Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

- Thirty-Five - 

‘So, this is where the magic happens,’ says Sirius, his eyes drifting across Remus' kitchen. He looks almost as bad as he had yesterday, when he appeared on Remus' threshold - pale as a ghost, no warning, nothing - but then again, so does Remus' kitchen.
Most of the surfaces are covered in mugs, tea having dried at the bottom of them days ago, with the occasional plate scattered in between. Most of the time, he doesn’t bother with plates. It’s not like Remus has any excuse—the full moon is as far away as it gets, and it’s not like he’s got much else on his… well, plate. Still. 

‘You’ve been here before,’ says Remus, because it’s the truth and because he doesn’t know what else to say. Surprise and shock and purpose had driven him to action last night, but that was then. Now everything feels so insubstantial, everything he could say, compared to the news Sirius brought with him.

‘Some fifteen years ago,’ says Sirius. He sweeps his hair out of his eyes. It’s no longer the matted mess it was a year ago, when it reached all the way to his elbows.

It’s still a mess, though. The shower he had didn’t change a thing about that, and Sirius doesn’t seem to care. Of course, he never cared about such mundane things as looks - his especially. It used to annoy Remus, just a little. He wouldn't exactly call it jealousy, he could do without the attention Sirius' looks brought him, but the sickly grey-ish color of his own skin drew attention on its own. On the worst full moon days he was - and is - one shade away from blending in with the mouldy, dusty bed covers in the Shack. 

It isn't really about looks, though. 

‘Not since it’s yours,’ says Sirius and even though he looks nothing like the boy he’d been back then, the gleam in his eyes is the same. Remus looks away. Has to.

The kitchen feels crowded now with Sirius in it, leaning against the counter, dressed in robes a little too short for him but hanging loosely from his gaunt frame like an oversized tent. The kitchen feels crowded and smaller at the same time, and if Remus dwells on it, he can feel the walls closing in on him.

It is because of Sirius. It isn’t because of Sirius.

They are not alone in his kitchen. Their presence is almost palpable, though neither of them has dared to say their names yet. There are other names, more urgent than the shadows clinging to them - Voldemort. Harry. Harry before them all. The shadows can wait; they will still be there, as they have been for fourteen years.

Remus chooses to ignore it - the urgency and the shadows alike. There’s nothing they can do now anyway. They checked off all the boxes last night, and now they’re… waiting. For what exactly? He doesn't know. That should feel familiar; he's good at not knowing things, despite his mind never shutting up. It's doing it again now, pacing and he has to stop himself from doing the same. Sirius is already raising an eyebrow at him. Remus swallows a sigh. Might as well follow Sirius’ lead, he thinks, indulging in a little… whatever this is… If only he knew what he was doing. He has always sucked at small talk.

‘I didn’t change anything,’ Remus says to Sirius’ arched eyebrow. He hadn’t had the heart to, just like his father hadn’t after his mother’s death. It ranges somewhere between stupid and silly, and definitely resides in nostalgia, but he hasn’t even taken up residence in the bigger bedroom, keeping it like a shrine. A haunted room in a haunted house.

Sirius’ eyes are set on the colorful mess on the kitchen counter - too many mugs to count at a single glance. His lips curl slightly. ‘Can’t remember your dad being that much of a slob,’ he says without missing a beat.

If it were anyone but Sirius - not just anyone, but the only other person… no, best not to go down that road now - if it were anyone but Sirius, Remus knows he would feel twitchy, now. That unpleasant prickly feeling would be spreading inside of him, as it always does when he feels like he’s failing to play his part.

But it doesn’t.

He knows that smile. It’s familiar.

It’s strange how a false suspicion, your best friend’s death, and twelve years of unjust imprisonment put things into perspective.

And age, probably - the age thing also had something to do with it. If the mess on his kitchen counter didn’t scream ‘here lives a proper adult,’ Remus didn’t know what did.

As it happens, it is Sirius, and Remus simply raises an eyebrow back at him. ‘He knew you were stopping by, didn’t he?’

Sirius laughs, for the first time since he rapped against Remus’ front door. However much his humour matched his last name, he’d been all business the previous night. No sarcasm, no jokes - just ‘He’s back’ and a few snippets of information thrown at Remus before asking him to open the Floo.

Remus is pretty sure it’s the first real laugh he’s heard from him in… fifteen years? Since Harry’s birth, maybe. He wonders what’s changed. The stakes are just as high, aren’t they?

The laugh is still audible in Sirius’ voice when he says, ‘You’re saying it looked like that-’ he gives a casual, almost dismissive wave of his hand ‘-and he just tidied up for us?’

Remus clears his throat, his voice dropping a little. ‘Maybe.’ The lie tugs at his lips, and something is tugging on a deeper level, inside him. He had never been good with changes, but it turns out he isn’t good with things staying the same either. They’re both so different, yet so much the same, it’s painful. Sirius’ half-smile - one of those that just lives in his eyes, not on his lips - opens the cupboard holding a hundred memories with exactly the same expression, carefully stored away for years.

It shouldn’t - it shouldn’t feel comforting, the familiarity of it all. He shouldn’t feel more at ease than he has in years. He should be focused, doing… something.

Remus rolls his eyes at himself, wondering whether he wants it to be harder, whether he likes to suffer. It’s not the first time he’s wondered this. He's wondered it more times than he can count. This being easier than he thought isn’t a bad thing, surely? Still, he purses his lips to stop them from moving.

The half-smile is still on Sirius’ face, and, once more not for the first time, Remus admires him for jumping between moods with the ease of… well, Sirius.

‘You mustn’t tell lies about dead people, Remus.’

It hurts. And it doesn’t. Remus doesn’t know what to make of it.

‘I think… there’s nothing wrong with… polishing up a bit for… for guests,’ Remus says, willfully vague. Not for a second does he believe he’s fooling Sirius. He wonders if he ever has. He had, that one time, obviously - the big time that’s haunted them both for thirteen years - but that hadn’t been deliberate. ‘One must keep up - er - appearances.’

Sirius snorts, but he’s still pinning Remus with his eyes, looking more amused than anything else. ‘So if you’d known I’d be… stopping by, you would’ve…?’ He trails off, letting the sentence hang between them. He doesn't need to finish it. The question is loud enough as it is.

This time, Remus fails to rein in his smile. He knows it’s tinging his voice. ‘Probably not,’ he says at once, drawing another laugh from Sirius. It’s too loud for the crowded kitchen.

As it happens, this is Sirius. And Sirius seems to have decided for them that 'easy' is the route to take for now. Remus wills his own lips into a small smile. It feels easy. Too easy.

‘Bit late for that appearances bit...’

- Eleven -

Remus’ fingers curled tighter around his wand as he stared at his opponent, waiting for him to strike. It could only be a matter of seconds now. His heart hammered in his chest, as if trying to nudge him into action. 

This was just his luck. Their first-ever 'dueling' lesson in Defense Against the Dark Arts, the first jinx they were taught, and they had paired him with-

‘Make sure not to step back in advance, yeah,’ said Sirius Black with a smug little grin. He twirled his wand lazily in his hand, and Remus eyed it warily. Just the other day, Sirius had set a tapestry on fire - whether on purpose or by accident, Remus wasn’t sure. Whatever the case, it did nothing to calm his fluttering nerves. ‘Kinda defeats the point, you know.’

Being paired with Sirius Black to try out the Knockback Jinx kind of defeated the point of practice, as far as Remus was concerned. He doubted very much that he would cast so much as a shower of sparks, not with that grin directed at him.

Remus tried to keep an open mind as he moved around the castle. Everything was so new, so much, so everywhere, and he was utterly overwhelmed. Any kind of judgment on his part felt not only premature but ludicrous, especially when his thoughts hadn’t even fully formed before being cast aside by the next.

He didn’t like Sirius Black.

‘A true Gryffindor,’ Sirius had said the other day when Remus had flinched after Professor McGonagall transformed into a cat and back into a woman before their eyes. As if that was something to be expected. Truth be told, having known he’d share his dorm with James Potter and Sirius Black, Remus would gladly have chosen another house. Hufflepuff, maybe. They seemed alright.

James Potter and Sirius Black, however… They were already knee-deep in a feud with some Slytherin called Severus Snape, they’d laughed at their Potions professor (the audacity), and they seemed determined to earn more detentions than any student who’d ever walked these castle hallways. The tapestry thing certainly helped with that. 

All Remus wanted was to disappear into the sea of black robes, blending in with the hundreds of other students.

Most of the time, it worked. Unassuming as he was, he stayed under the radar. Most of the time, James and Sirius were content to keep to themselves, sneaking out of the dorm and doing who-knows-what, setting off little explosions in the confines of James’ four-poster. But unlike James’ bed, Sirius’ opinions were never veiled - harsh and cutting as they were. Both Remus and Peter had learned that quickly. Sirius’ remarks ranged from casual, snide comments tossed at Peter in passing (‘You sure they gave you a wand and not just a stick, Pettigrew?’) to vicious taunts that cut a little too close for Remus to easily dismiss (‘What’s the matter with you, Lupin? You dying or what?’).

Usually, Remus kept his head down and stayed out of the way, but with James and Sirius already gaining a reputation, it had only been a matter of time before the professors started separating them in class. Now, face-to-face with Sirius, keeping his head low wasn’t an option.

The gleam in the grey eyes set on Remus was more predatory than playful, though he still twirled his wand with a nonchalance that implied he didn’t think Remus would put up much of a fight. Or any fight at all.

Of course, Sirius Black had got it completely wrong.

But the truth, the reason why Remus looked like he was dying, was worse than any insult. The sharp needles of the full moon would pierce him more painfully than any cutting words could.

Of course, Sirius Black had also got it completely right.

Remus didn’t belong here. Not in Gryffindor. But he didn’t belong at Hogwarts either. He didn’t belong anywhere. And yet, he was here, courtesy of some miracle in the shape of a long-haired old man who had knocked on their front door months ago - and then eaten their crumpets. If Remus wanted to stay - and if only to not disappoint his parents or prove Sirius' assessment right - he had to act normal. He had to learn how to blend in. To pretend he belonged.

His fingers twitched. He tightened his grip around the cool wood of his wand to stop them from trembling.

He was scared, of course. How could he not be, with everything changing? Moving staircases, literal ghosts, hundreds of people.

People like Sirius Black weren’t scared.

Sirius was still grinning at him, not a care in the world and not an ounce of respect for Remus. 

No one else would do it for him, would they? He could already feel the hems of his self-control fraying, drifting in the sea of students as he was. He needed to decide on a route to take if he didn’t want to be torn apart.

If he didn’t start pretending, if - if he didn’t start believing, and fast - this would be over sooner than taking a step back.

Why shouldn’t he start with being more 'Gryffindor'? Not the brash, loud kind - not the setting-tapestries-on-fire kind (not that Remus knew how). He didn’t need attention, nor could he fool anybody with that kind of act. But he was already drawing some attention by flinching away, and that had to stop.

He raised his wand. Pretend.

Sirius was still grinning.

‘Flipendo,’ Remus said before the flash of bravado he’d talked himself into could seep away again. His voice was firmer than it felt in his throat. Almost as if he believed. 

To his utmost surprise, Sirius was knocked back. With a loud thud, he hit the set of desks lining the walls.

The noise caused several of their classmates to turn around.

Sirius huffed as he pulled himself up again, his robes a little disheveled.

‘Sorry,’ Remus mumbled, not liking the dozens of eyes on him one bit. He hadn’t meant to hit Sirius that hard - hadn’t expected it to work at all, if he was being honest.

‘You weren’t supposed to hit first,’ said Sirius as he shrugged his robes back into place.

Remus pursed his lips. If it wasn’t a bit hypocritical of Sirius Black of all people to point out that Remus had ignored the instructions, then Remus was but a fluffy little rabbit.

Sirius raised his eyebrows. ‘Wasn’t complaining, was I?’ He shook his head and, while Remus grappled with the fact that, idiot that he was, he had apparently spoken his thoughts aloud, Sirius added, ‘Don’t back off now, Lupin.’ He raised his wand again. ‘It just got interesting.’

-Thirty-Five - 

‘Level with me?’ says Remus in the evening, picking at the lasagna he had thrown together. They had spent the whole day with light conversation, and while it was nice, he feels like they are wasting time. He can’t shake the feeling that they are supposed to do something -heavy emphasis on doing. Right now, they are just falling into old patterns, sprinkled with a bit of awkwardness and weighed down by loss. No one is gaining anything from their small talk about Remus' parents’ house.

He has a strong urge to move and doesn’t know how to combat it. With Sirius here, it’s not like he can just up and leave.

Sirius glances up from his own plate. If he is surprised by Remus cutting off their conversation about plants, he doesn’t show it.

‘Alright, Remus,’ he says, pointing his fork at the lasagna on his plate. ‘With all due respect: this is awful.’ Granted, it doesn’t really look like lasagna - more like the slaughtered organs of some poor being that Remus’ rabbit, his furry little problem as James called the wolf, had had a go at. ‘And the bar’s low.’ Still, he takes another bite from the supposedly awful sort of lasagna.

‘I don’t usually cook for myself,’ says Remus. He grimaces around his own forkful. It takes some effort to swallow it down. Perhaps Sirius has a point.

‘You're lucky it doesn’t show,’ says the man who, as far as Remus knows, has been living off rats for months. Sirius takes another bite, smiling. He isn’t serious - not entirely, Remus doesn’t think he is. Or is he? Had he said this was easy? Well, he doesn't know shit, but that's been settled already. 

‘It’s not worth the effort.’ Remus shrugs. Sirius opens his mouth, and Remus can hear his protest, hear him say something about sweets, or sandwiches, or tea smothered in sugar before he does. He knows it will sound like seventeen-year-old Sirius’ casual ‘You take my steak,’ or fourteen-year-old James’ assertive ‘No, that won’t do, you have to eat, Moony!’ before he even hears a single syllable of it, so he cuts him off. He doesn’t feel like he can endure hearing any of it.

It’s silly, really. Remus is thirty-five, not sixteen - if he wants to live on sandwiches and too sweet tea, he will. And if he wants to blame it all on the moon, Sirius Black certainly won’t stop him. Small perks of being a werewolf. Although… maybe that’s taking it a bit far, considering it’s not even working, judging by the look lingering in Sirius’ eyes. Remus clears his throat. ‘You know I wasn’t talking about food.’

Sirius’ eyes widen slightly, then narrow again. A storm is brewing behind them - yet another thing that’s exactly the same and painfully different. For a moment, Remus is sure Sirius will put up a fight. Instead, he puts down his fork with a sigh.

‘What do you want to know?’

They had covered the basics the previous night. Voldemort’s return, how Harry had witnessed it all, and that Dumbledore had ordered Sirius to hide at Remus’, instructing them to gather up the old crowd, make sure they were at the ready. Remus struggled to understand what exactly had happened with Harry, but he had no intention of pressing this. He didn’t need to know the details of Voldemort’s return. They needed to concentrate on what to do about it. Forward, not back.

‘What was it exactly Dumbledore told you?’

Sirius’ shoulders slump a little, and only with the sudden absence of tension does Remus realise it had been there all along.
‘I told you,’ says Sirius. Concentration pulls his brows together as he tries recalling Dumbledore’s exact words. ‘Sirius, I need you to set off at once,’ he says. ‘You are to alert Remus Lupin, Arabella Figg, Mundungus Fletcher - the old crowd. Lie low at Lupin’s for a while; I will contact you there.’

Remus frowns. They had done all this right after Sirius arrived. He drags his fork through the mess on his plate. The lasagna isn’t very good - and that’s like saying Binns’ lessons aren’t very gripping.

‘So there isn’t anything we can do right now,’ he says. It’s frustrating. It feels wrong, sitting here, thoughts on Remus’ debatable cooking skills while Voldemort is out there… scheming.

‘I told you,’ says Sirius with a half-shrug. He pushes another bite of lasagna into his mouth.

Remus grimaces.

‘How long is 'a while'?’ he asks.

A day ago, he had been perfectly content spending his days on the sofa or - on particularly sunny days - on the bench outside the house, a mug of tea in his hand, sometimes a book on his lap. Alright, maybe content is a bit of a stretch. But now that prospect feels unbearable, ridiculous even. Especially with Sirius sitting here like he is in no hurry whatsoever. Sirius, who had slashed the Fat Lady’s portrait to get to Peter. Sirius, who had tried killing Peter without explaining to Harry first. Talk about things feeling wrong.

‘Already tired of me?’ Sirius raises an eyebrow, and although he sounds decidedly indifferent, Remus doesn’t miss the tension creeping back into his frame. ‘That didn’t take long-’

‘You know I didn’t mean-’

‘Wouldn’t want to put you out, of course. I reckon I could pop around to Arabella's,’ says Sirius. His fingers are drumming a slow rhythm on Remus’ kitchen table. A smile grazes his lips, another half-smile. It’s the sadder of the two versions - the one that doesn’t reach his eyes. ‘Always liked me, that one.’

Remus tries to recall a single person Sirius failed to charm, despite putting his mind to it. He draws a blank. No, that’s not right. Sirius didn’t even have to try to charm them. People were drawn to him, occasional rudeness and all, like moths to a flame. Remus blamed the brightness he shared with his namesake, in more senses than one. And not only people, also-

‘Her cats especially, if I recall correctly.’

Sirius, completely unfazed by this statement, scoffs, ‘You see, Remus, the best way to win a person’s heart is through their pets.’

Remus hums and, looking at his plate, says around a tiny smile, ‘I remember Mrs Norris being rather fond of you.’ He flicks his eyes up just in time to catch Sirius roll his.

Sirius snorts. This time his eyes crinkle. Remus decides at once that he likes it a whole lot better.

‘Oh, sod off.’

‘No, please tell me,’ says Remus. ‘So... if this is a code you live by… You and Filch…? Something I should know?’

Remus has to hand it to him: Sirius catches up quickly. Always has. When Remus had blown their stories more than once, thanks to his inability to draw up a convincing lie on the spot, when Peter had stuttered and trembled, and when even James had, at times, been unable to rein in his smirk, it had usually been Sirius who put out the fire. Either that, or he had pointed his wand at it and yelled 'Engorgio', figuratively speaking. Now, Sirius’ face is carefully neutral. The almost haughty expression used to have a home on his features. Now it looks as misplaced as a chandelier would in Remus' living room. 

Sirius' voice, however, matches it every bit. It's chandeliers, and large oak tables and smooth velvet when he relents, ‘Well, I certainly didn’t know my and Argus’ intimate relationship was any of your business.’

It’s all Remus can do not to choke on the most awful something ever trying to pass as food when Sirius stitches "Argus" and "intimate" together as if it’s nothing. He wishes that image had never been painted in his mind, but he guesses he has himself to blame for that one.
He coughs. The image stays.

‘It’s alright,’ he says around another cough.

They are dancing around the important topics, but he can’t bring himself to edge closer to the center, closer to them. He tells himself he’s good - he already tried this evening, and that suffices. He tells himself that a failed attempt at poisoning them both is enough for one evening. He knows it’s a lie. He just likes to pretend. He’s become too good at it. He just doesn’t want to put the tension back into Sirius’ shoulders.And who's to blame him for that?

‘You’ll have to do without your manipulation strategy though,’ he says, gesturing at himself. ‘Still no pet, I’m afraid.’

Sirius looks at him as if knowing something Remus doesn’t. The haughty mask slides off, makes place for something more genuine. ‘Forgone the mad rabbit?’

Remus blinks. Sirius stares back at him. And then, completely unexpectedly, a laugh bubbles up in Remus’ throat, pulled up by the first werewolf joke in - it has to be fourteen years, at the very least. He has had a fair share of averted eyes, quickly wiped hands, and ‘you’re lucky I don’t report you’ over the years. A few rude letters, a few curses. But jokes? Not so many.

‘Oh, sod off,’ says Remus.

‘See, I can’t,’ says Sirius, leaning back. His fingers are still drumming that lazy rhythm.‘Dumbledore’s instructions. I’m afraid I’m stuck here. Or you’re stuck with me, depending on the perspective.’

‘As I’m with the mad rabbit,’ says Remus. ‘How very fitting.’

‘I’ll match your mad rabbit with my mad mass murderer.’

Remus’ breath catches in his throat.

‘Alleged mass murderer,’ he says. 

‘Alleged mad mass murderer, you mean?’

‘You heard me.’

Sirius’ lips twitch. ‘Anyways, strike the 'alleged'. I did kill a couple of rats.’

‘So you keep bragging,’ says Remus, ‘and I keep wondering why, seeing as you clearly failed to get to the one rat that counts.’

For a second, Remus fears he has gone too far - fears the smile will slide off Sirius’ face and the tension will creep back into his body. But neither happens. They’ve always been rather good at hiding behind humor, both of them. They always needed James to pull them out of it. His absence couldn’t ring louder if an alarm were going off above their heads. In fact, Remus feels as if an alarm is going off inside his own head. He just isn’t sure what it’s pointing at.

But James isn't here, isn't at all and so they'll likely never lift the shields. 

Sirius doesn't seem to have any intention to do so. ‘Apologies I didn’t live up to your staggering success rate,’ he says, now all sarcasm. Grey eyes dance around the kitchen. ‘I understand not everyone can surrender themselves to the cause like this…’

Remus smiles back at him. If this were anyone but Sirius, he would - no, it doesn’t matter. It is Sirius, as unreal as it feels. However much remains unsaid between them, however loud the past is whispering at them.

He lets silence settle for a beat, then two. Three. It grows heavy, pressing down on his chest. Not unpleasantly, just there. It drags the smile from Sirius’ face, slowly, while his eyebrows move up - just barely - a silent question. If Remus didn’t know better, he would say Sirius looks almost uncertain. His fingers have stilled on the tabletop, lying there now, spread out. The drum of his own heartbeat fills Remus' ears. 

‘It’s good to see you, Padfoot,’ he speaks over it. The nickname tastes wrong, yet so familiar, and the pressure on his chest doesn’t relent. On the contrary, his heart beats faster now, as if fighting against it. He forces himself to another smile. It doesn't feel easy anymore. ‘Your mad mass murderer may stay as long as he wants.’

It takes Sirius a moment to respond, but Remus is pretty sure his eyes flashed when the nickname rolls off his tongue.

‘How very gracious of you,’ Sirius says at last, his voice strangely strained. 

‘Don’t mention it. I’m just following orders,’ Remus shrugs.

Sirius snorts, but silence swallows them once more, save for the sound of metal scraping against Remus’ plate. The lasagna really is awful, but at least it gives him something to do. The clear track of conversation, of thought, is gone, he's wrecked it. He loses himself in meaningless spirals again, not deliberately. Perhaps a little deliberately. He muses on how how he managed to over- and undercook the lasagna at the same time, just as his name falls from Sirius’ lips again.

‘Remus.’

The urgency in Sirius’ tone has Remus’ gaze snapping up. It’s the same tone he used the previous night.

‘I need to tell you something.’

Something cold trickles up his spine, but Remus is pleased to find out he sounds calm.‘Yes?’

Sirius sighs, but his eyes give him away before his words do.

‘I think, actually, Argus and Madam Pince were, are-’

Eyes trained on his plate because he knows it’s the only way not to surrender to the smile threatening to break free, Remus says, ‘Eat your dinner, Sirius,’ before shoving a bite of awful lasagna into his mouth. He frowns. At least he is in no danger of smiling now. It's magic. 

Sirius picks up his fork. ‘Yes, Moony!’ he says with the same conviction, the same tone, Remus knew him to use. More times than he can count. Once, in another life.

The thing tugging at something inside him is back, and there’s no helping it. The smile breaks free. Sirius wins.

And judging by the twitch of his lips, he knows it too.

- Fifteen - 

‘No, Moony, look-’ James’ invisible voice whined, somewhere completely hidden beneath the untraceable depths of the Potters’ Invisibility Cloak, much unlike Remus himself. But a simple, ‘You’re a prefect, Remus; you’re allowed to take a stroll after curfew,’ from James had snatched away all the arguments Remus would most certainly have formed. Har.

There was nothing to look at, of course, but Remus had other things on his mind than pointing out that irony because some of the surrounding portraits were already pointing at them. Not James and Remus, no; Remus and the enormous black dog prancing before him. Whyever he had agreed to referee this lunacy was anyone’s guess. He supposed the answer lay at the bottom of a bottle of firewhiskey, the same bottle that had borne this brilliant idea. The bottle had been trashed a few days ago, and, strange coincidence, so had his reason. Peter had tried, - ’Should you drink? This close to… you know?’. Of course he had been right, but James had raised the stakes just after Peter had raised his concerns, effectively overruling them by pushing the bottle into Remus’ hands with a grin. 

‘Your turn, Moony!’

Sirius’ raised eyebrow had done the rest. 

The thing was, Remus had tried very hard to forget about his furry little problem, as James liked to call it, especially since the whole animagi thing had come to light. No, that was wrong, he hadn’t just tried. He was feeling better, a lot better, actually. He had no business complaining anymore, especially after they had gone out of their way, risked so much for him. 

He couldn’t risk them discovering how boring he actually was, that he wasn’t worth their time, and that they had made a mistake all these years.

He could be normal. 

He had drunk at least a third of that bottle. 

That had been then, but now he was paying the debts of drunk Remus. Painfully sober as he was. And he was, much too sober for this: for Sirius, who was dancing around James - or so Remus presumed - tail wiggling and claws clicking on the floor. It was much too loud, echoing in the hallway.

‘I’m taking all your points if you don’t keep quiet,’ Remus implored, with all the authority he could muster. He had a sneaking suspicion his impending smile stripped his glare of a bit of its weight. 

Sirius of course wasn’t to be deterred that easily. He was looking up at where Remus suspected James to be with a mocking grin that had no business on a dog’s face. Of course dogs couldn’t grin mockingly, as a general rule. 

Sirius could. 

Never having cared for rules, his grin disobeyed biology. 

‘No, I mean it.’ Remus glanced down the hallway, uncertain whether he had heard footsteps or was growing paranoid. Argus Filch was the last person he wanted to run into right now, but Professor McGonagall came a close second. Ever since one of the sixth year prefects had complained about finding James and Sirius in the prefect bathroom, she regarded him with cool suspicion. 

‘Looks like you’re not scaring Moony, Padfoot.’ The smugness in James’ disembodied voice was strong. ‘That’s worth at least three points, don’t you reckon? How does that feel, failing a job his toothpaste managed to complete?’

‘That’s not - I’m not - that was a dream, James,’ Remus told James' disembodied laughter. He broke off as Sirius started to growl and James' laughter tumbled into high-pitched squeals. All the reasons the firewhiskey thing had been a bad idea were stacking up before him, building a wall that was looming over him already. He wanted to bang his head against it. ‘Alright, come on now. Back to the common room-’

‘Already?’ said James.

Already? Remus thought. He felt like he had been out here for hours. Might be because he had been out here for hours. 

There were things that needed doing. He had ignored his Astronomy homework for too long and his mother’s letter was still sitting on his bedside table, waiting for his reply. At least that one was practically writing itself. 

Hi mum, 

you were so proud of me becoming a prefect, remember? You're wondering what I was doing the other night? Well, I was playing guard for James and Sirius, helping them with their stupid bet, making sure they wouldn’t get caught. Not that they usually mind, but it would be a shame if they did before they found out who can scare off more STUDENTS as an animal. No, they’re not dressing up, they ARE animals, animagi, actually... Long story... So, James, no Sirius, no James - actually I’m not sure whose idea it was, but you’ll indulge me, I was quite drunk myself when they came up with it or else I wouldn’t have agreed to this abuse of power, obviously. Although, can we really be sure the founders didn’t intend for the prefects to do exactly as I am? I wasn’t there, neither were you. Right. 

Oh, and yes, you read that right, I’m drinking now. 

And also, I was lying. I’d probably have done it anyway, even if asked sober. 

I bet you’re proud now. 

Cheers. 

PS: Do you still have some of those leftover biscuits? Peter adores them. 

Sirius was pouting at him - another something dogs weren’t supposed to do and something human Sirius would never be caught dead doing. Remus shook his head. Playing dirty wouldn't get him anywhere, not that he needed it. He had already won.

Knowing Sirius, he was playing another game already. 

PPS: You’d love Sirius. He’s a huge, giant nuisance dog. 

‘We said ten points,’ said Remus, pointing at Sirius, ‘he has ten, you, Prongs, have one, you are doing Arithmancy, I don't think I have to explain the ratio-’

Contrary to human Sirius human James did pout very much, usually instigated by some quiddtich tragedy. Although he would never admit it. Remus didn't need to see it, he could hear it in his voice. ’But-’

‘Fair and square, right, James?’ said Remus. Appealing to James’ honour was a bit of a shabby move, Remus knew that, but that Astronomy essay wasn’t going to write itself, not unless he used one of James’ ‘Spill it, Quill!’s, an invention (‘not really worth calling it that, was a walk in the park compared to the map.’) to strip them from the burden that were the lesser interesting essays. According to James those made up about three quarters of their homework. It would also strip Remus from all chance to make it through his O.W.L.s if he relied on them, because while the quills were shockingly good, relying on them meant, he wouldn’t learn a single thing. 

‘Yeah. Guess so.’ 

‘I don’t really think-’ But once more, Remus broke off. This wasn’t footsteps. It was worse. Much worse. 

‘Lurking about, Lupin?’ Peeves, the poltergeist, cackled as he floated into view. He hovered before them in mid-air, just a few feet shy of Remus, his little eyes gleaming dangerously. ‘Walking your mutty mutt at midnight? Having a little chitty-chatty with yourself? Talking to thin air, are we?’ The malicious glee leaked from his every non-existent pore as he swirled around in the air. He stopped abruptly, eyes narrowing. ‘Or is it a ghost, hiding? Old Peeves-y wonders why you wee troublemakers never ask me for help. Think you’re cleverer-er than me, with your pretty little pin? But Peeves knows how to sing, oh most-learned prefect-ship, I will show you-’ 

‘Peeves, no!’ Remus tried, already knowing it was pointless. Never in the history of this school had a student’s plea done anything but spur the poltergeist on. 

With a wicked grin, Peeves broke into song,

‘Loop in the madness 

so Lupin insists

it’s his dearest of friends, 

but pulls his mind into twists.’ 

Peeves draw in a long, shuddering breath, and ploughed on, louder even,  

‘He’s walking his doggy 

under the cover of night 

but it’s him who should heed such

for he’ll give you a fright.’ 

Several portraits had turned their heads and started whispering and this time Remus was sure he was not imagining the rhythmic clad of footsteps on stone floor. He knew that cadence. They had ran away from that exact cadence one too many times for him to not recognize it at once. 

Amateurs. Amateurs was what they were, having been surprised by Peeves and now about to be caught by Filch. He could throttle Sirius. And James. 

‘Um. We should probably leg it,’ said James’ invisible voice beside Remus.

And so they did.

Peeves’ cackle and his repeated chants of ‘Loony, Loopy Lupin’ followed them around the corner and into a hidden passageway Filch - for lack of a wand - couldn’t use. 

Remus sagged against the wall. His ragged breathing mixed with the exasperated grunts of Argus Filch and Peeves’ cackle. James, who found running fun wasn’t even out of breath and Sirius, who had changed back to his human self somewhere along the way seemed no worse for wear, but Remus’ chest throbbed painfully with every intake of air. 

‘Pity we already signed the map,’ said Sirius, leaning against the opposite wall, casually, not like he needed it like Remus did. ‘'Loony Lupin' - how could that possibly pass us by.’ 

‘Pity I wasn’t part of your bet. According to Peeves I would have landslided it,’ said Remus, eager to quickly cut off the whole nickname discussion. He didn’t need a repetition of that. November of third year had been a nightmare before they had finally settled on ‘Moony’.    

‘Nah, you’re not that ugly,’ said Sirius after assessing Remus for about a whole second. His tone was a bit patronizing, implying he thought Remus just plain old, generic ugly. Remus bit back a snort. He needed to ration the air he did manage to pull into his body. In and out. Sirius redirected his patronizing smile at James. ‘And let’s not forget who did landslide it, yeah?’ 

James frowned. ‘Yeah, yeah. Whatever.’ 

Four years later and he still was the same sore loser he had been at eleven. 

‘Did you really think you stood a chance?’ said Remus. 

‘I did score a point, didn’t I?’ 

‘One, Jamie, one teensy-weensy, tiny little point, smaller even than the first year you nicked it from, smaller even than your - Ow!’ Sirius broke into laughter. ‘Only fools resort to violence to make a point!’ 

James stopped his attempt of kicking his shin at once, something Remus was rather grateful for, seeing as his own shin was pretty much in the line. ‘I’ll take it from you, then. Still, could’ve gone differently.’ He shrugged.

‘Nah,’ said Sirius. ‘Really couldn’t have, mate.’ 

 ‘And what’s it with you Moony,’ said James. ‘You’re supposed to be impartial, yet you’re siding with him.’ 

‘I’m not siding with anyone,’ said Remus. ‘But it didn’t exactly require Peeves’ levels of - um - may I say clever-erness to predict this outcome.’ Sirius was grinning at him, but James simply raised his eyebrows. 

‘Elaborate?’ 

‘He’s a literal death omen,’ said Remus, gesturing at Sirius. He felt stupid for having to lay it out like this, and to a brilliantly smart person as James at that. ‘And you’re a deer. Of course he’d scare more people. Do you really need me to elaborate on that?’ 

James groaned. ‘He’s the slobberiest, clingiest fleabag ever known to wizardkind.’ 

Once more Sirius broke into laughter, a ‘thank you’ thrown in somewhere in between. 

James cast Sirius a sideways glance. ’You know what, I liked you better as a dog, maybe you should save yourself the trouble of changing back.’ 

Remus shrugged. His heartbeat had slowed down, leaving him feeling a little tired. ‘He’s huge. Looks scary.’

‘I’m bigger than him!’ James all but yelled. Remus waited for Peeves' cackle to swell again, for the sound of Filch's nearing footsteps. Neither came. 

‘Yes, but…’ Remus glanced at Sirius, who wasn’t much of help, doubling over with laughter as he still was. Dealing with James in a sour mood only ranked a little higher than doing his Astronomy homework, Remus decided. But it still ranked higher. ‘Well, have you seen your eyes?’ 

Judging by the sounds Sirius was making Remus guessed there was a thirty percent chance of him choking within the next minute. ‘Er… do you think we should Anapneo him?’ he asked James although he was at least sixty percent sure the spell only worked in cases where something actually was stuck in the target’s throat. This seemed to be more of a personality thing. 

‘No magic in the corridors,’ said James and, at long last, Sirius caught himself. 

‘Moony’s right. Big doe eyes. You’re never gonna scare anyone with that,’ he said between drawing in gulps of air. ‘As evidenced by tonight.’

James stuck out his chin. ‘I did scare that girl, you said so yourself.’ 

‘Yeah, the first year, my bad. Your victory shall never be forgotten.’

James glared at him, but fell silent when Sirius’ grin softened a bit and he slung an arm around his shoulder.  

‘I think they’re gone,’ said Remus, ears pressed to the wall. Now, with the immediate threat of exposure gone the weariness was tapping gently at his ankles. It would rise soon and wash over him completely. 

The whole way back up to the common room, James was suspiciously silent. It was only after they had climbed back through the portrait hole that he spoke again.

‘The girls like unicorns, right?’ he said. His hazel eyes flitted to a group of girls sitting by the windows. One of them, Potions prodigy, long, dark red hair and the only person Remus had ever seen match Sirius' biting sarcasm, was laughing, her whole body moving along. ‘I could… I could draw from this, couldn’t I?’

It took a few moments to register the implications of James' words. Even then, Remus was a good ninety percent sure James couldn’t be serious, not even considering the gradually increasing degree of utter ridiculousness he was slowly creeping up when it came to one redhead.

‘You’re not a unicorn; you’re a deer.’

‘‘Tomato, tomato,’ said James, rather distractedly.

It was impossible to tell whether he was joking, but knowing James, it was best to assume he was not. A great many things had happened because Remus hadn’t deemed it possible for James or Sirius to go through with the ‘plan’ he and Sirius had cooked up.

Remus pulled his brows together. ‘More like tomato, rock.’

‘Now you’re being unfair, Moony,’ said Sirius. James was still glancing at the girls at the window, being about as inconspicuous as Remus had been when telling Professor McGonagall that no, he had no idea how James and Sirius had got their hands on the prefect bathroom’s password. ‘It’s at least tomato, apple. Maybe even tomato, onion.’

‘How’s tomato, onion any better than tomato, apple?’ said Remus. He shook his head. ‘Actually, I don’t have time for any more of this lunacy.’

‘Big words from Loopy himself,’ said Sirius around a grin.

If it had been anyone but James, Sirius, or Peter, Remus would have felt it like the dig it was. But one didn’t grow up with James and Sirius without becoming immune to little taunts like that.

‘Let me rephrase,’ said Remus, all too aware that even though the smile didn’t show on his face, Sirius could probably hear it in his voice. ‘I’ve had enough of your lunacy. I will now happily indulge in my own.' I’m the expert, after all.

Sirius raised an eyebrow, flopping into an armchair. ‘Star chart?’

‘Star chart.’ Remus frowned. His disdain for Astronomy wasn’t a secret. Stupid class forced him to stare at the moon.  He shook the thought off. The waves were tapping against his knees.‘You do whatever you have to do with-’ Remus waved a dismissive hand, glancing at James, who looked as if he hadn’t caught a single word in the last minute. ‘I just - I’ll be upstairs. And if you - no, you know what? I don’t want to know.’

‘Spoken like a true prefect with a pretty little pin,’ said Sirius, winking at Remus before turning to nudge James back to attention with his foot. ‘Talk to me about drooling, Prongs.’

The thirtieth variation of ‘You suck as a prefect’ bounced off of Remus as he climbed the stairs to their dormitory. It had come in pleas (‘Hand me your badge, Moony; I need something to chuck at Montague’s head.’), shameless mocking (‘Best to dock some points from yourself just to be on the safe side.’), and feigned pledges of submission whenever Remus raised so much as a mere suggestion (‘Yes, Moony!’).

Pushing open the door to their dormitory, Remus was met with an empty room. It was at least three notches too quiet. His eyes drifted over his bag before landing on the letter on his bedside table. A sigh escaped him. It didn’t have anywhere to go, and so it died in the silence of the room.

Oh, and, mum, I slipped my friends the bathroom password, but, funny thing, it didn’t help one bit. I still feel like I owe them. Isn’t that pathetic? Fitting, I mean fitting.

Anyway, I bet you’re proud.