Molly Weasley's kitchen was warm and cosy, despite the fact that the house was extremely old and odd looking with its makeshift appendages of additional stories and boxy rooms–leading to more creaking pipes and humming noises. It was as if the house was an old kettle whistling quietly as a way to let the inhabitants and their guests know it was alive, listening to their plights.
"He is driving me insane, he is. He keeps giving me the same old excuse. Too old, too poor, and of course, a werewolf. If you can believe it," sighed the young woman, her bright pink nail polish creating an antithesis on the weathered mug.
"Come, come, dear, don't be like that," said Molly Weasley comfortingly, looking at the sad young woman sitting across from her. "I am certain Remus will come around, at some point, and he will see what is in front of him," she added encouragingly, although she could see from the sour expression of the young woman that this did not bring any comfort to her.
"Well, he was very clear," said Nymphadora Tonks in a defeated voice. "He does not wish to even have a conversation about what happened between us, you know when we..uhm…after Sirius– He wants to forget about it—he said it was a mistake," continued the young Auror bitterly, her gaze fixated on her mug of hot steaming tea.
Molly Weasley flushed pink in the cheeks, feeling a little embarrassed by the romantic entanglements of this young woman and Remus, both of whom Molly respected quite a bit. She knew that both Tonks and Remus were adults though, and matters of love were always complicated–well, not for her and Arthur, of course.
Why did younger people need to make each other's lives so difficult, she pondered, drifting into her thoughts on this matter.
"I thought after Sirius fell in the veil and we were all scared about what would happen to him, Remus finally allowed himself to love me. And then he was acting shifty, acting like nothing happened between us. He wouldn't even look at me properly, let alone talk," said the young woman sadly.
Molly felt sorry for her. At the beginning she was a little surprised when Tonks revealed to her that she had fallen for Remus, but after the initial shock, Molly could see it, and she encouraged her to talk to him. Now, she was not sure this was a good idea after all, seeing this girl pining over Remus and his insecurities. Molly sighed, and stirred her tea, looking at the milky substance.
Tonks continued the narration of her romantic woes, "and like that, he disappeared, off on Dumbledore's mission with those werewolves, Merlin knows where. He didn't even say a word before leaving" she snapped, growing irritated now. The change in emotions was not reflected in her hair though, which remained a bland brown, almost mousy colour. Molly could swear that the woman's hairline shifted a little, as if she was still trying to reflect her abilities, but she couldn't.
"Oh, love, I can only imagine how hard this is for you. But remember, Remus has always been a bit closed off, hasn't he? He's got his own boggarts to wrestle with, and his condition, this condition, it's not easy for him either. Although this is not an excuse, of course," Molly said flustered, trying to ignore the part where Tonks revealed that they slept together and Remus was now pretending it did not occur. This was not acceptable, Molly thought. Almost indecent. But again, she reminded herself that it was not her business to pass judgement. After all, hadn't her own son Bill brought this girl over, she thought, annoyed at the remembrance of the conceited and demanding French young woman who was currently sleeping upstairs.
But not always–Molly could hear the soft giggles occasionally at some dark corner of the house, even though the girl was officially staying in Ginny's room, much to the youngest Weasley's dismay. Molly was adamant on that regard.
Tonks' voice broke her inner monologue of flustered annoyance.
"It's breaking my heart. I've tried to be there for him, to show him that none of those excuses matter to me. But he won't listen" Tonks handled the mug clumsily. Tea dripped a little and Molly eyed it with a flicker of renewed annoyance.
"Sometimes, people have to find their own way. Maybe Remus needs time to come to terms with his own feelings. But you have to take care of yourself too, Tonks. Don't let his insecurities define your own happiness," said the Weasley matriarch.
Tonks managed a small smile. "You know, even Sirius noticed how I've been pining after Remus. Who, Sirius! Can you believe it? He gave Remus a good talking-to, actually he made Remus storm off out of Grimmauld. The daft werewolf, he likes to call him," Tonks explained bemused.
"Oh, and what did this do to make Remus see that he is worthy to give himself a chance?" said Molly, her disapproval of Sirius evident in her face, as she wrinkled her forehead.
"I know that Sirius is not everyone's cuppa, Molly, but Remus deserved a good telling-off," said the younger witch sardonically.
"I understand he means well, but sometimes he just doesn't think before acting. Remus needs understanding, not berating. It's not the way to handle things" Molly said, getting up to fetch a blanket that had been knitting itself with magic for the last hour.
"Oh, com'on Molly," said Tonks, a little more amused than morose now, but Molly ignored the humourous exhortation.
"Speaking of Sirius–Harry must have arrived at Grimmauld by now. Dumbledore said he would be coming to deliver something for Arthur right after Harry was dropped off at Sirius'," she continued, apprehension etched on her face. "In fact, Albus should be here any moment now. I hope everything is alright" she said anxiously, fidgeting with the woolly blanket.
Molly's apprehension about Harry staying with Sirius weighed heavily on her heart in the last month. She couldn't shake off the worry that gnawed at her, fueled by her deep sense of protectiveness and the traumatic events they had all experienced in June. Molly still remembered when she got the patronus call, that all the youngsters, including Ron and Ginny, had gone to the Department of Mysteries, supposedly to free Sirius because of Harry's vision-like dream. She was horrified, distraught.
Of course, Molly did not blame Harry; of course not, it was not poor Harry's fault. Yet the memory of the battle at the Department of Mysteries, where Sirius had fallen through the veil, haunted her thoughts. It was a painful reminder of the dangers lurking, and the thought of her children and Harry being exposed to such risks filled her with a mix of fear.
She had seen firsthand the toll that loss and grief could take on a family, as she had lost both of her brothers in the first war, and she couldn't bear the thought of Harry experiencing that pain. She remembered the poor boy, who could barely eat or sleep while Sirius was still unconscious a few months ago. Dumbledore wanted to send Harry back to his family, but it was actually Arthur who was adamant that the boy stayed with them, until they knew Sirius was out of danger, and legally Harry was under his care, although realistically, the man had too many problems to care for Harry properly in Molly's opinion.
She had a complicated relationship with Sirius, it was true. She had always seen Sirius as a headstrong and impulsive individual, someone who had spent years imprisoned and had a tendency to act on his emotions without considering the consequences. Was that an unfair conclusion to make? Perhaps. She couldn't deny the impact of his confinement at Grimmauld Place and the depression she had witnessed in him. Yet, she found it difficult to muster complete sympathy for him, given his reputation for acting rashly. And also, there was the fall in the veil–she had seen what it did to Harry. While the Order of the Phoenix was unaware of the true nature of the fall through the veil, there were rumours and gossip suggesting that Sirius was experiencing some side effects. Perhaps he still is, although Molly would probably be the last to know about this, as they were not that close.
Molly could not help but wonder if Sirius really thought of Harry as his own person. The boy, on the contrary, wanted a father in Sirius, he craved one, but Molly did not think that Sirius was equipped to provide that for Harry. She recognized that Sirius cared deeply for Harry, and the way he refused to stay behind proved that, as Sirius placed himself right at the hands of the Ministry–but if that was love or recklessness, Molly did not know.
She could not expel the fear that his impetuous nature might inadvertently put Harry in harm's way. She couldn't help but be critical of his decisions, particularly when he declined her invitations to host Harry over until it was time for them to go to school. She understood young Harry's desire to stay with Sirius; but Sirius's refusal to accept her offers was frustrating. Molly couldn't help but feel that Sirius's repeated declination of her invitations was due to the underlying antagonism between them. She sensed a lingering tension that made him reluctant to accept her offers, even if they were intended for Harry's safety. He was never rude or openly hostile, of course, but she was not daft; she could see the progressive coldness in his replies, curt, polite, but also icy and detached, even flippant.
Despite her concerns, Molly's husband Arthur reminded her of the importance of respecting Sirius's role as Harry's guardian, as appointed by James and Lily Potter. Arthur believed that they should trust Sirius's judgement and decisions when it came to Harry's welfare. So although her concerns did not quiet down, she had accepted that Harry would be remaining with Sirius at Grimmauld place for the remainder of the summer. She did hope, however, that they could join them for a weekend at the Burrow, before the kids were off to Hogwarts for another year. Event if this meant that she would need to clear the air with Sirius–
Molly's thoughts were interrupted by a sudden popping sound, and her blanket flew off on the floor.
Albus Dumbledore apparated right into the kitchen near the hearth.
"Albus!" Molly exclaimed, her voice filled with a mixture of astonishment and relief. "You startled me!"
Dumbledore straightened his hat and offered Molly a gentle smile. "My apologies, Molly," he said calmly. "I hope I didn't startle you too much. And hello to you too, Nymphadora."
"It's Tonks, Headmaster," replied Tonks.
"Well, and you can call me Albus," returned the older wizard catching Tonks in a low chuckle.
"Apologies for the lateness of the time, as well Molly–you see, me and Harry took more time in an errand of mine," said Dumbledore.
"No, no trouble, it's just that I wasn't expecting anyone to apparate into our kitchen" she said a little flustered, but a kind smile was tugging on her lips moments after. Tonks was trying to keep her laughter to herself.
Dumbledore offered her a gentle smile once more and with a snapping sound a small package popped on the kitchen rotunda table. "I have this package for Arthur, its Order business," he said in a low tone. "And now, if I may, I shall relieve you of my presence since it is getting quite late, in fact" he bowed his head curtly.
"Oh, Albus, before you leave," Molly stammered. But Dumbledore raised his hand gently, predicting her worries.
"I was delayed because there were some urgent matters I needed to discuss with Sirius. I trust Harry will be in good hands with his godfather. In fact, I just handed Harry to Sirius and they both seemed very pleased," said the Headmaster. Tonks was smiling wryly.
"Oh, good," Molly managed to say. "You are sure you do not want to stay for some tea, or soup, I am still waiting up on Arthur," she mumbled.
"Aaah ," said Dumbledore. "I am afraid not, but it is always a pleasure to see you Molly. Don't forget to give Arthur my package, and tell him that I will owl him."
"I can walk with you, Headmaster. You'know, show you the proper apparition point down the barn," said Tonks in an amused voice. She looked back at Molly and squeezed her arm. "Thanks for the tea and sympathy, Molly," she said.
"Nothing my dear, you take care," said Molly, as she watched the figures disappear into the darkness of the night.
The door closed and Molly Weasley sighed, thinking of Harry Potter.
During breakfast, Harry kept gazing at Sirius curiously, longing to see any lingering effects of his godfather's dramatic fall into the veil, but none were visible in Sirius Black's rugged face, as he was eating his breakfast, in a quick energetic pace, clearly enjoying his food.
Sirius attacked his English breakfast, fork and knife clinking against the plate as he cut through his food with a primal energy that resembled his canine Animagus form. Harry would notice that his godfather would make humming sounds appreciatively, as he piled a mountain of baked beans onto his toast. A satisfied groan occasionally escaped his lips. He was definitely not the pureblood stereotype, or if he had ever been, years of being deprived of proper meals and care had loosened his roots.
Harry did not notice that his godfather was clearly aware that he had been staring at him.
"Enjoying the show, Harry?" Sirius said with a mischievous grin, his hands still occupied with devouring a second piece of toast.
"Erm–I…," stammered Harry.
"Don't worry, I'm still intact after my little tumble through the veil," Sirius added, raising an eyebrow playfully, but instead of Harry, he was eying his third piece of toast, dipped in egg yolk.
Harry managed a faint smile. He wanted to believe Sirius, but there was still a tiny serpentine-like worry in his belly, accumulating progressively into a gradual pit in his stomach. "Erm–I can see that," he said rather awkwardly, looking around since they were at a Muggle pub. It was a wonderful summer day in an overall crisp summer. Perhaps he should focus on that instead of worrying about Sirius and ruining his godfather's good moods.
Reading his thoughts, Sirius shrugged nonchalantly. "Don't worry about me, mate," he said. "As you can see, it takes more than a trip to the other side to dampen my appetite for a good meal. Much more, to kill me, Harry. Besides, I'm making up for all those years…," he stopped and quieted his voice. "You know where," he said, leaning to the table more closely so no one could hear them.
Harry knew that his godfather did not have an easy life, despite the fact that he was a Black and he had grown up in privilege. So to see him this nonchalant and carefree, enjoying something as simple as a meal in the sun, was a big deal considering that Sirius had spent the last fifteen years of his life in confinement, isolation, and or in hiding.
His godfather was free now, ready to finally make up for the lost time, the years in that horrible place. Only that now there was another war, and it was more than probable–certain actually–that Sirius Black would jump right in it. Again.
But Harry tried not to think of the war. Being with Sirius, after all these months was something else, and the boy was finally trying to feel at ease and actually enjoy his remaining three weeks before his sixth year started. He was curious, yes, especially because Dumbledore had dragged him to this peculiar wizard's home, to convince him to join Hogwarts as the new DADA teacher. He made a mental note to write this to Ron and Hermione, who were at the Burrow, enjoying the holidays. It made him a bit jealous that they were together, hanging out and playing quidditch and visiting the local pubs at the village near the Weasley family home in the country. But Harry was also longing to be with Sirius, like they were now. He even didn't mind Grimmauld Place, that dreary family home of his godfather. The outside world was much better for Sirius.
They were at a small local pub in Sirius' neighbourhood and his godfather wanted to make sure they would not be spotted so he preferred to be around Muggle London, as he had told the boy quickly the same morning when they discussed their plans for the day. This pub was a quaint establishment a few blocks away in the neighbourhood frequented by townhouses, including Grimmauld Place 12.
Harry could tell that Sirius frequented the pub because he was greeted with a smirk by a redheaded woman in her thirties whose eyes flickered in recognition at the sight of Sirius. She was the hostess who showed them to their table, a nice spot at the corner at the edge of the patio. Harry found her very pretty, but Sirius did not seem to notice that she was smirking at him. Or if he had, he did not seem to care enough to comment on it. He was more preoccupied by the idea of being outside, among other people–even Muggles who were utterly oblivious about the war with Voldemort.
"You know, I've been thinking to ask you," said Sirius with a curious expression and then paused to take a swig of his muggle ale. "Have you ever had the chance to go on a proper holiday?" said Harry's godfather and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand in a rather unrefined manner.
"Whaat," croaked Harry and nearly spit his cider. Was Sirius suggesting what Harry thought he was?
"Oh, you know," said Sirius leaning back into his chair with a relaxed expression. He had a full-on conspiratorial look now. "I've been thinking that you have three weeks or so until you are off to Hogwarts, so I reckoned you might want, you know, to go somewhere," he said, looking at the boy expectantly.
"As in, a holiday? With just me and you?" asked Harry, to clarify.
"Am I too boring? Too old?" returned Sirius with a mock-concerned face, and Harry was not sure if he was really getting offended or if he was simply being cheeky with him. "Of course, you might have other plans, like to go see your friends, and play Quidditch, or.." Sirius grumbled.
"What! No!" said Harry a little louder than he meant to. "You mean to go on an actual holiday? I've never been. When do we leave, and where are we heading to?" His sequence of questions reflected his exuberance.
Sirius flashed him a grin, an honest and real one like the one he had given the boy all those years ago at the school grounds when Harry confirmed that he indeed yearned to leave the Dursleys and live with his godfather.
It was true that Harry had never been on a holiday before. Sometimes, the Dursleys would decide to take one or two weeks off and visit some coastal town with Uncle Vernon's favourite delicatessens, or a small remote village that had an ice cream parlour Dudley wanted to go to.
The times the Dursleys would go abroad were very rare as Aunt Petunia did not like different climates and Dudley did not like to try different cuisines. Uncle Vernon was also a major xenophobe and detested other languages and customs, and he always ended up pissing off some local whom he had offended by constantly enunciating in English, while the person spoke perfectly fine with a foreign accent.
Harry was never included in those family holiday plans. His aunt and uncle always asked Marge or Mrs. Figg across the street to look after Harry. But when Harry was a little older, they would simply leave him home alone. It was strange at the beginning and sometimes, especially when he was younger, he felt jealous being left behind while his maternal family were on holiday, but progressively, he looked forward to their absence, as he could be by himself and not have them on his back harassing him.
To have this chance to go on a real holiday with his godfather before school started was a heartwarming chance at something new in Harry's life. A proper family with Sirius.
"Well," said Sirius. "There were some places in the south I visited when I was on the run, and it was actually quite sweet. I would like to go back with you this time as a free man" he said, a soft smile tugging on his rugged face. "Or–if you prefer it, we could stay somewhere locally," he suggested.
Harry's smile was wider. "Brilliant!" he exclaimed. "When can we leave?"
"Let me figure out the logistics first," said Sirius, reaching out for something in his pocket. His godfather had picked up smoking, apparently. Or he always did and Harry never knew. He still felt he did not have enough time with Sirius. That he never had time with Sirius. Until now.
"Wait ," he said, suddenly realising. "What about the Order?"
Sirius looked confused, as he lit his cigarette and took a drag. "What about it?" he asked, puffing out smoke.
"I mean, would Dumbledore let us go?" ventured the teenager. "I know it was a complicated ordeal for me to finally come here before school," he said with a wistful tone. He did not want to bring up Dumbledore to Sirius as he suspected that there was some unresolved tension between the two. The fact that Sirius' letters were obviously bitter, Dumbledore's consistently cryptic, and Remus Lupin's letters were—well, non-existent, told the boy that things were not sweet between his godfather and the Order since the events at the Department of Mysteries. Harry felt a pang of guilt because it was his fault that he was lured by Voldemort that day, and it was his fault and his stubborn lack of attention in the Occlumency lessons with Snape that led everyone there that day–including Sirius.
Sirius' face darkened at the mention of Dumbledore. "Dumbledore's…keeping me and you in the dark, did not help you stay safe, did it," he deadpanned with an explanatory look, waving his hands. Sirius would shake his head a bit neurotically when he was getting irritated, or when he was pressed to talk about something he was not ready to talk about.
"But with the…erm..with him being out now, would we be safe?" said the boy.
"Do you feel unsafe with me?" returned Sirius, with an amused smile. He was still tense though.
"No, of course, not, but—" he started again.
"Then , we will do as we please. I know that Molly is pestering you with her letters, too, so if you feel more comfortable staying there…" Sirius started saying bitterly.
"No," replied Harry worriedly. "No, I want us to go somewhere together."
"Obviously we will be in disguise, Harry. I am not that reckless ," he added meaningfully. Harry could note a tinge of sarcasm in his voice. "At least at the beginning. But trust me, where we are going, we won't be seen," he said with certainty. "It would be for a week or so, and then you can spend some time at the Burrow before school, what do you say?" he asked his godson, stubbing his cigarette on the ground.
The boy's mind was now racing with all possibilities. He felt excitement about going on a trip with Sirius, and he decided to leave his worries on the side for a while, at least for now.
Sirius quickly left some muggle money on the table, and gestured at one of the waiters, but he kept smiling at Harry and his body language was lighter, more carefree, even younger. It was a happy sight, as Sirius' movements were renewed by a fresh spring in his pace, his back was straighter, and the sun was caressing his unshaven face that still had some signs of tiredness.
As Sirius paid the bill, Harry couldn't help but notice the ginger hostess stealing glances at his godfather again. She had an undeniable beauty and her form was very shapely, and Harry found it very hard not to stare.
Sirius's amused voice broke through his captivated gaze though.
"Potter men and redheads," Sirius said with a mischievous grin, opening the door for Harry, who kept staring at the hostess. "Come on, she will catch you staring and you don't want to look daft," he said.
Harry's cheeks flushed with embarrassment, his gaze shifting away from the hostess. "I... I wasn't staring," he stammered, trying to regain his composure.
Sirius let out a hearty laugh. "No need to deny it, my boy. It's in the Potter blood. Besides, I'm sure she appreciates the admiration," he said with a sly glance at the woman behind them.
They stepped out into the sunny day and Harry could not but notice the way Sirius's face lit up with sheer calm. The sun bathed the streets in a warm, golden glow, and a gentle breeze rustled through the air, carrying with it a sense of freedom and Sirius marched forth, smiling.
"Wanna get some ice cream?" he asked and Harry nodded enthusiastically.
After their long day out, Harry went to bed early, as the teenager seemed to be tired and was yawning repeatedly at supper. Sirius, however, was restless and a little over-stimulated by having someone around and by socialising. He had spent the last months with the company of various Order members, but being alone at his large dreary family home was not ideal, especially now that Remus was on a mission.
He poured himself some firewhiskey to relax and sat on a large armchair near the hearth in the kitchen. He did not fancy going to bed partly because of the possibility of having the same dream about the long grey corridor. This frustrated him greatly, so often he simply avoided sleep, until it was humanly impossible, or he would numb his senses a bit with drink or cigarettes.
It annoyed him that he carried this reminder of his experience at the veil, this odd and sometimes upsetting dream about things he could not hear or interpret. Sirius never believed in dreams, in fact. He thought that dream interpretation, divination, and any predictions of signs and symbols of the subconscious had no value, no significance in the wizarding world. It was for Muggles, for people who did not possess any extraordinary powers of acting and being in the world differently, he thought.
He scratched his face with his thumb and index finger as he was thinking about this–did this make him sound like his family? Sirius actually did not look down on Muggles, but he also did not think anything about them much. When he was younger, he wanted to rebel against his family's rigid traditions and he was attracted by Muggle music and Muggle culture, and perhaps a few scantily dressed pin-up girls that still decorated his teenage bedroom, but he did not really care about the Muggle world genuinely. Now, at least he did not feel he had the patience to understand it. It just existed.
He should remove these posters, he thought. Not because the sight was not pleasing–despite their faces being unmovable and faded–but because it reminded him too much of his teenage years, of his friends, of James.
Sirius felt the old, known pang of sadness and emptiness at the thought of his mate, James, and whether it was his alcohol induced relaxation or his genuine inability to deal with unpleasant emotions in the daylight, he felt that his eyes were brimming with a sudden attack of tears at the memory.
Without much thought, he abruptly turned into Padfoot, jumped away from the armchair, and curled up at a warm corner near the hearth.
He knew that he should stop this habit by now, the easy-fix that avoidance gave him, that fur and paws and soft whines allowed him to possess just for a moment before everything was back to normal and he felt like shit–lost, useless, angry.
He needed to remind himself that now he was free, and this would soothe his senses, his shifting emotions. Yet Sirius Black could not think about the future in a way that satisfied him. Not until this war was over and they made it alive, well, really free.
All the people he ever cared for were either dead or in danger, and this realisation prevented him from stopping the tears that ran freely down his canine face. He felt the saltiness on his nose and whiskers.
James. Lily. Gone.
Harry –perennially targeted by a madman who wanted to hurt him, vanish him forever.
Remus –whereabouts unknown since June, since he stormed out of Grimmauld upset and angry, shouting at Sirius, and smashing things.
And Regulus–
Most days Sirius did not know what to feel about Regulus. Most of the time, he felt nothing, he would move into life forgetting about his little brother. But being back in this house, in this place he hated so much, could not but remind him of Reg, of the ways he was too soft to believe their parents ideology, to enroll himself into this horrific organisation, which ultimately killed him of course.
At other times, he just remembered him as Reg, and he painted with his mind a younger version of themselves when they were actually brothers who loved each other, little boys. Before family politics and Hogwarts houses and blood strife. This was the kind of gut-wrenching, unbearable feeling of not being able to be contained in space, of needing to run out and scream in agony, while his heart was torn into pieces. That was the same feeling when he found James dead that day at Godric's Hollow.
No, he did not want to think about his brother. It was easier this way. Feeling sad about Regulus sometimes felt the same as feeling sad about Peter Pettigrew, his former friend turned traitor and betrayed. An enemy, a Death Eater. But before all that, just Peter.
Then, a loud bang from upstairs broke Sirius reminiscing of loathing wounds. Could it be Harry? No, this was a distinct sound. Someone had passed through the wards. Someone who is an Order member, or so he hoped. An image of Kreacher's treacherous face flashed in his tormented mind and Sirius erupted from the floor and instantly transformed back into his human form, grabbing his wand from his left pocket of his jeans, and heading upstairs, fast but quietly, as he did not want to stomp his presence into the hallway if this was an intruder.
His mind was racing. Order members usually patronused before coming to the Headquarters.
"Who is there?" Sirius shouted in a menacing voice, as he reached the top of the stairs that connected the basement kitchen to the ground floor.
"Lumos!" cried a man, a familiar voice. Remus Lupin.
"Fuck, Moony! You scared the living shit out of me!" hissed Sirius, lowering his wand, but Moony, Remus, although looking terribly tired did not lower his.
"You know the drill, Padfoot," the other man said, still panting a little. Sirius groaned.
"Where have you been, as of late?" Sirius asked, irritated.
"That's not an identification question, you git!" returned Remus.
"Alright, alright. How did you discover that the rat was Peter?" asked Sirius sardonically. There was a jab there that Remus chose to ignore.
"Marauders map, of course," he said appreciatively. "My turn now," he announced. Sirius rolled his eyes.
"When you were on the run in the South, where did you stay for a month?"
"Greece," Sirius grumbled dissatisfied at the scrutiny.
"Oh well, great," replied Remus. Both men lowered their wands.
Remus looked tired and pale, which spoke to the fact that he had just passed a full moon abroad, and even with Wolfsbane, which Snape provided for him by the Order, his transformations were still painful and exhausting. Sirius led his old friend down the kitchen, where the hearth was still emitting its warmth.
"Fancy a glass?" said Sirius gesturing at his empty glass of firewhiskey. Remus eyed it and nodded furiously, collapsing at the nearest chair.
Sirius collected Remus' cloak and placed it next to a chair near the fire. He glanced at his old friend, and poured him a glass of the amber liquid to warm him up.
"Good mission?" asked Sirius, raising an eyebrow at Moony who took a sip from the fiery drink and sighed heavily.
"It was horrible," replied his friend. "I mainly lived in a notorious establishment in Tirana, full of vagrants, prostitutes, and mostly homeless werewolves who blackmailed the owner into giving them food and shelter on cold nights," he sighed.
"No sign of him, then," Sirius asked again, examining his friend's rough and stubbled face. Lupin drank again before replying.
"I have to debrief Albus tomorrow, but no sign of Death Eaters or any strange artefacts," he noted meaningfully. "Albus won't be happy to hear," he added and gazed into the fire.
"Hmpf," exclaimed Sirius, playing with his glass absentmindedly. It was odd to have Remus back. They had not parted ways on the best of terms before his mission in Albania.
"So, how have things been around here? Anything new?"Remus asked and slumped further into the armchair, savouring the warmth of the fire.
Sirius took a sip from his drink. "Oh, you know, same old, same old," he replied, his voice tinged with sarcasm. "Albus has probably briefed everyone on my sleeping and eating patterns by now. No changes in that department," he felt the need to say.
Remus's brow furrowed as he observed his friend, but he did not comment immediately. He opened his mouth to say something, but before he could, Sirius cut him off.
"Harry's here," Sirius interjected.
" Harry!" said Remus in a surprised tone, looking at Sirius who nodded. "I have not written him since I left," observed Remus in a voice that conveyed nothing more than casual observation. But Sirius had long learned to decipher his old friend's speech patterns and body language to detect guilt and self-depreciation. James was always much better than Sirius in this domain though. Sirius could be callous sometimes, even if his intentions were good. That was the case for the last time he saw Remus a month and a half ago.
Sirius straightened himself to sit better on the chair across from Remus and looked at his werewolf friend inquisitively. He always had two choices when handling Remus: to be soft, or to be provocative, and Sirius opted for the latter. James would have soothed Remus. Sirius could not even soothe himself, "Well, it's not that you have been writing to your old mate, either, is it not dear Moony?" he said.
Remus could still recognize Sirius' preamble of cheekiness behind a looming fight. He knew Sirius was right though–he had not written, and it was on purpose. He decided to take the jab with grace, not replying.
Yet Sirius couldn't resist the opportunity to taunt his friend. "You know, it's not that you stormed off like a broody teenager with a crush last time I saw you," his friend deadpanned, grabbing the bottle for a refill.
Remus' ears were hot now. He did remember his last encounter with his friend very well, and he lowered his head in embarrassment, gazing into the fire.
When Sirius recovered from the veil, he only spent time with Remus and Nymphadora, as the Order was cautious and Harry was to remain with the Weasleys and then with Lily's family. And this had actually felt nice for Remus because he thought, for a moment, that he could get over his insecurities and finally be with Tonks. He had slipped once, and made a mistake and for a moment–for a blissful second–he actually thought he could selfishly embrace the idea, to love and be loved.
But once his monthly pains and toils arrived, the moment he had to actually tell her that he had to take a few days off and go somewhere to transform, he saw the concern in her eyes and he felt dirty, disgusted with himself. He avoided her at the beginning and when she showed up demanding an explanation for his detachment, he had seen how much he had hurt her, so he told her that he had regretted the one time they were together and that they should forget about it, which first infuriated the young witch and the depressed her greatly.
He pretended to not care, to have accepted his fate, but in reality, deep inside, Remus felt sadness and anger for depriving himself of her. He could not bring himself to tell her; that he panicked because being with her felt like healing, so he had to take that away from himself.
He should have expected the way the events unfolded though, and right now, Remus felt like a massive tosser that he got so irrational and offended that Tonks confided in his old friend what has transpired between them. Of course, it made sense. Tonks felt so guilty and stricken when Sirius fell into the veil, she was fond of him and she regarded him as a friend, as well as her mother's cousin about whom she used to hear endless stories of solidarity and shared apostasy.
Remus knew he had no right to react this badly. He knew that it made sense for her to seek out Sirius as a friend, and that Sirius also appreciated the company of his cousin's daughter, whom he found intelligent and amusing. But there was something about that night, something about the way Sirius told Remus off about his hot and cold behaviour toward Tonks that had ticked Remus off.
Perhaps it was the fact that he was completely drunk that night; maybe this led him to aggressively smash his friend's bookcase at Grimmauld, leaving Sirius stunned and soon after, livid and yelling profanities and pushing Remus back with his hands, without magic. Lily Potter would call them stupid boys ready for a brawl. It was honestly embarrassing, but Remus became savage with anger and something else, which he could not conceptualise the moment he wanted to punch Sirius in the face and destroy his property.
It was only when he was away, on the mission, when the tendrils of understanding unfurled in his mind and revealed his own jealousy and insecurity. How many times had Tonks casually commented on Sirius' good looks? His friend's rugged handsomeness was not something new to him. After all, he always did get the women, in that Sirius was the most frequent recipient of female attention, something that bothered James and Peter in a boyish affectionate manner that did not convey malicious envy. Sirius, however, would never put any girl before his friends, so no matter how much attention he got from hopeful girls, it did nothing to him, apart from harmless teasing. But even though Remus knew it was an innocent comment, he became bitter with envy when the woman he was smitten with acknowledged Sirius. Of course, it was absurd, he knew that now.
He was ashamed of the way he reacted, in a visceral and furious manner when he went to Sirius for understanding, for sympathy, and instead his friend reprimanded him about how he was giving Tonks false hope–well that in a Sirius Black candour, which was callous and scathing. If you just wanted to get off and have a little roll in the hay, you could have spared the poor girl who actually had feelings for you. There were plenty of other options out there! The insult echoed in Remus' ears for days and made him uncomfortable. How dare he think he had those intentions?
After weeks of being angry at both Sirius and Tonks, Remus realised that his friend was right. Not only that, Sirius was standing up for Tonks, who regretfully, must have felt discarded and confused. Oddly, sitting there with Sirius right now, the memory of his friend berating him made Remus happy, despite Sirius' annoying provocations, his cocky probing. He had jumped in to defend Dora–even against his own friend, and Remus knew that Sirius would extend this loyalty in the battlefield for his cousin's daughter.
He smiled absentmindedly, while Sirius was still expecting an answer, or another argument. Remus preferred a truce.
"Ah, you know me too well, Sirius," Remus replied, a playful glint in his eyes. "But you're right, I have been a bit remiss in keeping in touch. My apologies, old friend"
Remus knew that this was not the whole truth in his truce offering, but it was enough for Sirius, who respected Remus' choice not to bring up Dora. After a careful look, Sirius nudged Remus's arm. "Apology accepted, Moony. Now, let's take our minds off the mission and Dumbledore. I saved some leftovers of my culinary masterpiece from tonight's supper. Harry said it was decent. Care to indulge?"
Remus smiled, grateful for the lighthearted change in the conversation. "Will I need a Healer afterwards, Padfoot?" he asked playfully.
"I reckon you won't, you big daft werewolf. Although speaking of medical emergencies, apparently Shacklebolt the eldest is bringing a new Healer in the Order. A new recruit, Kingsley said so the other day" he said gleefully. "Probably some hag who cannot use a wand," Sirius added and waved his wand at the pantry with plates and cutlery flying carefully onto the table. Remus rolled his eyes, exasperated but happy to reconcile with his friend.