Remus celebrated, he knows exactly, eight holidays in the twelve years that Sirius was away. He doesn't imagine that Sirius commemorated anything, shut up in his dark and lonely cell, but he never talks about it, and Remus doesn't pry. Sirius loves holidays—Christmas is his favorite, but he'll celebrate anything, really, and he goes all out for all the birthdays of just about everyone he knows.
x
July, 1981
There was something different about James. He had changed, Remus realized. He must have been changing all along (just as Remus himself had been changing, the last few years, into someone new), but it wasn't noticeable until exactly that moment.
It had been two weeks since James and Lily and Harry had moved into the new house, the one James had written about with such high hopes. The whole neighborhood was a veritable safe house for threatened witches and wizards, Remus realized very quickly, and he felt both better and worse that James and his family had found a place for themselves there.
"Are you sure you're up for it?" Sirius asked, before they left.
He had been asking that question about everything since Remus had been released from St. Mungo's, even though that was over a month in the past. He had hoped that after he survived another full moonSirius would let up, and he had, for the most part, but every now and then he fell back into the habit again.
"It's a one-year-old's birthday party. I think I'll survive," he said.
"I was just trying to be considerate," Sirius snapped back. "You don't have to be so bitchy about it."
Remus gritted his teeth and chose not to answer.
The summer was hot—hotter than usual—and their windows were grimy with London dirt. The streets sweltered. They'd gone to Benjy Fenwick's funeral the week before and Remus had almost died himself, slowly melting in the only good suit he owned, as the deceased's short life was remembered and the congregation crossed their fingers for rain. The only thing worse had been standing next to Sirius. He was a cold presence, but Remus would have rather burned forever than feel that chill.
It was good to get out of the city. Lily had charmed every room of the house to be comfortingly cool. She smiled at them when they entered, her very best smile, but there were lines around her eyes and mouth that Remus didn't think had been there before.
It was as he stood next to James, in the living room of the twelfth house his friend had owned in his adult life, that Remus realized how different James had become. He never would have guessed this man to be only twenty-one years old. James, the same boy who had put all of his energy into playing pranks on Slytherins and getting out of classes, was now using that same boundless store to care for another human being. James, who had been selfish and conceited and overconfident, now put himself second, behind his son and his wife and their safety. He stood more stooped over than he used to—maybe, Remus thought, tired of his burdens, or maybe just tired. His glasses were slightly skewed on his face and his hair was more frazzled and unkempt than it had ever been, and his socks didn't match. He was holding his son. He was an adult. He had stepped fully into that adult role, brave as ever, James Potter, and never looking back.
Remus felt small and inadequate against him.
He excused himself shortly, away from the room of young adults and their young kids, away from the suddenly claustrophobic air of it all. He sat down beneath a tree outside and leaned against its heavy trunk. Now that it was evening, the air had cooled considerably, and he pulled down his shirtsleeves even farther to cover his bare wrists.
It wasn't long before Sirius joined him. Sometimes he felt as if Sirius was always watching him, always waiting for him, but it wasn't a comforting presence his old friend supplied to every portion of his life, not anymore.
Sirius didn't say anything at first. They were silent for a great many minutes, a very long time.
"Moony," he said finally. The sound was so quiet Remus wasn't even sure if he'd heard it, or if it was just a slight, evening breeze through the tops of the trees.
"You didn't have to come out here, Pads."
"I know."
There was a time--four years before, when everything about Sirius had become so suddenly new--when they had touched all the time. Their legs brushed against each other during classes. They hid away from the end of year dinner to snog in a deserted hallway. They held hands on the way to work. They kicked each other discreetly under the table during discussions.
They hardly ever touched now. There was an inch of space or more between them as they sat beneath the tree. So it was faintly startling when Sirius moved over, almost imperceptibly, and put his head on Remus's shoulder.
Remus wanted to say something. He opened his mouth but no sound came out.
Then Sirius slowly moved his fingers, and pushed up the sleeve of Remus's shirt, and traced his fingertips across the still-red scars of moonlight scratches shining on Remus's skin.
"Padfoot," he managed, then.
"James's son is a year old, you know. He's beginning to look like him. Or how I would imagine James must have looked like when he was that young."
"I know what you mean. I saw it, too. He'll probably need glasses soon."
They spoke, and their voices were emotionless, were shallow and quiet and airy. The sound melded with the air and disappeared.
"Probably," Sirius whispered.
His touch on Remus's skin made the scars itch, but he didn't say anything. Sirius's hand was moving farther and farther down the length of his arm, and when it got to Remus's hand, he intertwined their fingers together softly. Remus watched with passive interest.
"I just want you to know, Remus," Sirius said, his voice just a little above a whisper, but still quiet, still reverberating in Remus's ear. "I just want you to know, that I love you."
There was a stillness that followed that declaration. It seemed almost as if he were about to say more, but didn't, or couldn't, and when a more concrete silence filtered over them, Remus answered just as quietly back.
"I—I love you, too, Sirius."
There was an odd choking note in his voice, as if he were about to cry.
x
End part 7/10