Chapter Text
McGonagall’s cottage is down a dirt track on the outskirts of Hogsmeade, next to a Muggle farmer’s barn that looks like it hasn’t seen use in several years. That’s where Sirius and Remus are currently hiding, peering out through the deteriorating sheets of metal siding to watch the cottage.
Remus isn’t even sure what day of the week it is, never mind whether school is in session or not, but he figures that sooner or later McGonagall will have to pop back. Remus is positive this is Minerva’s cottage. One of the bartenders at the Three Broomsticks had mentioned Minerva’s cottage and Remus is sure James once tried to bribe the Hogsmeade milkman to send her extra milk for her Animagus form. Of course, that had gotten him detention, Remus remembers fondly, as he watches the front door of the cottage. There is an empty milk bottle sitting on the doorstep.
“You sleep, Moony,” Sirius says without looking away from the front porch of the cottage. “I’ll keep watch.”
Remus can’t deny the idea of an hour or so of sleep sounds good. They’ve been travelling for six days, maybe more—it’s all starting to blur into one long sweep of blisters, aches and pains—and barely sleeping at the side of the roads or in abandoned bothies. “Alright,” Remus murmurs, sitting down amongst the remnants of hay and straw. He leans his head against Sirius’ thigh and closes his eyes. He can touch Sirius whenever he wants now, and they’ve barely spent a moment out of arm’s reach since breaking out, so Remus sleeps with his hand latched around Sirius’ ankle.
“Remus, Remus,” Sirius says, stirring Remus from his sleep. Sirius is crouched beside him now but Remus’ hand is still tight around Sirius’ bare ankle. “She’s here.”
Remus stands then, and brushes the hay from his stolen trousers. Sirius pushes his windswept hair away from his face and tries to comb it down. Minerva McGonagall is one of the only people Sirius will try to scrub up for, Remus reckons.
“Shall we?” Remus says, feeling hoarse and nervous. Things are either going to make or break right now.
Sirius is nervous. He nods, his mouth set in a tight line. “Yeah.”
Sirius knocks on the door brusquely. His knuckles are still bruised, the faint yellow-green of fading anger and regret. Remus leans against his side. He’s suddenly nervous: Minerva could just as easily call the Aurors and turn them back in. Remus and Sirius have talked about this plenty, both before they enacted their escape and on the long walk from the North Sea; Minerva had liked them at Hogwarts, doted on them even. Sirius reckons she knew about him, James and Peter learning to become Animagi, and Remus reckons she’s always had a sweet spot for the four of them.
Still, it’s a gamble they have to take—no one else is around to help them.
Minerva answers the door a few moments after Sirius knocks and for a second, Remus swears his heart stops. She looks at the both, her green eyes wide and the shock clear upon her features, before she steps away from the door and waves her hand at them. “Inside, now,” she says, like she’s ordering them back to bed when they’ve been caught sneaking out to check how the hooch they brewed in sixth year is fermenting.
Remus follows Sirius into the quaint little cottage. There are no Wizarding photographs on the walls, just the sound of the Wireless in the background; it almost looks Muggle and it’s sort of charming to think about Minerva McGonagall outside of Hogwarts. Or it would be, if Remus weren’t going out of his mind with worry.
Minerva shuts the door and ushers them into a tiny, oak-beamed living room where there is a fire burbling away in the wood burner. Remus immediately stands next to it, feeling the warmth creep into his skin. Sirius is jittering as he stands next to Remus, and Remus only startles just a little when Sirius takes his hand and links their fingers, a tight, grounding presence.
“So far, so good,” Sirius whispers.
“Yeah.” Remus can hear Minerva in the kitchen as he stands, nudging a little closer to the fire. He feels so cold it’s taken root in his bones but this fire is starting to melt him a little. He feels so tired he could fall asleep standing.
Minerva appears in the doorway, levitating a tray next to her. She looks stern and foreboding as she waves her want to set the tray on the coffee table, then gestures to it. “Have a biscuit,” she tells them.
Remus lets out a bubble of disbelieving laughter at the same time Sirius does, a bark of it that seems to pierce the thick stone walls of the cottage. Bizarrely, perhaps it’s the cold or the tiredness or the stern note to Minerva’s voice, but Remus steps forward and takes a custard cream from the small china plate.
Minerva sits in a chair by the window and regards them for a moment, these two shabby twenty-two-year-olds, dirt-streaked and gaunt, tired and dark. She leans forward and picks up one of the three tea cups on the tray. “It took you long enough, boys,” she says tersely, then sips her tea.
“What?” Remus gasps as Sirius lets out another barking laugh. Sirius shifts and sits down cross-legged in front of the fire, warming his back against it. Remus tips because Sirius keeps a hold of his hand and there’s no hiding the fact they are holding hands from Minerva now. She doesn’t seem to care, simply sipping her tea.
“I could believe either one of you getting caught up in something nasty,” she explains. “But the two of you together? Not a cat in hell’s chance.”
Remus huffs out a sigh that it feels like he’s been holding since that first night in Azkaban and sits next to Sirius, leaning against his shoulder. In fact, giving up all pretence, Remus lets his head fall onto Sirius’ shoulder—Godric, that is never going to lose its shine; Remus will always treasure how easily he can touch Sirius now.
“We would never,” Sirius says, and Remus can feel the tension in his shoulders. “Not James.”
Remus nods, shoving the custard cream he’s been holding into his mouth as his stomach lets out an almighty rumble. “It was Peter…”
Minerva’s eyes widen, setting her tea cup back onto the saucer with a clink. “Pettigrew? My…”
“The rat,” Sirius snarls.
“I knew it couldn’t be you both,” Minerva says then, setting her cup down. “Have some tea, boys. I’ve been petitioning Dumbledore and the Wizengamot for a retrial, a real trial, but they’ve been avoiding me somewhat.”
Remus just nods. He’s so tired and he’s so surprised that Minerva seems to be taking this all in her stride, although nothing about Minerva McGonagall should surprise him anymore. Remus closes his eyes, feeling safe for the first time in a while. “You won’t call the Aurors?”
It’s Minerva’s turn to laugh this time. “No, certainly not. They will not be coming into my house, and you two shall be staying here until we can get a re-trial, of course.”
Sirius puts his arm around Remus’ shoulders, squeezing them slightly. Remus doesn’t open his eyes, feeling safe and content. “We did it, Moony,” he murmurs, his mouth pressed against Remus’ temple.
“Thank you, Minnie,” Sirius says then, turning just a little that his hair tickles Remus’ cheek.
Minerva tuts. “I suppose I can’t insist you call me Professor McGonagall anymore, can I?”
“Absolutely not.” Sirius chuckles. Remus snickers, his eyes opening a little to see a slice of Sirius’ sharp smile and Minerva’s bemused smile a little further beyond.
With the fire against his back and Sirius against his shoulder, Remus feels like it might just all be okay. They have plenty left to do, a trial to prepare, their plights to plead, lives to get back, but for now, it all seems okay.