooden coffee table, hitting the floor in a tangle of grunting and swearing and anger, and Remus struggles, trying the buck the enraged man off of him. It takes longer than he expects because Sirius is fuelled by adrenalin and severe emotions, but eventually he's straddling the taller man, using his arms and legs to pin him down.

"I'm a werewolf, you wanker," Remus snaps as Sirius squirms, "you can't ever think you'll best me."

"You're yellow-bellied is what you are," Sirius snarls, then somehow manages to get his arm free and plough his fist straight into Remus's stomach. Remus gasps as his breath flees, arms instinctively wrapping around his abdomen, and Sirius shoves him off aggressively and scrambles to his feet, dragging Remus up by his collar. He punches Remus twice in the face before the wizard gets his wits about him.

Catching the next fist in his hand, Remus scowls and clouts Sirius right across the jaw, making sure not to put his full strength behind the punch. His old mate drops like a rock, staying down for a full minute before he staggers to his feet.

"Don't!" Remus hisses, but Sirius is already growling and throwing himself forward. Remus bares his teeth and his legs bunch.

"Immobulus!"

Neither man hears the floo activate, but they certainly feel the spell as it splits in two and hits them, freezing them both in place. Hermione strides into view with a face like thunder.

"Are you fucking kidding me? Brawling like a couple of pub-hopping drunks? Are you two full grown adults or spoilt children? What's wrong with you? I would've expected this when we still in school but not now! Get your heads out of your arses and start acting like your maturity matches your years, or so help me Merlin, this stupid, moronic punch-up will seem like a walk in the park compared to what I've got in store!"

She glares at them both, one after the other, and Remus would've hung his head if he could move. Her lips a tight line, Hermione huffs in irritation and raises her wand, muttering the counter curse, and once again the spell splits. Remus and Sirius topple to the floor.

"Where did you learn to split it like that?" Remus's mouth asks against his brain's better judgement as he gets to his feet, eyes on the witch. Her chocolate gaze shoots darts back at him as a reply, and she huffs a second time, spins on her heels and stomps out of the room and down the hallway.

Both men cringe when Remus's bedroom door slams.

"Good luck talking to her, mate," Remus jokes as he turns back to Sirius, and the air is suddenly back to being tight as a bowstring. Straightening to full height, the two wizard's watch each other with wary expressions.

Sirius breaks first. "Damn it, Moony, you're a bloody werewolf, you couldn't have gone easy on me?" he winces, hand lifting to finger his already darkening jaw. Remus smirks slightly.

"I did," he says and Sirius's laughter is strained. "Besides, you got a couple of good ones in. Am I bleeding? I think I'm bleeding."

"Nah, you're not. Well, maybe a little. You'll survive."

Remus swallows, internally grimacing at the taste of copper. "Yeah, I will," he says quietly, and it takes a considerable amount of courage to walk over to Sirius and hold out his hand. "Bygones be bygones?"

The hesitation is brief but it's there. Remus feels that split second in his bones. "Bygones be bygones," Sirius agrees gruffly, taking Remus's hand and jerking him forward into a hard embrace. Something inside Remus unclenches as Sirius steps back. The dark-haired wizard's smile is weak, and he breathes out a rough breath.

"Right. Time to face the dragon."

Remus chuckles softly. "Have fun with that."

"Yeah, well, I'm the one who's got the right to be irate, don't I?"

He's heading back towards the bedroom before Remus can reply. The door only clicks closed this time and Remus is now alone in the main room.

He's alone, but knowing the loaded conversation about to take place in another part of the house, he's not alone enough, so he escapes through the front door and makes his way around to the back section. And for seventy-three minutes, he sits on the broken swing on his back porch overlooking his weedy, overgrown backyard, a part of his brain insisting on counting the time passing while another part frets about the conversation going on inside. The murmur of voices is constant in the background, the volume occasionally rising to shouting and then dying back down again. Remus scowls in distress when the shouting starts, his foot tapping, knee jumping, but he can't leave, even when he seesaws between wanting to leave for his own sake and needing to stay for theirs.

As the time creeps up on the hour and strides confidently past it, those alarm bells and the reason for them surface again. The exhausted werewolf frowns as his mind turns over.

Sirius had used present tense during their fight, as if the Potters were still alive, and that fact worries Remus. He doesn't know if it was just something in the moment, a reflex caused by anger, or something deeper and much less healthy, and he's chewing over it when the backdoor opens. He looks up.

"Are you all right?" he asks as Hermione takes a seat beside him. The swing creaks ominously but stays together, and Hermione wipes swollen eyes, cheeks puffy and wet.

"Not really. It's hard, Remus. I didn't think it would be this hard. He's in the kitchen raiding the bottle of firewhiskey he found on the bench. He's just so… he's different. I can't say I like how different he is."

"Azkaban isn't a nice place to live," Remus murmurs, eyes on the patchy, jungle-like grass. Hermione sighs.

"No. No, it's not. He's stuck on the thought that I should've gone there and told him about Ella. Never mind that I didn't want the man I'd thought murdered my best friend knowing I was carrying his child. I honestly don't know if I got through to him, and I'm not entirely sure what to do next."

They sit for a bit before Remus speaks again, and he can tell the instant he asks the question that makes the witch uncomfortable. "Are you going to let him meet her?"

Hermione sighs again. "Not… not yet," she hedges, face twisted. "He needs to settle some, you know? Be the Sirius Black we grew up with again, if that's even possible. Meeting her when he's so… I have to think of her. She's the main priority. I won't let my daughter get hurt, Remus."

The werewolf sucks in a heady breath, the beginnings of an idea forming gradually into a solid and hopefully helpful plan. He doesn't know if it's truly a good idea or not, and he turns to Hermione, nerves buzzing in his gut. Her face pales just a touch when he explains it to her.

Still, her nod is decisive.

"If you think it'll work, then let's do it," she says, and Remus's eyes close.

~0~

The sun shines brightly as they appear on the grassy bank at the woodland's edge, the air-renting sound of apparition fading in their wake. Birds chirp in the treetops around them and a warm breeze blows, hitting them head on, making them squint against the dust in their faces. A church stands far across the way, and Remus quickly casts a disillusionment and a silencing charm as Sirius peers around, Hermione at his side.

He sees the exact moment Sirius realizes where they are.

In a jarringly abrupt shift of emotions, the Black heir's face splinters. It's like watching a mirror break, the cracks creeping across the surface, a spider's web of pain and panic and denial. His eyes wheel to Remus and he shakes his head, almost violently. His skin is chalky.

Just looking at him makes it hard to breathe, but they have to do this. He needs it.

They both do.

"Why are we here? I don't to be here! We can't… not here! Can we go back to your place, Remus, I can't… I can't. Not here. I don't want to, I can't. I can't!"

"Yes you can," Remus says with absolute conviction, and his heart feels pulverized when he and Hermione flank the wizard, the werewolf's clasp gentle on Sirius's arm. Sirius growls and tries to jerk away, but unlike earlier, when he'd pulled his punches, Remus's doesn't let him escape. More panic invades Sirius's eyes and a sweat breaks out on his brow.

With the agitated animagus rigid and resisting every step of the way, they move out of the shadow of the trees and make their way into the cemetery.

Remus has been here before. Not often, and certainly not when the graves were fresh, the soil not yet settled. He didn't go to the funeral because he was being flayed apart enough as it was. It was too close and too new, and the crowd who attended were strangers, the people he actually knew nothing more than acquaintances, and he just couldn't. Not then. But he went to them later, months later, when he felt just a little more stable, and although it had been horrifically painful, seeing where they rested had ultimately helped.

Sirius needs their help. He needs James's help. So there's only one thing for it.

By the time they reached the two headstones, Sirius has stopped fighting to get away. Instead, his head is turned, neck twisted, eyes squeezed shut, trembling body craned towards the opposite direction. He stays like that when they stop and Remus lets go of his arm, deliberately not looking at the graves, as if not seeing them will make them not exist.

Remus knows he needs to acknowledge their existence, but he also knows that forcing him could backfire. He's already taken too much of a chance by bringing Sirius here in the first place, even if it is in his best interests. So instead of dragging him around and making him look, Remus drops to his knees, eyes on the words carved in stone.

They'll always be carved in stone.

"I'm sorry I haven't been around recently," he murmurs, voice thick, fingers playing across the James and then the Lily. His chest is tight. So very tight. "Things have happened as you know, things that shouldn't have happened, but the truth has come out now. I can't promise that everything will be okay, but I think it's going to be better. I hope it'll be better. Harry is magnificent and I'm going to do what I should have done from the very beginning. That I can promise. You don't have to be ashamed of me any longer, because he's going to be happy from now on. I'll do everything in my power to make sure of it."

Fingers card through his hair, and his witch, the witch that has always been his in one way or another, burrows under his arm and wraps her own around his torso. Her head rests on his shoulder and tears pour silently down her cheeks, a cascade that's endless from dark, destroyed eyes locked on the weather-roughened markers. Her body shudders and he presses his lips to her hair, breath clogged in his lungs.

There's a keening whimper from above them, and Remus looks up just in time to see those cracks in the mirror shatter. At some point his best mate has turned towards the headstones, and Remus watches Sirius's body collapse, his spine disintegrating. He falls in pieces onto the grass next to them, and great sobs shake what's left, fragmented and physically painful, from deep within him. His hair is hanging over his face, his arms are hanging uselessly at his sides, and there's an earthquake in his body, shaking it hard enough to make it look like he's having convulsions. His crying is so severe, he sounds like a wounded animal.

Which fits because that's exactly what he is.

Remus doesn't even think about it. He detangles himself from Hermione and gathers the man up in his arms, cradling him in his lap. Sirius clings to him, grief seemingly shredding his very soul, and Remus sits with no words and rocks him, Hermione sniffing and pressed into his side with her hand on Sirius's back.

They sit there, each flailing within their own private hell, long after the sun goes down.