Chapter Text
“This is not fair.” The sound of metal clashing could be heard. “You’ve already had half of it, Moons! Stop!”
“You shouldn’t have gotten the chocolate one, you know it’s my weakness.”
He was chuckling, his cheek with a streak of brown sugary paste he desperately wanted to lick off his face. The spoons kept on their hellish crusade.
“It was supposed to be half and half!”
“I never agreed to that.”
“You nodded!”
“I crossed my fingers.”
His mouth dropped open. “Well, that deserves punishment.”
Remus bit his lip. “What type of punishment?”
“I’m not kissing you the rest of the day.” He got up from the seat, as if very affronted. When he turned around again, the other man had his spoon poking out of his mouth, very entertained with himself.
“You’re still eating it!”
“Mercy. Have Mercy on me.”
There’s a memory Sirius keeps going back to in his head.
There had been fairly good weather out there in good old Godric’s Hollow, James had no practice that day, Lily had just started what Sirius loved calling her potion empire, and Harry was only three years old. Almost four.
Summer. 1984.
She had worn a light green dress, insisting they all packed a basket with an assortment of food and beverages in it for a picnic, arguing there weren’t many days like these and making them jump from their cosy spots in the living room where they had been enjoying a rendition of Mary Poppins, which Harry seemed to really enjoy judging by the number of times he had put it on the tv.
“You think the umbrella is her wand?” James asked, scanning the screen as if he hadn’t seen that same scene countless times before. “Like Hagrid.”
‘Um-bre-lla’ Harry repeated, piling up blocks in an enormous tower on the rug, asking his uncle Padfoot to do the same every once in a while with a tug at his trousers.
“I think—she must be a hell of a witch, look at her. That’s wandless magic.” He pointed towards where she was singing and swinging around. “What about the statute of secrecy?”
“Shit. Hadn’t thought about that.”
That’s when Lily had come barging in from upstairs, stopping at the foot of the stairs to put on her shoes.
“We should go out, the sun is shining,” she said, pinning her hair up. “And there’s no way I’ll sit through another run of that movie, I’m telling you.”
Sirius pouted his lips. “But I’m not dressed for the occasion…” he stopped when he saw her stare through the mirror.
“Not a word.”
He got up.
Lily could always convince anyone of doing anything she wanted.
So they arrived at a meadow, green grass all around, mixed with small flowers and bees swarming in every corner. They were almost alone, picking out a spot under a tree while Lily swished Harry around, another family staring at them from yet another spot under another tree.
“Shit, did we pack the sandwiches?” James asked, biting his tongue and frantically searching the small basket that fit his whole arm thanks to the extension charm. He hoped the other family hadn’t noticed.
“On the other side,” Sirius chuckled at him, smiling as Harry picked up a flower with a bee on it.
‘No, sweetie, not that one—’ Lily tried telling him.
The toddler had run and run until he was worn out, dozing off with a blueberry gripped in his hand and grass stained trousers, small round glasses askew on his nose, fingerprints and mud all over.
Glasses he saw James grab from his face really delicately, absentmindedly talking to Lily about things Sirius cannot recall now as he took out a small bag from the basket and started cleaning them. Taking his time. Raising them up to his face every once in a while to assure they were completely fine.
He leaned in. “You remember there’s a spell for that? Nobody is staring.”
His best friend had only smiled, sliding the cloth a last time before shrugging. “Come on Pads, where’s the love in that?” He placed Harry’s glasses on his nose again, sparing a small moment to rumple his hair softly, in fondness.
Orion would’ve rather died than do anything of the sort.
And it was a powerful message indeed, in a world where magic could do anything for you, a handmade gift or gesture really was a jewel between a sea of stones.
And yes, it might have been a result of a childhood spent in a Muggle home, but Remus always did everything that way.
He used to bake his mother’s recipes with patience. He tested the temperature of the water with his hand before going in, he polished his shoes by hand and prepared Sirius’ tea like clockwork. He read books and the ones he loved the most he highlighted. Never on the first read, though, unless it was a particularly life-changing one.
Sirius began to learn. He dropped the impulse of reaching out for his wand to do the easiest of tasks, he tried using his hands for a means of making instead of tearing apart—and he thought about how maybe normal people took many of these moments for granted. Someone making something for them with effort, that is.
That’s why the first few times he visited the sanctuary he prided himself in being really involved in everything, in learning to build desks, and chairs, and stools and—bookshelves even. It kept his mind occupied. It kept him active. And he did enjoy the results, he didn’t want to seem like a brat wizard when almost everyone in there lacked wands like his’. When they had to learn to control their magic manually because there was no other way. He wanted to show he could, too.
And that’s why when he noticed Remus’ limp, he prided himself in already knowing what to do to help, even if it was a bit. He prided himself in doing something for him at last. And so he had spent two days polishing his wooden model until it felt right, until it didn’t hurt his palm after a while and until it looked pretty enough. It really was a plus not seeing his lips strain every time he gave a step forward, not to see his leg trembling when they walked long distances. And he had thought back then, that he would do anything for the sake of comforting him for the rest of his life if he’d let him.
Remus left his cane, either way. That’s what puzzles him most of the time.
The clothes he understands, the weather is colder than only light denim for cover, warmth that comes with being a werewolf included. Yet the cane and the potions do feel like a statement to him.
He completely left him behind. That’s what hurts him most of the time.
Apart from the fact he doesn’t know where he is, or what he’s doing, or where he’s spending the night—
He falls on the bed, still not changing the sheets because there’s a faint smell of him remaining in there. And he had gotten used to it before going back to sleep. As hopeless as it sounds, it will always have a tranquilising effect on him.
“Hey,” Regulus says, opening the door. “The pasta is almost done.”
Sirius sighs, placing a leaf between the pages he had been reading minutes before. Remus’ Mary Shelley’s copy still open in his lap.
“Make haste, before that goddamn german lad gets a hold of the kitchen again.”
It’s been a week since the phone call.
Most of it has been spent that way.
Regulus, waking up to another breakfast like the one Sirius ate the morning before. Knitting his brows together and opening the refrigerator, which of course, was lacking his usual delicacies. The Potter’s family owl, Jim Owlrison, (which on any normal day would make him snort from the memory of the day they named him, but today passed mostly unnoticed) tapping on the window, carrying a letter on its beak that he couldn’t bring himself to respond to.
Going out again, all three of them wandering around and riskily using spells on deserted places or roads. Deciding to stay away from the streets they had walked through yesterday. On purpose, since it would only set him off again.
“Are we sure he’s not at the place you were at a week ago?” Erik asked, holding a thermos that Sirius generously filled with water when he asked, not missing a second of his amazed stare everytime his wand tapped on the rim.
His brother shook his head. “I’ve sent letters, people are alert, no one has seen him.”
Returning defeated to the flat, hours later.
Pouring himself a glass of a bottle he saw on the counter, not caring about the other’s worried stares as he went to bed early. Crying himself to sleep once again, casting a Patronus and watching Moony emerging from the tip of his wand.
Regulus the next day, waking up at 7 am so he could prepare what he called an ‘actual breakfast’, which somehow, was well accepted by Erik at first. Until the third day. When he decided to wake up at 6 am to resume his usual routine of coffee and eggs, bumping into his brother who woke up at his usual hour, apparently smiling as if nothing had changed.
It had been a tirade.
“It’s my fucking goddamn kitchen, it’s my fucking stuff you’re using!” Sirius had listened, when he finally got up from the bed after hearing their almost muted voices. He didn’t really understand if he had heard the words shit deal and France or prance at one point.
So the next day Regulus had bought whole new equipment and filled the fridge with gourmet food. And had woken up at 5, the petty.
“Fucking brit invasion this is,” the other man said, heading for the cupboard where he kept his pans. “Move aside.”
“It’s madeleines today.”
He rolled his eyes. “You can play french aristocrat all you want, you’re still just a british toff.”
He clattered his fork against the plate. “Take that back.”
They surely spent their days entertained.
Nevermind that madeleines were one of Sirius’ favourites. Or the scones he made the day earlier. Or the Lancashire hotpot before. He knew exactly what his brother was doing.
They didn’t really talk about it.
They didn’t talk about much these days, honestly because what would he even say?
He was heartbroken, that was evident.
“I don’t think he’s ever stopped,” Regulus whispered into the night as they lied in bed, back to back. Sirius hopelessly staring at the jacket in front of him, face blank and tears pooling on the pillow. “Loving you, I mean.”
“What would you know?” It crossed his lips almost silently.
His reply took a while.
“Maybe he just needed you to be the one to ask him to return.” He felt him turn around. But he couldn’t face him, not now. “You know why he didn’t, now. But that doesn’t mean—that doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel it.”
“This isn’t about love anymore, Reg.” Another tear fell from his eye. “It doesn’t matter if there’s tons of it for miles—that’s never been enough.”
Happiness, on the other hand… that was a thing people fought over. Family. Safety.
He remembered James, and his heart of gold, his ability to see the best in him always, his hospitality. It’s as if he was made for it. It’s as if he was always meant to have Harry, to laugh with him, to teach him jokes and quidditch like the most natural thing in the world.
That was the life that was meant for him. And he wore it like a badge of honour. He paraded Lily with pride, like she’s the best thing that has ever happened to him, he loved both of them selflessly, anyone could see.
He used to envy some of it when he was alone. When he arrived home to the sound of keys dropping on a ceramic plate, letting himself fall on the sofa and taking in the silence. The impossible-to-ignore silence. Putting on a record to make stupid dinner for one, sitting down half an hour later with a can of soda and glancing around as if something would change.
Settling for a whisky on the rocks instead.
And that was his life, really. That was what he had been accustomed to for years, his new normal. He had accepted the fact he would be the single uncle for the rest of his life, that he would grow old and gray with his stupid records for company and would spend the rest of his nights looking out the window into the starry skies. He had accepted the yearning like routine, and had fucking taken it like a champion at last.
Some days he didn’t even hear his own voice.
Sirius had lost hope completely, during that time. Only to have it renewed as soon as Remus’ face entered his vicinity, to have his goddamn heart jumping from his ribs when they joked around again.
And how fucking dangerous it was. To hope. He knew better than to let himself be filled by it on a regular basis. But he really thought it was here to stay. He really thought he was here to stay.
“Please tell me everything, I don’t care anymore I just need to know,” he had begged to Erik one day because fucking honest to gods, if it was gonna hurt let if fucking hurt at once. If the wound was going to keep on burning let it fucking consume right now.
The tears were long gone but the twisting in his stomach had settled. And he could handle it, really. If everything was a mess at the moment he could handle it. If he had been seeing people, if he maybe liked somebody, he could handle it. If Remus wanted to stay with him nothing else would matter, nothing would stop him ever again.
“I know the same about her as you.” And he actually sounded sorrowful, like he really felt bad for whatever Sirius was going through at that moment. “The rest he let me know, but her—he kept everything hidden.”
And Remus wasn’t here but oh, how he kept surprising him.
They kept looking for him. Of course. They kept trying to track him, only for Sirius to harshly push the map aside every time it lit up in the same direction it did before.
He put on Remus’ clothes, he wore his cologne, he spent the rest of the time in his bed. He went through his drawers—found a bag of pills, once. Flushed them down the toilet angrily. Used his shampoo, and his necklaces. Took his clothes to the launderette, greeted the old ladies he told him about, smiling to himself for a moment then sighing heavily when his heart caught up. He read all the notes in his books, and kept sliding his fingers over the pages.
Which now still had him deep into Mary Shelley’s writing.
“I loved him with a mixture of affection and reverence that knew no bounds.”
He gets up, making his way to the table. Truth be told he wasn’t hungry. He was never hungry these days, but Regulus kept insisting. And he couldn’t say no to him.
“So he was born that way?” Remus’ roommate asks over a plate of creamy ravioli that also tastes like white wine when they’re all finally settled at the table.
He’s pretty sure his brother is just showing off at this point.
“Who was?”
“Your—goblin-looking—fella.”
It had been a whole story to get him to comprehend the existence of elfs when he got a look at Kreacher the morning after Regulus’ arrival.
Sirius snorts, trying hard not to burst out in laughter.
“His name is Kreacher,” replies Regulus between gripped teeth.
“That I know.” He takes another bite, and Sirius can see that the lad is actually enjoying it. “Was he born that way?”
“What do you mean?”
“He wasn’t some—wizard turned into a creature by an evil force or whatever?”
Well fuck it, this might be the first time he’s laughed in days.
“I’m serious,” Erik mumbles with a raised fork. Which makes this whole deal even better.
“No—”
“Don’t,” his brother interrupts him, exasperated. “He’s an elf, we’ve told you. That’s just the way it is.”
Well, he had told him while Sirius still laid completely catatonic, curled up in the sofa as the other three were made aware of the other’s existence. He’s pretty sure the neighbors might be upset over the non stopping arguing or the way his ‘what the fucking hell is that’ could surely be heard over the whole building. The elf had nearly scowled at him, which made Erik hit the wall with his back by the way he tried to get away as soon as possible.
The dynamics were certainly odd.
Sometimes Regulus settled down on the corner, casting a muffliato spell as he spoke to Kreacher, pacing around him as they discussed—whatever the fuck it was that they discussed. Sometimes the elf seemed to bring back artifacts, which Regulus rapidly scanned or sometimes hid within his robes.
And it’s not that he was nosy, but when a lighter and a piece of fabric slid down his brother’s hands, he got confused. Of course he found the endeavor suspicious, though, of course it piqued his interest. More so when most of these rendezvous ended up in Kreacher disappearing with a crack and Regulus acting as if nothing had happened.
“Where is it you send him to?” Sirius questioned him, catching a certain strangeness in the air.
If he expected it, he didn’t show. If he was hiding something, he didn’t show. It was impossible to get through when he got like this, all rigid shoulders and calm face. “France.”
“What for?”
He hesitated. “Mum.”
The hairs on the back of his head spiked up. He didn’t ask anything anymore, that had been enough to throw him off the whole thing.
The nights were spent staring at the sky. His mind drifting off to the Remus he had known compared with the one he knew now. Putting on a cassette tape and clutching another one of his jumpers against his body. I miss you, he would tell the moon in his head. Again. Can you feel it? Do you miss me too?
Other days he felt really angry. He would almost glare at the moon as he argued in his head. How could you do this to me, Moons? How could you ask me not to push you away then cut me off completely?
Today was one of the sad ones. After the goddamn pasta and a movie, Sirius was now sitting at his usual spot, tracing very known shiny dots and bumps.
Please come back, Remus.
“James won’t stop sending owls,” Regulus tells him, settling down beside him.
Please miss me too.
Sirius frowns. Then his lip shakes, so he buries his face between his hands. “Answer him for me?”
“They will notice.”
Please miss me too. Please come back.
“Let them notice, I don’t care.”
There’s no way he can tell him, there’s no way he can tell anybody. It had been one thing thinking Remus would be back, that he could hug him, and simply exist next to him. How fucking crushing it was.
“I don’t want to get anyone involved.”
His brother frowns, softly. “He’s James.”
And Sirius can’t really hold it any longer. “He let him go, Reg. He fucking let him go, that time.”
How can I love you if you don’t come back?
“What’s this one supposed to mean?” They were standing in front of an illustration, a pair embraced between a whirlwind of bodies.
Punishment, it meant. To some.
“Lust. Dante’s shit.” He raised his eyebrows suggestively, Remus smiled.
Love, also.
Past all the punishment, past what they thought would be a curse—love was the force that remained. Letting oneself be overcome by it because what use did it even have if not for feeling it completely until it shined through your bones?
“Interesting.”
It was all bullshit. Remus knew all this too, evident in his lopsided grin and willingness to not let him read the cards. But it was entertaining, it was surely some sort of flirtatious thing so like what they had been before—he accepted it.
He would accept anything from him at this point.
“Maybe he’s not even here anymore,” he mumbles, a poignant headache slowly creeping up his head as they stare at yet another empty building. He avoids a woman that stops to stare at him, as if shocked, blushing. He winces. “I’m going back, perhaps I’ve overlooked something”
Erik waves a hand. “You go, I’m gonna—I have some stuff to do. Might be back late.”
He had been doing that a lot lately. Disappear for hours then return to the flat contemplative, he guessed. Hands fidgety and stare lost in the distance.
Sirius didn’t ask.
It had been one of those days that Erik was god-knows-where, and Sirius was feeling anxious and like wanting to get out of—everything—that Regulus insisted they went somewhere else for a change of scenery.
The place they finally settled on was a small cafe, sitting down on a table outside and ordering two hot chocolates, to his surprise.
Chocolate that leaves a little mark on his brother’s lips as he opens his mouth to ask, “how are you feeling?”
“It’s all wrong, Reg.” He insists, deflating. “I couldn’t even—it took two fucking weeks for me to notice. I was too busy trying to get him back. I never stopped to think maybe he wasn’t—there.”
Sirius truly feels fucking miserable. “He could still hate me for all I know.”
Regulus sighs.
“And it’s not that I resent him for hating me, I was an arse, there’s no way that can be justified—if there’s hate in there I can know for sure he loved me once, that it was strong enough for it to be true—” It’s until then he notices the hand holding him over the table, firm as if helping him to stay calm. “There’s a type of hatred that can only come from what used to be deep, rooted affection. And if that’s all I can get at least I had something, at least we had a few good days, maybe I could live with that.”
“But I can’t live with the fact that he’s out there, guards up, with—don’t know how much money and—” He closes his eyes, sniffing. “If I only found him sooner, if I could have had the chance to stop this before it even began—if there was a chance—I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself.”
The hold on his arm falters for a second, but he doesn’t pay it mind.
“I can’t stand not knowing where he is, and what he’s doing—I can’t stand not knowing the reason that he left because—I can do it. The whole raising a child bit, the whole family bit.” His head is lying between his hands now, tears falling onto the table. “If it’s with him I would do it. But fucking hell—why does he have so many secrets?”
He can’t blame Remus for the things he did when he wasn’t in the picture. He knows.
But he refuses to let him go, he refuses to accept what he saw when retrieving the locket. Because it can’t be true. Because nobody can ever understand Remus the way he does, nobody can ever make him smile and laugh the way he can.
That’s what he had settled on after so many sleepless nights.
He could do the whole thing, for him he would. It worked out fine with Harry, had it not?
“We’ll find him, Sirius,” his brother soothes him, squeezing a last time before raising up his cocoa. And there’s something in his stare, like determination, that makes him feel an ounce of faith. “We will. I promise.”
And even though it’s his little brother, even though nothing is ever certain, even though every day his heart breaks a bit more—he knows Regulus is not lying. And he knows he’s feeling some type of way too.
When they return to the flat, dinner is already made, steamy on the table with an accompanying grin by Erik, and a raised brow like Regulus did.
Well, they were tired enough.
“So, what’s the rate?” The other man asks, after the definitely quiet meal Sirius definitely enjoyed, but won’t tell him about it.
Regulus smirks, faintly. “Good enough,” he says, rising up from his spot on the table and levitating the plates to the sink, where the sponge immediately starts scrubbing them. He then scans the other man mercilessly from head to toe. “Missing parsley, perhaps.”
That makes him smirk. “That’s subjective.” He shrugs. “Funny you’d mention it, being Brit and all.”
In a moment, every knife on the table floats softly through the air, not really pointing towards him but definitely not pointing somewhere else—a subtle warning, so to say.
That doesn’t make Erik stop. “I’ve had worse things pointed at me.” His eyes turn mischievous. “Better, also.”
“Doubt that.”
“Don’t think you’re in the position to try to threaten me, really.” He looks at Sirius, then at Regulus again, slowly. “Spend a lot of time in Paris, do you?”
Regulus’ eyes look like slits when he hurls, “you’re shiftless.”
“I’ll survive.”
“Cut it off already,” Sirius intervenes, exasperated.
What the fuck was that about?
He doesn’t care, he thinks. He gets up, making his way to the living room. How much fucking misery does he still have in him? He reaches out to a small box on a side table, pulling out a brown wrapper and pushing the candy in his mouth.
“Those are his favourites.” Erik joins him later, sitting in front of the stereo, turning the volume up as Eye In The Sky by The Alan Parsons Project plays.
“The sun in your eyes,
Made some of the lies worth believing…”
Grand. Perfect. Truly the best thing that could happen right now.
“I know.” He twists the wrapping around his finger. “They were Hope’s favourite too.”
When he senses confusion in the other man’s stare, he raises a brow. “His mum.”
“He doesn’t talk much about her.”
“She was really lovely,” he recalls, a squeeze in his chest. “And she loved me, somehow.”
And she did, he remembers the first time he met her, the way she hugged him like he deserved it—startling him at first from the tenderness of it. She had been beaming and Remus couldn’t really meet their stare as Peter and James carried their bags. He was shy, Sirius could tell. But what was there to be embarrassed about? He had the cosiest home he had ever seen, his parents looked at him with pride when he told them about his lessons, Lyall patted him on the back and asked lots of questions, sharing some of his anecdotes too while offering cinnamon rolls to them all. They really were such good parents.
His guts churn painfully, he clutches the armrest in an effort not to be sick everytime the word comes to mind.
“We didn’t even get to tell her—about us, I mean. But a part of me thinks she knew.”
The other man’s voice wavers as he talks. “How did it happen?”
And Merlin, how did it happen?
“Suppose he told you about the war?” When he nods, he continues, “Moony’s father owed some favours to Dumbledore, our headmaster and leader of the Order of the Phoenix, as we called ourselves. He helped him with information and all, since he worked at the ministry.”
That he found out about later.
“They hunted him down, burned the house and left them—on the lawn. Dead already. The werewolf that turned Remus was involved, it was—”
Erik averts his gaze. “Fucking hell—”
“Many families died during that time.” Regulus gets closer, sitting down on the sofa too. “You were either born pure or a disgrace, no in betweens in their head.”
“But you were one of the pure ones, he said.”
“Not even that marked you as safe, I was a blood traitor.” He shrugs. “I have a friend, she comes from an ancient lineage of witches. Still, she didn’t fit the blood purity criteria for them, so they killed her family too. Blood traitors, half bloods, mudbloods, they had lots of stupid names.”
Erik’s skin prickles, he shakes his head. “Nevermind, let’s change the theme.”
Like some type of joke mocking his current sentiments, the first notes to November Rain start playing. He has no option but to snort.
Misery loves company does it not?
“He’s so fucking stubborn,” he somehow manages to pronounce. Completely out of the blue.
No one says anything. They stay there.
“I know that you can love me when there’s no one left to blame,
So never mind the darkness, we still can find a way,
‘Cause nothing lasts forever, even cold November Rain.”
Every song is about Remus.
Every song will always be about Remus.
Another week passes, and they still don’t have any leads.