29 June 1995
Remus was not surprised when he opened his front door one Thursday evening in late-June to find Sirius Black leaning heavily against the door jamb, panting. He was even less surprised when Sirius greeted him with just two words, spoken grimly: "He's back."
What did surprise him was how utterly wretched his friend looked—worse than the last time Remus had seen him, more than a year ago at Hogwarts. His hair was more knotted than ever, his skin dirty and badly scratched in several places, his tattered clothes practically hanging off his bones. In the year that had elapsed since Sirius had escaped the Ministry's clutches for a second time, he had spent most of it hiding on the outskirts of Hogsmeade, surviving on rodents, just so he could be close to his godson. Others might have found this ludicrous, but Remus had not been the least bit surprised to learn of it; to Sirius, loyalty had always been a bigger priority than safety.
Wordlessly, Remus stepped aside, making room for Sirius to enter the old Yorkshire cottage. And with a quick, backward glance over his shoulder at his surroundings, Sirius slipped inside.
Remus shut the door, following his friend into the sitting room. Sirius was looking around at the small, shabby home with interest. And despite the fact that Sirius was scruffier and more unkempt than Remus had ever looked himself, Remus found himself suddenly self-conscious. His Yorkshire home was not much—and certainly not pretty—but it was a consistent roof over Remus's head, and he had gotten by with much less in the past.
"Erm," he cleared his throat, and Sirius turned to look at him. "Can I get you anything to eat? Or some tea, maybe?"
"Both," Sirius said immediately, eyes lighting up. "Please. If—if you've got some ready, of course. Otherwise, don't bother."
Remus raised his eyebrows, mildly surprised. This was not the Sirius he remembered; the Sirius he had known would drop by Remus's flat just to eat his food.
"I've got some onion soup," Remus said, as he led the way into the cottage's small kitchen. "Left over from a few days ago. Dumbledore wrote me saying to expect you, but he didn't say when."
"Yeah, well, there were a few others I needed to contact before coming here," Sirius said, taking a seat at the kitchen table, while Remus poured a few generous ladles of soup into a bowl and cast a Warming Charm over it. "Emmeline Vance, Mundungus Fletcher, Sturgis, Dedalus…you remember the old lot."
Remus looked up from the bowl of soup he was now preparing for himself and met Sirius's gaze. They stared at each other for a moment, and Remus knew they were thinking the same thing. It was starting up again—the Order, war, danger, and all the secrecy that came with it all. A whole new generation was going to grow up thinking that the deaths and disappearances of family and friends were commonplace events, just as they had.
Remus closed his eyes for a moment. Then, swallowing, he looked across the kitchen table at Sirius again. His friend had already downed the entire cup of tea Remus had poured him, and was now attacking his bowl of soup quite viciously. Catching Remus's eye, he gave an apologetic, crooked grin, then forced himself to slow down with visible effort. Remus's heart gave a twinge.
"So," Sirius said, between mouthfuls of soup. "What've you been up to here in Yorkshire?"
Remus shrugged, averting his gaze from Sirius's. "This is where I was living before I started at Hogwarts," he said. "I substitute for Muggle teachers down in the village when they take ill."
"Dumbledore told me last year why you resigned," Sirius said, his expression darkening. "Another reason I'm never going to trust that slimy greaseball, no matter what the headmaster says. Harry could have really used having you as a professor this year, with that bloody tournament and all—not to mention that his actual Defense professor turned out to be an effing Death Eater."
Remus winced, his stomach clenching. In his letter, Dumbledore had filled him in on the details of what had happened with Harry this year—particularly during the Third Task—but hearing Sirius say it so bluntly was jarring nonetheless. Especially considering that one year ago, Remus had believed Sirius to be a Death Eater, too…
Remus shook himself out of these thoughts and looked up to find Sirius eyeing him searchingly.
"Sorry," Sirius said. "I didn't mean to be abrasive—"
"It's fine," Remus said quickly, climbing to his feet. "Er—did you want to take a shower before bed?"
Sirius looked down at his mangy, dirt-splattered self, and let out a bark of laughter. "Don't look too spiffy at the moment, do I?"
"You've had spiffier days, I reckon," Remus said, half-smiling.
He showed Sirius out of the kitchen and down the hall to the cottage's singular bathroom, with its slightly begrimed tiles and rusty faucets. Sirius gazed at the shower for a long moment, his expression unreadable, and Remus swallowed, feeling uncomfortable again. "I know it isn't perfect," he said quietly. "But there's clean water—"
"Are you mad?" Sirius exclaimed, looking at Remus incredulously. "Have you any idea how long it's been since I've had a proper shower? Cleansing charms can only do so much."
Remus stared at him, floored yet again by this new, highly un-snobbish version of his old friend. Clearly, Remus wasn't the only one who was an expert at getting by with little to nothing anymore.
By the time Sirius emerged from the loo wearing a pair of Remus's threadbare pajamas, his skin scrubbed clean and his hair freshly trimmed, Remus had finished transfiguring the sitting room couch into a mostly comfortable-looking cot. Sirius looked at the cot with poorly masked longing, his eyes drooping at the very sight. Remus's heart clenched with sympathy; just thinking about how many miles Sirius must have traveled in the last two years was exhausting.
"Bedtime, I think," Remus said briskly, patting the cot. "Just a warning, the sitting room window sometimes creaks in the wind, so if you hear it at night, don't be alarmed. Also, I tried to make the bed as soft as I could, but there are extra pillows in the hall closet if you—"
"Remus," Sirius interrupted. "This is brilliant. Thank you. I mean it."
"I—" Remus blinked. "Of course."
There was a small, awkward pause, as Remus and Sirius looked at each other. A hug seemed like too much, but a handshake was far too formal. It was depressing to think that, just over a decade ago, they had been so comfortable and familiar that these kinds of interactions would have come without thought. For all Remus knew, that could have been a whole lifetime ago.
"Well," Sirius said finally, clapping Remus's shoulder. "I'll see you in the morning? Hopefully, we'll hear from Dumbledore about next steps by then."
"Right," Remus nodded. "Sleep well. Let me know if you need anything else."
"I'll be fine," Sirius promised. "'Night, Moony."
Remus's heart gave a pang at the old nickname. He smiled at Sirius. "Goodnight."
When Remus walked into the sitting room the next day, already freshened up and dressed for work, it was to find an enormous black dog snoring on the cot where last he'd seen a man. Remus almost laughed out loud at the sight, transported back to his Hogwarts days.
More so than either James or Peter, Sirius had always spent a significant amount of time in his Animagus form. It was something of a coping mechanism, Remus had come to understand—whenever Sirius was feeling particularly anxious, angry, or emotional, he found solace in the simpler mind of his canine self. It had happened frequently during exam seasons, or after he'd received disturbing news about family. And of course, there were the Christmas holidays of their fifth year, after Sirius had played that wicked prank on Snape and run away from home, within days of each other. Remus had scarcely seen Sirius in human form for weeks afterward.
Remus sighed, feeling quite regretful about having to wake Sirius up when he looked so peaceful. Nonetheless, he crouched down beside the cot and gently scratched the dog's ears. "Padfoot. Padfoot, wake up."
The dog gave a grunt, then opened one pale gray eye. A second later, the dog disappeared, and it was Sirius who was lying on the cot in a very awkward S-shape.
"'Mrning," Sirius mumbled, wincing as he untangled his limbs. Slowly, he dragged himself upright and blinked around. "Whuzgoin' on?"
"Nothing," Remus shook his head. "I just wanted to tell you that I'm headed down to the village to teach, so you'll be alone for a few hours."
"Oh," Sirius rubbed his eyes. "Got it. No problem."
Remus hesitated for a moment. Then— "I'll only be gone for a few hours," he added. "There isn't much to do around here unless you go down to the village, but if you do, please be careful—"
"Remus, quit worrying," Sirius said, rolling his eyes. "I can be trusted by myself for a few hours, you know." He turned to look out the sitting room window for a moment. "Has Dumbledore written?"
"Not yet," Remus said, and Sirius's face fell. "But I'm sure we'll hear soon. He's probably still figuring things out himself, right?"
"Right," Sirius said, but his tone sounded wooden and insincere. "You're right." He glanced at Remus. "See you later?"
"Yeah," Remus said, swallowing as he climbed to his feet. "See you."
Remus was extremely distracted at work that day. He stumbled through the lesson he'd reviewed the previous evening, and he spilled coffee all over his clothes in the staff tearoom. His mind wandered consistently back to Sirius, wondering how he was doing, if he'd managed to scrounge together some food, if he was being responsible and not reckless with his time. It wasn't until one of his seven-year-old students raised her hand and corrected the math problem he'd worked out on the chalkboard that Remus finally pulled himself together and forced himself to focus, though he continued to count down the hours until he could go home…
When he opened the front door to his cottage around four-thirty in the afternoon, his jaw dropped.
Sirius had cleaned. Really cleaned. Remus couldn't remember having ever seen his house so spotless. The furniture was dusted, all wooden and glass surfaces gleaming—there wasn't a thing out of place. Remus walked into the sitting room, slowly, unable to believe his eyes.
"You're home!" Sirius exclaimed, grinning as he poked his head out of the kitchen doorway. "Come in—I've made supper."
"Is it edible?" Remus asked wryly, depositing his briefcase and coat on Sirius's cot.
"We'll see," Sirius said brightly, and Remus gave a snort of laughter, heading toward the kitchen.
Not only had Sirius scrubbed every inch of the kitchen, he'd also bought fresh groceries for Remus—with his own money, no less. ("Can you imagine my mother's reaction if she knew I was cooking and cleaning for a werewolf? Merlin, I hope she's rolling in her grave.") As Remus took a seat at his kitchen table, looking around bemusedly, Sirius slid a plate toward him—piled with roast chicken, green beans, and carrots. And it certainly smelled edible.
"Since when do you cook?" Remus asked in wonder, picking up his fork.
"Since years ago—my mother made us learn when we were teenagers," Sirius said in the distasteful tone he always took when he reminisced on his childhood; Remus took "us" to include Sirius's younger brother.
"If you could cook this whole time, why did you always nick my food when we lived in Diagon Alley?" Remus asked, raising his eyebrows.
"Same reason I always copied your homework at school, even though I was smart enough to do it on my own," Sirius said, eyes gleaming. "I was a lazy arsehole."
Remus couldn't help it; he burst out laughing. Grinning, Sirius picked up his own plate and came to sit at the kitchen table across from him, and for several moments, Remus ate in silence, just relishing the food and Sirius's company. Apart from the year he'd spent at Hogwarts, Remus had become quite used to his lonely existence. It was a fate he'd accepted with very little fight; after all, as a werewolf, he was thankful to be left alone by the Ministry at all. But now…well, Remus rather thought he could get used to this: eating meals together…sharing a space…bantering about things of little significance…
"Voldemort's already killed his first innocent, did you hear? One of Harry's classmates," Sirius said unexpectedly. "Harry saw it happen."
Remus grimaced, nodding. He'd read of the murder in the Prophet. Cedric Diggory, one of Remus's brightest, kindest, most beloved fifth years, was gone far too soon.
"Damn it," Sirius exclaimed suddenly. "Why hasn't Dumbledore said anything? Why are we just—just sitting here and pretending everything's all well and good, when Voldemort is effing back?"
Remus swallowed a mouthful of chicken and stared at Sirius, stunned.
"And Harry! He's been through hell, and now he's going to be sent back to those goddamn swines," Sirius spat, eyes flashing with anger. "Dumbledore can pretend they're his family all he wants, but if they never gave a damn about Lily while she was alive, they sure as hell don't give a damn about her son now."
Remus was quiet for several moments, trying to think of something rational to say that wouldn't just set Sirius off more. Though he agreed with everything Sirius was saying, it seemed prudent to calm him down. From experience, Remus knew that when Sirius started talking this way, he kept going until he said something he regretted.
"Surely…" Remus began slowly. "Surely Dumbledore gave you a little more information? Did he say anything about when to expect to hear from him?"
"Not a thing," Sirius said sullenly, spearing a piece of chicken with his fork. "Just to contact everyone and wait at your place for word." He paused, then looked at Remus. "I offered him the Grimmauld Place townhouse as a potential headquarters site."
"Grim—what?" Remus asked, bewildered.
"Grimmauld Place, in London—my parents' old house, the Black family house," Sirius said impatiently. "I inherited it when they died. And my mum put practically every defensive enchantment and Muggle-repelling spell known to man on that place—paranoid, vile bigot that she was."
"I—" Remus blinked, trying to digest this news. He wanted to ask Sirius if he was sure this was a good idea, if he was sure that he could handle being in that house again for extended periods of time—the house that had driven him so mad with loathing that he'd run away from it at sixteen with a half-packed trunk—but he kept these thoughts to himself. "That's very thoughtful of you," Remus said instead.
Sirius just shrugged, glaring at a forkful of green beans. "Least I could do."
A long silence unfolded between the two of them, filling the small kitchen. When, at last, Remus couldn't stand it any longer, he began quietly, "Sirius—"
"No," Sirius said sharply, turning his glare on Remus. "Don't do that. Don't act all rational, and tell me everything's going to be fine." Remus closed his mouth, blinking rapidly. "This—this—is why people suspected you were the spy, thirteen years ago. You always, always rationalized everything—you pretended everything was fine, even as Order members were dropping dead around us."
No sooner had the words left Sirius's mouth that the color drained from his face, and he clamped his mouth shut, eyes widening. Remus didn't respond; he simply stared back at Sirius in shock, curling his hands so tightly into fists that his nails dug into his palms.
"Remus," Sirius gasped, shaking his head vigorously. "Remus, that's not—I didn't—"
"That's why you thought I was the spy?" Remus interrupted quietly, gazing at Sirius, eyes narrowed. "Because I rationalized? It had nothing to do with the fact I was a werewolf?"
Sirius spluttered. "No—no, of course not—!"
Remus bit out a scathing laugh. "Don't fib, Sirius. I wasn't blind. I knew what a lot of the Order thought of me—Emmeline, Dorcas, Sturgis, Elphias—they barely looked me in the eye after Dumbledore told everyone about my condition. You can't honestly believe that they suspected I was the spy because I rationalized."
"Maybe they thought that about you," Sirius said quickly. "But me? Remus, I never, ever put anything on your lycanthropy, you know that! Your condition isn't who you are—!"
Remus snorted derisively. "I think the majority of the Wizarding world would disagree—"
"Remus," Sirius leaped to his feet, looking frenzied now, his gray eyes alight. "You have to understand—you have to understand how—how scared I was. We knew there was a spy, and we knew it was someone in the Order—and I couldn't risk—James and Lily were in danger, and you—you were always off on some new secret mission—"
"I was off on secret missions because, as the only werewolf in the Order, I was the only one who could investigate Voldemort's werewolf-supporters," Remus said coldly. "And I rationalized because—because I just—couldn't bring myself to accept that someone in the Order—someone we knew—could really have turned their back on everything and everyone we believed in."
Sirius's face crumpled; he hung his head, looking miserable. "I know. I know that now. I'm so sorry, Remus, I'm so sorry—I'll never forgive myself for it, you know I won't."
Remus looked at Sirius, breathing heavily. He knew Sirius was telling the truth—that he was sorrier than he could say. After all, he had spent twelve wretched years in Azkaban with nothing except his guilt, his remorse, and the truth keeping him alive.
Those twelve years had been the worst of Remus's life. But Remus would have never traded them for Sirius's fate.
"I know," Remus said quietly. He pressed his lips together, looking at Sirius. "And I'm sorry, too. I spent all those years rationalizing, convincing myself that everything was fine…so when the time came, I believed you were the traitor, just like everyone else." A lump swelled in his throat, and Remus swallowed it heavily. "I, more than anyone, should have known better."
Sirius waved a hand, sitting back down at the table, his expression stony. "Don't blame yourself," he said shortly. "It was all Peter, only Peter. I don't know how we never suspected him, all that time."
"Because that's how Peter was," Remus said coolly, anger bubbling inside him. "He knew his own limitations, and he always made sure he was protected by kissing up to the right people. And that was us…until it wasn't."
Sirius swore loudly, eyes flashing. "He had us fooled, he did, that bastard," Sirius said savagely. "We should have killed him when we had the chance."
"We had to respect Harry's choice," Remus reminded him, though his blood was boiling too. "It had to be his decision in the end."
"Yeah, well, I reckon Harry's been regretting that decision every minute since he got back from that graveyard," Sirius said darkly.
Remus frowned. "What?"
Sirius looked at him, a hard expression surfacing on his face. "Dumbledore didn't tell you, did he?"
"Tell me what?" Remus demanded.
"Voldemort didn't come back on his own, that night in the graveyard," Sirius said, his voice sounding eerily detached. "That bloody rat is the one who nursed him back to health this whole year, who brewed the effing potion that got Voldemort his body back—he dragged a knife through Harry's arm and took his blood."
Bile leaped to the back of Remus's throat, and he couldn't speak. He simply gaped at Sirius, sickened to his very core.
"We had him. We had him," Sirius spat, glowering down at his supper. "And we let him escape—again."
Remus closed his eyes, using every ounce of strength he possessed to try and collect himself. It was several, long moments before, with a deep, shuddering breath, Remus was able to open his eyes and face Sirius again.
"Look—there's nothing we can do now," Remus said hoarsely. "What's done is done. We just need to accept that Voldemort is back and do everything we can to—"
But Remus was cut off by a sudden tapping at the kitchen window. Both Remus and Sirius swiveled around immediately. A tawny owl was perched on the windowsill, carrying a scroll of parchment in its beak.
Sirius had flown across the kitchen to the window before Remus had even gotten to his feet. In another instant, he had unfurled the scroll, eyes sweeping across the parchment. Remus held his breath, heart pounding against his ribs.
Finally— "We've got to head down to London right away," Sirius announced, rolling up the parchment again. "Dumbledore says he'll be there tomorrow morning to begin setting up headquarters." He tucked the letter in his pocket, considering Remus with a thoughtful frown. "How long d'you think it'll take to pack this place up? Two hours? Three?"
"Pack—?" Remus broke off, astonished. "I—what—?"
"You didn't think I was going to move back into that hellhole myself, did you?" Sirius interrupted, sounding indignant. "Besides, you can't live all the way out here. You're staying in London with me—there's plenty of room."
And with that, Sirius turned on his heel and hurried out of the kitchen, presumably to begin the packing. But Remus stood frozen, rooted to the spot. It was ridiculous, all of this…positively barmy…and yet…
There was work to be done in London. Imperative work. Remus was wanted, needed, in a way that he hadn't been since those days, back in his twenties, when he'd taken on more Order duties than he could handle and relished every bit of exhaustion he'd suffered as a result…
And suddenly, Remus couldn't help the grin that was spreading across his face. This war was going to be dreadful, and debilitating, and more dangerous than ever. But Sirius was going to be there, and so was Harry—and Dumbledore, and Minerva—and…
"Remus! Come on! Where on Earth do you keep your trunk?" came Sirius's impatient voice from down the hall.
Surrounded by people he loved and cared about, fighting for what he believed in, Remus hadn't allowed wartime to squash him the first time.
He certainly wasn't going to give it a second chance.
