Chapter 14 Padfoot and Moony
After breakfast, Remus sent Harry through the Floo to Longbottom Manor, though Harry hesitated before stepping into the emerald flames. He cast a worried glance back at Remus, clearly reluctant to leave.
Remus avoided mirrors these days—he didn't need a reflection to tell him how terrible he looked. But seeing that concern written so plainly on Harry's face was worse.
Harry had so few adults he could truly rely on, and Remus was one of the only ones who had earned his trust. It was no wonder he didn't want to leave, not when Remus looked this unwell. The boy's protective instincts had already surfaced in the way he spoke about Neville—how he'd defended his friend over the Gillyweed incident. Now, that same instinct had turned on Remus.
"You sure you aren't getting sick, Remus?" Harry asked again, hesitating at the hearth. "I can stay and take care of you." He shifted his weight before adding, "I know how to make really good chicken soup. Aunt Petunia used to have me make it when Dudley had a cold."
Remus mustered a weak smile and shook his head. "No, I'll be fine, Harry. Go on and have fun with Neville."
Harry still didn't look convinced, but with a final glance back, he stepped into the fireplace and vanished in a swirl of green flames.
As soon as he was gone, Remus collapsed onto the couch, exhausted. This was the part he hated most. His bones ached with a deep, relentless throb, shifting beneath his skin in preparation for the inevitable. Muscles burned, tightening like coiled springs. And then there was the headache—sharp and searing, tearing through his skull like claws raking against bone.
The transformation hadn't even begun yet, but his body was already preparing for the torment to come.
Eventually, Remus rallied and forced himself to his feet, stumbling toward the kitchen. He brewed a cup of tea, cradling it between his hands as he leaned against the counter. The heat of the day pressed in on him, making his skin feel itchy and his eyes burn. Through the window, he noticed his flowers wilting beneath the relentless sun, their petals curling inward as if in surrender.
He glanced at the clock and watched the second hand make another slow turn around the dial. His head felt heavy, his limbs sluggish. Sinking into a chair at the wooden table, he laid his head down against its cool, unyielding surface. Just for a moment, he told himself.
He must have drifted off because the sudden chime of the Floo startled him awake. His spine went rigid, and his wand was in his hand before he'd even registered what was happening. His mouth fell open as he stared in shock at the man stepping through the hearth.
Sirius Black.
"Hey, Moony. What's for dinner?" Sirius grinned, completely at ease, and strode forward, peering into Remus's empty teacup. "Tsk, tsk. This is not going to do." He plucked the cup from the table, refilled it, and stirred in honey and cream—just the way Remus liked it—before setting it down in front of him with an air of triumph.
Still gaping, Remus barely had time to process before Sirius moved to the stove, rummaging through cupboards with an air of familiarity. In moments, the scent of sizzling bacon filled the air, and eggs cracked into a pan with practiced ease.
"You have no idea how much I detest hospital food," Sirius complained, poking at the bacon with a fork. "And don't even get me started on the swill they serve in Azkaban." He leaned over the stove, inhaling deeply, a wide grin spreading across his face. "I have dreamed about this meal for ten years."
Remus finally found his voice. "Why aren't you at St. Mungo's?" He hesitated, still half-convinced he was hallucinating. The aroma of frying bacon, however, was rather convincing.
"And I already ate," he added, eyeing the sheer volume of food Sirius was preparing—enough to feed an entire Quidditch team. Sirius shot him a look, completely unfazed. "You dreamed about cooking my food for ten years?" Remus asked dryly, watching his friend empty half his cupboards into a frying pan.
"I escaped." Sirius grinned, completely ignoring the petulant whine in Remus's tone about his food being devoured. "Turned into Padfoot, and you should have seen it, Moony!" His eyes gleamed with mischief—the same look he always wore after a particularly successful prank at Hogwarts.
"All the nurses and orderlies screaming, trying to catch that beast! It's embarrassing, Moony. I mean, put Padfoot in a lineup with Voldemort, and nine out of ten witches will faint dead away at the sight of the dog while ignoring the actual Dark wizard!" He shook his head in mock outrage, dramatically buttering a slice of toast.
Remus wasn't entirely sure if he was supposed to respond, so he just nodded. "Shameful."
Sirius smirked but carried on, layering generous amounts of butter onto another slice of toast. "I'm innocent, Remus. If I don't want to stay in the hospital, then I shouldn't have to stay in the hospital. I'll go in for regular checkups, I'll keep appointments with the mind healers—but there was somewhere else I needed to be tonight." He gave Remus a pointed look.
A moment later, he set two heaping plates of food on the table and plopped down across from him. "I've missed ten years' worth of full moons. I'm not missing another one." He stabbed a fork into a sausage and grinned. "You're stuck with me. I hope the invite to stay with you and Harry is still good?"
Without waiting for an answer, he shoved one of the plates toward Remus. "Eat. You're going to need your strength tonight. We're going into the forest."
Remus huffed a laugh. "You're insane. We are not going into the forest. I'm going into the basement. Like I always do."
Sirius shook his head. "Nope. Forest."
Remus arched a brow. "Nope. Basement."
Sirius grinned wider. "Forest."
Remus sighed, already dreading where this was headed. "Basement."
Sirius shook his head with a grin and reached into his pocket, pulling out a small potion bottle. He set it on the table with a triumphant flourish.
"Stole this from St. Mungo's," he announced, looking far too pleased with himself. "They've been treating a new werewolf, and I overheard the Healers talking about this little miracle—Wolfsbane Potion. Apparently, it lets you keep your mind while transformed. So, unless you're normally a rampaging maniac, this should work." He waggled his eyebrows. "Now, eat up." He gestured toward the plate piled high with protein.
Remus hesitated, eyeing the bottle with skepticism as he absently speared another sausage.
"What if it doesn't work on me?" he muttered.
He had heard of the potion before, of course. The research trials had been published, and its inventor was being hailed as a hero. But from what Remus had read, the potion's creation had been something of a lucky accident. Stumbling onto the right combination of ingredients didn't necessarily make someone a great portioner. And with something as dangerous as a werewolf transformation, 'trial and error' wasn't exactly comforting.
Still, he picked up the bottle and turned it over in his hands, reading the neatly printed label. The ingredients were listed, along with dosage instructions. He was supposed to take it an hour before the full moon.
"Only one way to find out," Sirius said with a shrug. "I hear it tastes like absolute rubbish. But hey, if it doesn't work, we'll have had a fun romp in the woods. Don't worry—Padfoot can keep Moony in line." He winked before glancing around the cottage. "No kid? Where'd you ship him off to?"
Remus sighed. "Didn't 'ship' him anywhere. He went to visit his friend Neville. He'll be back the day after tomorrow." He rolled his shoulders, already feeling the early aches of the transformation creeping in. "The change gets harder the older I get. I don't bounce back like I used to."
Sirius made a noncommittal noise, but his sharp eyes never left Remus as he prodded him into eating more. After a few moments of comfortable silence, Sirius spoke again, his tone softer.
"I can't deny I'm nervous about meeting him," he admitted. "I've regretted giving him to Hagrid that night more than you can possibly know." He picked up a strip of bacon, pointing it at Remus like a wand. "And you—kidnapping the most famous young wizard in the world! What are you gonna do when the Aurors come knocking?"
His tone was light, but there was an edge of truth beneath the teasing. They both knew that, by wizarding law, Remus had no claim to Harry. If the Ministry decided to make trouble, it wouldn't be just Aurors knocking—it would be an entire battalion.
Remus exhaled slowly, pressing his fingers to his temple. "One crisis at a time, Padfoot."
Remus shook his head and glared at his teacup like it had offended him. "I don't know. I haven't thought that far ahead. But I think Lady Longbottom will intervene if it comes to that. I don't think the Ministry will care, as long as Harry shows up at Hogwarts. Dumbledore probably won't care either, so long as he spends a few weeks during the summer at his relatives' place to ensure that ridiculous blood protection Lily put around those no-good Muggles." His fingers tightened around his cup. "I swear I'm going to hex those Muggles if it's the last thing I do."
Sirius nodded. "I have a copy of the Potters' will. It was in my vault. Went and retrieved it from the Goblins this morning. What I don't understand is why it wasn't followed. I mean, I get why some of the people on it weren't considered, but why not Andromeda? Or Minerva? Both would've made excellent guardians for Harry."
Remus exhaled, wishing he had an answer. "I'm afraid to ask Dumbledore right now, 'cause then he'll start thinking about Harry, and that'll lead him to me." His voice was heavy with exhaustion. "I just didn't know what else to do."
Sirius grinned suddenly, a glint of mischief in his eyes. "Well, it's a good thing I've been declared innocent then."
Remus blinked. "What do you mean?"
Sirius' grin widened. "My lawyer has a copy of the will and is filing custody paperwork with the Ministry right now. I should be declared Harry's legal guardian soon. Aren't you lucky?" He leaned back in his chair, looking entirely too pleased with himself. "I spoke with Madam Bones, and she's expediting it. The only concern she had was that I get a clean bill of health and attend mind-healing sessions. But by law, Harry belongs with me." He smirked. "Dumbledore's going to have kittens, I'm sure."
Remus looked both relieved and exasperated, but he sighed. "Shouldn't you talk to Harry about what he wants before you go making a bunch of plans for him?"
Sirius looked crushed. "I can't believe you'd think so little of me, Moony." His voice was quieter now, hurt threading through his words. "I mentioned it to Harry in my letter. And he wrote back saying he thought it would be brilliant—mostly because he didn't want you getting into trouble for taking him." Sirius shook his head. "He's been really worried about that."
Remus exhaled slowly, guilt settling in his chest. He remembered a brief conversation with Harry when the boy had asked what it meant to have a godfather. They had talked about how different things might have been if Sirius had never gone to Azkaban—if he had raised Harry like James and Lily had intended.
Harry had looked both hopeful and nervous at the thought of being adopted. The only question he had asked was whether Sirius would even want him—and why Remus couldn't adopt him instead. Remus hadn't known how to explain, not without revealing the truth about his lycanthropy.
He stared down at his teacup, lost in thought, until it was suddenly full again. He glanced up to find Sirius watching him, that same old mischievous grin tugging at his lips.
For the next few hours, Sirius talked, and Remus mostly listened. He let Sirius' voice fill the empty spaces between them, the warmth of familiarity slowly easing the tension. In some ways, it felt as if they had never been apart. In others, it was like meeting for the first time—two men who had been shaped and scarred by war, by grief, by time.
They were finding their way back to each other, step by step. It would be a long journey, but it was one both were willing to take.
Eventually, Sirius clapped him on the shoulder and steered him toward the couch. "Come on, Moony," he murmured. "Get some rest. I'll wake you when it's time."
That night, beneath the full moon, Padfoot and Moony ran together for the first time in ten years. They chased each other through the underbrush, paws thudding against the earth, the old instincts slipping back into place like they had never left.
They mourned the loss of Prongs, lifting their heads to the sky and howling a sorrowful song in remembrance of their fallen friend. Then, exhausted, they curled up together in the dappled shadows, bathed in moonlight.
For the first time in a decade, neither of them was alone.
AN: Edited 3/3/25