Happily

"I don't know about happily ever after...but I know about happily."
-Francesca Lia Block

Remus heard footsteps and looked up to see his honorary godson’s girlfriend enter the living room, a large leather-bound scrapbook and a paper-wrapped parcel clutched to her chest. Her tunic of forest green crushed velvet and her flared jeans would not have been out of place in the 1970s, when he’d been a teenager. Her unbound flaming red hair gave him a pang because it reminded him of another young woman, who’d been just a little older than this one when she’d died eighteen years ago.

Ginny Weasley smiled shyly when she saw him. He smiled back.

“I thought you’d gone out with the others,” he said. The house had been silent since Sirius and Harry left several hours ago, which was good because it had given Remus a chance to catch up on some badly needed sleep, but neither he nor Ginny were particularly loud people.

“I was going to,” said the girl, stopping a few feet from the sofa where he lay. “But I got this owl from my brother. Ron,” she clarified quickly, because he’d taught four of her six brothers during his brief stint at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. “I wanted to stay and read it. It’s quite a long letter. Actually, Hermione wrote most of it.”

“I’m not surprised. It’s just as well you didn’t go. You’d have been soaked in this downpour. If it doesn’t stop soon, our men will have to swim home.”

Ginny smiled again, more warmly this time, and Remus found himself thinking, not for the first time since she’d arrived at the cottage with Harry, about how much he liked this girl. Once you got past the hair she really wasn’t much like Lily Evans Potter, the other redhead for whom he’d cared. Lily had been a beauty. Ginny was not, although she was far from unattractive; there was a sweetness and an earnestness to her face that he found more appealing than mere prettiness. Lily had been outspoken, energetic, with a manner as vibrant as her hair. Ginny was subdued by comparison, thoughtful, almost dreamy at times. Breila, Sirius had taken to calling her and Remus thought the nickname apt, especially given her tendency to blush. She did put him in mind of the dusky wild rose of Sirius' native Wales. And she had her share of thorns, as Harry was quick to point out jokingly.

Remus had liked Ginny since her first Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson six years ago when he’d discovered through the use of a Boggart that her deepest fear--loosing control of her thoughts and actions--was the same as his. When he’d pressed her--gently, of course, and in private--she’d somewhat hesitantly revealed the fact that only the year before she’d fallen briefly under the power of Lord Voldemort himself. The information had horrified him--how could Voldemort, whom so many had given their lives to stop, retain such power?--and given him a small, shameful grain of hope. If, bodiless, Voldemort could manipulate so innocent a person as this young girl, of what had he been capable at the height of his powers? Perhaps Sirius Black, whom Remus had then believed to have betrayed and as good as murdered Lily and James Potter, had been similarly used?

“Professor?”

The inquiring, mildly concerned tone drew him out of his thoughts.

“Ginny,” he said with mock severity, “I’m not your teacher anymore. The young people I tutor don’t call me ‘professor.’ By Prospero’s books, call me Remus.” She would, he knew, until she forgot and he would remind her again. He found her gravity amusing rather than troubling or rude, even after two years. “Sit down beside me,” he said. “And tell me about your letter. Here, I’ll make room.”

He started to rise, but she waved him back down and instead sank to her knees on the floor beside the sofa. For an envying second he marvelled at the flexibility of the young. It had been some time since his abused joints had let him sit like that; Sirius, however, could still fold himself into some astonishing positions…

“You’re blushing,” Ginny observed, once again interrupting his reverie.

“So I am.”

“I guess that means you’re thinking about Sirius.”

“I am.” When wasn’t he?

A sharp “Hmf!” preceded Bitsy’s entrance. The house-elf came stomping into the living room, apron flapping, steel-grey eyes flashing. “So you’re awake,” she snarled at Remus, “and you’re still here,” at Ginny. “I imagine you’ll be wanting tea.”

“If it’s not too much trouble, Bitsy,” said Remus timorously.

“Biscuits, too. And you’ll eat what I give you. Too skinny, the pair of you.” She turned on her heel and marched back into the kitchen.

“She’s malevolent!” Ginny whispered, using Harry’s favourite description of the house-elf. “She’s like a twisted, sinister version of my mum!”

“She takes good care of us,” Remus whispered back. “But you’re right.”

“You’d think Hermione wouldn’t grumble, considering she practically orders you around.”

“She’s also a union member who gets fair wages, normal hours, every other weekend off, and vacation time. She hosts union meetings here when we’re in London.” Remus shook his head wearily. He liked Bitsy despite her less-than-tender ministrations. Without her expertise in the kitchen he and Sirius would undoubtedly have either starved to death or poisoned each other; neither were particularly adept when it came to the culinary arts and they couldn’t eat out every night. Their grant from the Ministry was not inexhaustible. Still, he doubted they’d have hired this particular house-elf had he not been ill and bedridden the day she’d arrived at their New Zealand cottage looking for work. The way Sirius told it she’d banged on the door and, once it had opened for her, announced in a tone that had left little room for argument that she’d heard they needed someone to look after them and there she was. Then she’d Apparated into the kitchen and before Sirius could think up a suitable thread of invectives, had whipped up a treacle tart that would have rendered a far less susceptible man weak at the knees. Remus and Sirius suspected she’d been sent as a wedding present, although from whom they still had no idea, even after two years. Sirius jokingly suggested Severus, although since neither of them had yet been poisoned Sirius doubted it openly. Remus suspected either Poppy Pomfrey or Minerva McGonagall. The former had threatened to set a guard on them to make sure they took care of themselves, but there were times when Bitsy reminded him just a bit of their old Transfiguration teacher.

Bitsy returned a minute later with the biscuits and the tea, which she set out before them on a tray. She poured a rather alarming amount of cream and sugar into Ginny’s tea (“Fatten you up,” she muttered darkly), but Remus snatched his own cup away in time. Bitsy shot him a disapproving look. “Waste away, so you will.”

Remus held his teacup protectively. “I know you love me, Bits,” he said. “But I can do it myself.”

The stormy eyes narrowed. “You’ll eat your whole dinner,” she assured him in a manner most threatening, then Disapparated away.

Ginny sipped her tea and pulled a face. “I’d be a little frightened if she lived in my house,” she confided quietly.

“She takes good care of us,” said Remus. “She keeps the cottage in good shape while we’re away. And she’s the best cook I’ve ever encountered. Have some of these biscuits. And tell me about your letter.”

“Oh,” she said, taking a biscuit. “Well, the letter’s kind of to all of us, so I thought I’d wait until Harry and Sirius get back. They sent a package, too. Actually, that’s for you, Sirius, and Harry. It’s from my other brothers--Fred and George. Sort of a late housewarming gift. Want to see it?”

“I would, very much.”

Ginny set her teacup down and picked up the paper-wrapped parcel. She passed it to Remus who opened it to discover…a rather ordinary-looking cloth mat.

“It’s…” He turned it over in his hands uncertainly. “Something surprising and undoubtedly vastly amusing to someone is going to happen to me in a second, isn’t it? Am I going to turn into a flobberworm?”

Ginny laughed. “According to Ron it’s an Unwelcome Mat. It’s Fred and George’s latest invention. This one’s been programmed to repel insurance salesmen and Jehovah’s Witnesses. There’re instructions, though, so you can reprogram it any way you want.”

“Amazing.” Remus ran a hand over the nubby material. “And what happens to the poor sod who steps on it?”

“Ron won’t say,” said Ginny, “and it’s not on the instructions.”

He reached into the packaging and took out the roll of parchment. “Are these them? Let’s see, now…” He scanned the instructions twice for caution, but all they revealed was the way to program the Mat. “We’ll have to test it, I suppose.” He winked at the girl. “I’m going to trust your brothers would never design something that would do anyone any lasting harm.” He dug into his robe and pulled out his wand. “Now…” The incantation was simple--the modification of a fairly well-known spell. He tapped the Mat with his wand and said, “Expellipestus Sirius Black!” There was a small shower of orange sparks, but the Mat remained as it had been. “Well,” said Remus unperturbed. “We’ll see if that did anything.” Handing the Mat back to Ginny, “Would you set this outside?”

He watched her leave, then stretched and sank back against the sofa cushions. From where he lay he had a perfect view of the garden on the other side of the sliding glass doors. The fruit trees and flowers bowed low under the torrential rain. The fishpond was close to overflowing. And Sirius and Harry were out in that. Incredible. Well, he supposed a man who’d once swum the North Sea (albeit as a dog) and a man who’d once spent an hour in the merfolk’s demesne were unlikely to mind a little rain.

Ginny came back with an excited gleam in her deep brown eyes. “Will he not be angry?” she asked, not sounding particularly worried, as she resumed her seat on the carpet.

“That depends on what happens. Harry will witness the experiment so he’ll be able to tell us if Sirius requires rescuing. Considering all the stunts he pulled at Hogwarts I doubt he’ll be too put out. And if he is…I’ll make it up to him.” He patted her hand reassuringly.

“I’m so happy for both of you,” she breathed. “It annoys Harry sometimes that I keep saying this, but who could have guessed how well everything would turn out?”

He doubted she’d have said those same words two years ago, but decided not to think about that. “It’s turning out well for you, too, isn’t it?” he asked her instead, gently.

“What? Oh, yeah. I guess it is.” She blushed and shook her head, causing her long hair to tumble about her shoulders like a shower of autumn leaves. “It’s funny. Harry was my first crush. It wasn’t because he was famous. It was--I don’t know. A lot of things. I guess I got to know him through Ron. Ron came back after his first year with so many stories and Harry was always such a prominent figure in them. Hermione, too. By the time I finally really met him at the end of summer I was already half in love with him. I mean, I was only eleven. He barely noticed me, of course.” She grinned and reached for another biscuit. “It’s funny how things work out, isn’t it? I kind of got over him my second year. I really thought I was over him my third year, even though Ron tried to make me go to the Yule Ball with him, but I’d already promised Neville Longbottom. But then the next year he finally started paying some attention to me. And then the year after that--I don’t know what happened, but suddenly all my old feelings came back. I mean, they were a little different, of course. I was older. And he liked me back.”

“Speaking from experience,” said Remus, touched by her openness, “I can tell you that for a boy there is a world of difference between fifteen and sixteen. We’re not really human until we’re at least sixteen. Between you and me, I still wonder about Sirius sometimes. Speaking of whom…” He’d heard the motorbike’s rumble over the pelting rain.

“That’ll be the other two,” Bitsy grumbled from the kitchen, disdain thickening her brogue. “Better get more biscuits and tea. The black-haired beanpole’s nearly as skinny as you, though he eats twice as much.”

“I know you love us, Bits,” Remus rejoined smoothly. “Now,” he said, dropping his voice and turning back to Ginny. “Wait…”

They listened. The roaring grew louder, then stopped with a loud screech.

“They’ll be opening the shed…putting the bike back…” Remus said quietly.

“Is this really a good idea?” Ginny hissed suddenly. “Won’t--”

“Too late.”

It was. They heard footsteps on the front stoop. Then Sirius shouted, “Alohom--what the--?” and the next thing they heard was Harry yelling, “Sirius? Sirius! Alohomora!”

The door flew open with a BANG! and Harry practically fell into the living room, thoroughly soaked, glasses askew, round-eyed, and pale. “Sirius!” he shouted looking from Remus to Ginny. “Did he Apparate in here?” He didn’t wait for their response, but looking around frantically and not seeing Sirius spluttered, “He just disappeared! That mat! Was it a Portkey? Nothing happened when I touched it!”

Ginny rose and went to her boyfriend. Remus lifted his wand and muttered “Exaresco” so Harry was dry when she put her arms around him.

“Where is he?” Harry demanded, clutching Ginny for support. “Remus--?”

At the genuine fear in Harry’s voice Remus regretted his prank--but only for a moment. Next thing they knew Sirius had Apparated into the living room. His long black hair was heavy with water and clung to his face and neck like seaweed. He was clutching a large plastic bag, and on his face was a look of mild astonishment.

“The most extraordinary thing just happened,” he said, pushing hair out of his face and striding toward them.

Remus used the Drying charm again, first on Sirius and then on the floor, where several large puddles had been made.

“One second I was in New Zealand, the next Sydney. Got biscuits for after supper. Or for now. Anyone want one? I do.” He set the bag on the floor and began rummaging through it..

“That has to be a record,” said Remus, watching him. “Most food gathered in the shortest amount of time. And you didn’t even have the correct currency. How are you possible?”

Sirius glanced up at him and winked. “My skills at foraging are second to none. Shift over, love.”

Remus tucked up his legs to make room for Sirius on the sofa.

“But what happened?” Harry insisted. He still looked shaken. Ginny took his hand and pulled him gently to the floor.

“I’m curious myself,” Sirius admitted.

Remus and Ginny explained about the twins’ latest magical invention while Sirius munched on his biscuit, and Bitsy stormed in with two more cups of tea and a plate of freshly baked apple scones, and stormed back out.

“Intereshting,” said Sirius, his mouth full. He swallowed and reached for his tea. “And you felt compelled to test this new toy out on me. How thoughtful.”

“We didn’t think you’d mind,” said Remus.

“He didn’t think you’d mind,” Ginny put in quickly.

Sirius reflected on that for a moment. “I never mind a trip to Sydney. Even an involuntary one. I probably would have minded if I’d wound up on top of the Himalayas or in the middle of the ocean or in our dear Snape’s bedchamber. But since I didn’t, and since I suspect I’m to be owed a bit of coddling for my part in this experiment…I’ve had worse things happen to me.” He squeezed one of Remus' bare feet and grinned when Remus flinched; Sirius' hands were cold. “Aren’t you going to ask us, Moony? How it went?” Before Remus could say anything, Harry burst out excitedly, “I got the job! I mean it’s mine if I want it. And I got my license.”

“Did you?” said Ginny with enthusiasm.

Harry nodded and grabbed a scone. “The campus is very pretty. Well, you’ve seen it. I had another talk with Professor Quilpie. We went over the curricula for next term. She wants me to do some more research before the term starts, but that’s okay. She seemed impressed with what I knew, already.”

“Well,” said Ginny, “of course. You’ve had more experience with Dark Arts than anyone in the world, practically!”

Remus nodded. “You’re new to this area so of course you haven’t dealt with the native Dark creatures, but you’re probably overqualified to teach counter-curses and preventative charms and the like. The only reason you weren’t offered a full professorship is you’re not even twenty. But is teaching really what you want to do?” He looked at the young man keenly.

“I think it is,” said Harry, nibbling the scone thoughtfully. “For now, anyway. It’s only an assistant professorship, so if I wind up hating it, I guess it won’t be that hard walking away But I think I’ll like it. I like living here, and it’s easy to get to England since I can Apparate. It’ll be nice living in a place where not everyone thinks they know everything about me after one glance at my forehead.” The round lenses of his glasses gleamed in the lamplight as he glanced away momentarily. “It would be a nice change if, instead of being the Boy Who Lived I could be the Boy Who Had a Life.” He looked back at them and smiled somewhat limply. Ginny squeezed his hand.

Remus understood. He’d heard similar sentiments from Sirius since his pardon. Though the Prisoner of Azkaban was better at frightening off annoying oglers than the Boy Who Lived, it was one of the reasons they spent more time at the cottage than at their flat in London.

“Well, you’ll be in good hands with Karen Quilpie,” Remus said. “I went to a few of her lectures when she was touring in Britain. She’ll probably tell you all about it regardless, but ask her about her work with the Aborigines in Queensland. The Dreamtime songs are particularly interesting. She’s a little, ah, quirky, but--”

Sirius ran a finger around the sole of his foot, tickling him and making him squirm. “Quirky?” Sirius repeated slyly. “Isn’t that a job requirement for DADA professors?”

“I heard about the Maori dances before exams,” said Harry. “And I saw some of her tattoos. They were cool.”

“Oh, were they?” said Ginny sharply.

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry, breila,” Sirius said lightly. “She’s seventy if she’s a day. Eh, Harry?”

Harry nodded. “She’s also about a foot and a half shorter than me and almost as wide as she is tall. Well, maybe not quite that wide,” he amended after a second’s reflection during which Remus suspected Harry was thinking about his cousin Dudley Dursley.

“In other words, Gin,” said Sirius with a smile, “not likely to offer much competition. Although, magical tattoos…” He looked thoughtful.

“I’m not likely to swoon over magical tattoos,” said Harry, rolling his eyes.

“I was thinking for myself,” said Sirius. “Would you swoon over magical tattoos, Remus?”

“I’m not given to swooning over anything,” said Remus shortly, “but I suppose it would depend on where you had them.”

While Sirius grinned fiendishly, Harry said, “I’ll be good at Wombat Hills, Gin. Promise.”

“If you are, you’re no godson of mine,” snorted Sirius, turning back to look at Harry. “Say, rather, that you’ll be faithful.”

“I’ll be faithful,” said Harry. “If not necessarily good. Couldn’t let the family down.”

Remus felt the quiver that passed through Sirius' frame at that one word, uttered so casually, so unthinkingly; the hand that still held his foot clenched. That Harry meant it was unquestionable. Remus and Sirius knew it and marvelled at it and fervently thanked any higher powers that might be in existence for it--and felt so guilty for it they could barely talk about it even to each other. They were besotted with the boy. They’d been so since his infancy. Getting James and Lily out of their flat so they could baby-sit had once been a weekly undertaking. But Harry belonged to James and Lily. Just to look at him was to remember that. Though he’d picked up some of Sirius’ mannerisms and worse sayings over the past few years, his true heritage always slipped through--blindingly at times.

Sirius talked about James whenever he could bear it, as though he were a brother he’d lost, and Remus made sure there was not a room in their cottage or flat that did not have at least one picture of James and Lily on its wall. Harry knew--had to know by now--that their reluctance to claim the role of father had nothing to do with a shortage of love. They tried to be there for him, though it had been difficult at first. And Harry turned to them when he was uncertain or hurt or when he had joy he needed to share.

That was what touched Remus, perhaps more than anything else, and made him envy Padfoot, who could curl up in adoration at the boy’s feet: that instant acceptance, both of their lifestyle and their want to be a part of his life. It made sense, considering how miserable Harry had been with Lily’s sister’s family. It made sense, but Remus' heart still trembled when he thought about it. He’d glimpsed this life, or one somewhat like it, when he’d been much younger. The possibility had vanished, or seemed to, with James and Lily’s death and Sirius’ imprisonment. That he should find himself with a family after so many lonely years seemed nothing short of miraculous.

As for Sirius… It was five years, Remus recalled, since Sirius had told him with bleak conviction that he had enough room left in his heart for two living people. For a long, heartbreaking time, Remus had feared it to be true. Perhaps it was. The Sirius before Azkaban, who’d loved lights and crowds and nights pulsing with music, would never have consented to a cottage on New Zealand’s starkly beautiful but sparsely populated South Island. And while even Azkaban could not stamp out Sirius' flair for the dramatic, that flair now seemed reserved mainly for Remus and Harry, and his few close friends. What had taken the edge off Remus' heartache was the realization that if the number of people Sirius was willing to let into his heart was severely limited, the love he had for them was not. Though he feared taking James’s place there was nothing cold or aloof in his manner toward Harry. And when he and Remus made love… Well, Sirius never had been and, Remus was now quite certain, never would be…anything approximating inhibited.

He lifted his gaze to Sirius and smiled. Sirius returned the tender look and began to knead Remus' foot with deft fingers.

“And I can ride to work on the Triumph,” Harry was saying, oblivious. “Right?” He slid Sirius a narrow, sideways look.

If Sirius had been in dog-form, Remus thought, his ears would have gone very flat at that moment. His voice, when he spoke, was as dry as Remus had ever heard it. “We’ll see,” was all he said.

“But I’m licensed, now,” Harry protested. “What was the point of going today if you’re not going to let me use the bike? I can operate an enchanted vehicle in this area--”

“We’ll see,” said Sirius.

Harry opened his mouth again, but Remus shook his head quickly and mouthed, We’ll see. Harry closed his mouth.

Sirius glanced back down at him and raised his eyebrows. “Are you plotting behind my back?” He gave Remus’ big toe a tug.

Remus attempted to look innocent. “Plotting? Me?”

Sirius put his teacup down and, leaning over, wrapped his arms around Remus' shins and dropped his chin onto his knee. “Plotting. You. Old love. We’ll see, Harry. I’ll probably give in. This person--” he lifted his chin and jutted it in Remus' direction, “--can be rather persuasive.”

Remus closed his eyes, took a careful, steadying breath. He opened his eyes. “Anyway…” He shook his legs playfully, but Sirius clung fast. “Anyway…” He was having difficulty keeping a straight face with those blue eyes glimmering at him like that. He tried again. “Ginny has a letter to share.”

“From Ron and Hermione?” Harry wanted to know at once.

“Shall I read it, then?” asked Ginny, reaching across the floor for her scrapbook. She retrieved the letter she’d pressed between its pages and settled back comfortably into Harry’s arms. “I have pictures, too.” She showed them to Harry first, and when he was done looking he passed them up to Sirius and Remus.

“Italy, Brazil, Scotland…is this Norway?” said Sirius, thumbing through the photographs.

“That’s a Norwegian Forest Troll, isn’t it?” said Remus.

“Yeah, it is. Thanks, professor. Cool that they got to meet one. Its nose must be as long as Ron’s forearm! Look at that! Where was this one taken?” He held up a photograph of Ron and Hermione looking very tanned in their bright blue kaftans. They were smiling radiantly and waving, Crookshanks on the sand at their feet. Behind them a white-walled desert city gleamed metallically in the brilliant sunlight.

“Tunisia,” said Ginny. “Would you like to hear the letter?”

It was a charming letter, and a typical one from Ron and Hermione. Ron had started it, apparently, with Hermione watching over his shoulder (a number of misspelled words had been crossed out and rewritten). About a third of the way through the first roll, Hermione had taken over altogether because the topic switched abruptly from Brazilian Quidditch to how very fascinating the Amazon-dwelling witches and wizards were. Ginny hurried through the detailed descriptions of magical plants and native rituals, though they made her slow down when she reached the part about Ron being attacked by a swarm of butterflies with four-foot wingspans. Ron reclaimed the narrative when they got to Italy, although the margins were crammed with asides that began, H said to add that… and H just reminded me that… and H CAN write her own letter… A bargain seemed to have been struck at some point, however. Ron regaled them with the story of the Mad Mage Maligo, who’d snuck Manticores into the Roman Colosseum until the Italian proto-Ministry of Magic put a stop to his antics; and reported that the gelato in Florence would have made even the great Florean Fortescue weep. Hermione took over for Tunisia, but relinquished the letter to Ron for northern Europe.

“Sounds like the honeymoon went well,” said Remus when Ginny had finished reading. “And now Hermione’s back at the Ministry--” Hermione had recently found work at the newly-created Rights and Protection of Magical Creatures office “--and Ron’s training with Alastor Moody?”

“Yes,” said Ginny. “And Hermione’s working on another book…”

“I still haven’t read her first one,” Harry admitted somewhat guiltily.

“Neither has Ron,” said Ginny. “He wrote that in invisible ink on the back of the letter. I found it when I read it before.”

Sirius chuckled. “Between her work at the Ministry and her books and Ron’s apprenticeship, do they have time for each other?”

“They don’t seem to complain,” said Ginny.

“Ah,” said Sirius amusedly, “but is that because they do have time for each other, or because they don’t?”

“They make time,” said Harry. “Hermione’s realised--finally--that people come before work. Certain people, anyway. When she forgets…” He shrugged, as though to say that some things would never truly change. “Ron reminds her. Or maybe she’s using a time-turner again.” His brow creased in mild consternation. “I do wish Ron would stop whinging about me turning down England’s offer He doesn’t need to remind me in every letter that you don’t need to be able to run to play Quidditch, does he?”

“It would’ve been cool,” Ginny began, but Harry shook his head.

“I don’t want to be the star of anything for a long time.”

No one had anything to say to that. After a few moments of silence during which both Sirius and Remus eyed Harry concernedly, and--they hoped--surreptitiously, Harry said, “Think I’m going to go write back to Ron and Hermione,” and climbed to his feet.

“I’ll help,” Ginny added hastily and stood as well.

Harry limped to the sofa and gave Sirius a quick kiss on the forehead. Sirius grinned and tugged lightly on his godson’s streak of white hair. Watching them, Remus felt a shiver ripple through his limbs, and knew it had nothing to do with the chilly evening air. Over the past two years Harry’s limp had become less pronounced and he’d come to consider his white streak rather cool and rakish, but they were constant reminders of his last battle with Lord Voldemort, just as the scar on his forehead was a reminder of his first. After so many years Voldemort had been destroyed--finally, utterly--but not without cost. Indeed, the cost had very nearly been greater than either Sirius or Remus could have borne.

Remus had seen Sirius weep three times in all the years they’d known each other. The first time had been over a picture of James and Sirius at eleven, which Sirius had found in Remus’ garret that fraught summer they’d lain low together at the house in Salisbury. The second time was when Sirius had pulled Harry--pallid as a ghost, barely breathing, drenched with his own blood--from the rubble of the tower wherein he’d fought Voldemort for the last time.

Remus stopped thinking about the past--stopped thinking altogether, in fact--when he felt Harry’s lips graze his own forehead. He hugged the boy--awkwardly, because he was lying down--and, pulling back, looked into the young face and saw little trace of the tragedies and horrors that had plagued his growing up.

Good, thought Remus, as he accepted Ginny’s shy kiss as well, and hugged her as he’d hugged Harry. They’re still young. They’re not even twenty. Let them enjoy all the years left to them--and let those be many.

Ginny straightened and put her arms around Harry’s waist. They Disapparated together.

“Show-offs,” Sirius muttered, still grinning.

“We can do that,” Remus reminded him mildly. “He’ll be all right. They both will.”

The grin faded. “How did you…?”

“I know you, love. They’re going to be all right. They have each other. They have us.”

“Still…” Sirius looked down at him, brow furrowed. “You’re right, I think. No, I know you are. He seemed really happy when we were at the school, before. And he seems really happy with her. And with us,” he added almost as an afterthought. “I just wish…” He shrugged. “I’m going to keep worrying about him. It’s my job. And I know you’re going to say now that your job is to worry about me.”

“Well, it is.”

His expression softened. “Moony.” He closed his eyes, sighed, and when he opened them again they seemed clearer, lighter. “You know what I really think?” he said. “I think they’re not writing any letters up there. And how much are you willing to bet,” he went on, “that they know we know what they’re about? Think they can nettle us, letting us know their sex life is just as healthy as ours, thank you very much. They forget we grew up in the Seventies.”

“Our sex life is pretty healthy,” Remus mused. “Healthier than the two of us, maybe.” Sirius’ eyebrows drew together concernedly again, so Remus went on hurriedly, “Anyway, I’m so sorry about my prank. I never intended to frighten Harry. Just to make Ginny laugh.”

“So apologise to Harry, you flirt. Even though we’d probably have done the same, had it been us. We weren’t, though, and I was your victim. Kiss up to me.”

“To you?” Remus murmured, aware suddenly--as he had not been while Harry and Ginny were present--of the delicious rainy scent that lingered on Sirius’ dry skin. “Do I have to kiss up? Would a simple kiss do?”

“It damn well would not do,” said Sirius, a grin tugging once more at his lips. “But it would be a start.”

Remus smiled. “Will you take your coddling before supper or after?” One glance gave him the answer to that stupid question. “Both?”

“If you’re not too tired.”

“I slept all afternoon. Come here, love,” he commanded softly and opened his arms wide. With a deep sigh, Sirius fell against him and hugged him so tightly that Remus grunted.

“Not hurting you, am I?”

“You could loosen up just a little,” said Remus, stroking the lean shoulders. “I’m not going anywhere.”

That earned him another squeeze and a vision suddenly filled with summery blue shadowed by long black lashes. “Good,” said Sirius, and leaned forward to kiss him, teasingly at first, then tenderly. Their lips parted at the same instant, and then Sirius surged against him like a wave and Remus’ searching hands found the leather thong that held the other’s hair back. He tugged until it came away and the long raven hair came rippling down over them. Remus tangled his fingers in it, luxuriated in its thickness and silkiness as he accepted and returned kiss after kiss after kiss.

When Sirius lifted his head finally, the brilliant eyes were hazy, the smile close to beatific. Remus traced the full, curving lips with his fingers and, “How was that for a start?” he whispered.

“Not bad,” the other decided after a moment’s careful consideration. “Lovely Lupin. Loopy, lovely Lupin.”

“Loopy?” said Remus, an eyebrow arched. “Why?”

“You love me.” Sirius slid a hand under his jumper, making him shiver again.

“That should indicate taste, not insanity. Ah.” He arched against the caress, frowned slightly when Sirius’ weight lifted from his body, then gasped again as his jumper was pushed up and lips replaced fingers on his belly. “Upstairs?” he breathed, reaching down and tugging the other man’s hair playfully. He was already halfway hard, and so, a shift of his hips revealed, was Sirius. “Shall we?”

Sirius hmmm’d thoughtfully against his skin, tickling him, then kissed him again. The long lashes fluttered against his ribs. “Ooodshteere.”

“And in English…?”

“Could.” Kiss. “Stay.” Kiss. “Here.” The black head lifted and Sirius smiled languorously. “S’comfy. The pups,” he nodded ceiling-ward, “won’t be back for a while.”

“Bitsy’s in the kitchen. She’ll hear.”

“So? Bet she gets off on the thought of us. Bet that’s why she’s really here.”

“Sirius!”

“Well?”

After nearly thirty years Remus still found it bewildering: how could someone so good look so damn wicked? And intentionally, too? Sirius raised himself on his palms and got ready to pounce.

“No,” said Remus firmly. And, “Down, boy,” waggling a finger.

“Down?” The hot blue gaze raked Remus’ bared chest and belly to his crotch, and lifted again inquiringly. Then,

“No!” Remus shouted and in the instant before complete Disapparation felt the air around him churn in prelude to the tackle that would have embedded him in the sofa cushions.

He Apparated in his bedroom and landed supine on the bed with a gentle thump. He placed a ward on the door, guessing Sirius would follow his lead and take the shorter route to the bedroom. Then he waited, unmoving. Outside, the wind-battered clouds streamed by and rain lashed the windowpane. Inside, the air was dry, dark, and cold. It clung to Remus like a blanket. Where was Sirius, who could untangle him and help him out of his heavy flesh, into a realm that was pure feeling? The seconds ticked by. Where was Sirius?

He Apparated beside him a moment later, looking flushed and, if Remus was not mistaken, rather pleased with himself.

“What did you do?” he asked warily.

Sirius did not waste time. “Figured out the housewarming present the Weasley twins sent us. It doesn’t just send unwanted visitors to Sydney.”

“Doesn’t it?”

“No.”

Remus’ view of the rain-splattered window vanished as Sirius curled over him and pulled him close against his chest. “So what else does it do?”

“That would be telling, wouldn’t it?” Sirius’ voice was low, his breath hot against Remus’ ear. “The breila gave me an idea before she ran off with our godson. She mentioned a message written in invisible ink on the back of her brother’s letter. I wondered if…”

“…the twins hadn’t done something similar,” Remus finished. “And I take it they had.”

“Yes.” Sirius kissed his cheek, then his forehead, then the tip of his nose. “I would advise,” he whispered as his lips traced the planes and contours of Remus’ face, “any resident werewolves to watch where they step and sit…or be very good to me.”

“Werewolves?” said Remus dryly, even as he tilted his face to the warm pattering of kisses. “Do you see any here? Just how discriminating is this new toy of yours? Last time I checked a werewolf--mmm--was a man who became a wolf-like monster at the full moon. I should know, too. But that hasn’t exactly been the case here for some time, has it?”

Sirius’ plan had not worked entirely as expected. The first time they’d tried racing the moon around the earth they’d left London at dusk, taking care to time their Apparations so they’d never land in a time zone under moonlight. They’d gotten as far as Nova Scotia when the pain of transformation seized him. Without the full moonlight the wolf could not take hold completely, but Remus’ bones had writhed and stretched inside his skin and the blood had surged and roiled like a violent sea. Sirius had held him while he screamed and thrashed and it had seemed to his anguished mind that the other man’s arms were the only thing holding him together.

He had to have been half out of his mind with pain, but Remus had insisted they press on.

Sirius had refused point-blank.

They’d fought--really physically fought--and Sirius had won and, as Padfoot, held him firmly until the moon overtook them and the wolf ripped itself from him, mad with freedom, confused by the delay, and irrationally angry with his mate.

Moony’s fury had nothing to Remus’ when the moon set. They’d returned to London in silence and lived for the next week in silence broken only by Harry’s increasingly exasperated reminders that he was the teenager, not them, and that they loved each other besides.

At week’s end Sirius had burst into their bedroom and said, without preamble, “I love you and it kills me to see you in pain. It was a stupid idea. I’m sorry I had it. I’m not sorry I pulled you back, and don’t ask me to go through that again.”

Remus had looked up from his book and said shortly, “The choice is mine.”

“Merlin’s balls!” Sirius had thundered, rounding on him. “You could choose to throw yourself off a cliff and be damned sure I’d try and stop you. I felt you coming apart in my hands. I won’t help you to your death!”

“I’d rather die as a man than live as a monster.”

Sirius had looked ready to yell again. Remus braced himself for an assault. Instead, Sirius had shut his mouth, and shook his head, eyes blazing in a face drained suddenly of colour. “Shouldn’t fight around Harry,” he’d mumbled and stalked away.

Remus had gone to him later that day. He’d put his hands lightly on the hunched shoulders and squeezed. The other man had winced, but had not shaken him off.

“Where’s Harry?” Remus had asked.

Shrug.

“I love you,” had said Remus. “And it kills me to see you like this. I meant what I said, before. I shall try it again. We can do it, I know. Please come with me. This time I’ll know what’s coming. I’ll be prepared.”

“Would you leave me if I said no?”

“Probably not,” Remus had replied reflectively. “But I might deny you the pleasure of sleeping with me for a good long time.”

Hands had covered his own and squeezed.

“We’ll try,” said Sirius gruffly.

Remus, relieved, had bent over and kissed the top of his lover’s head. “Your brain is in your pants.”

Sirius had tilted his head back, fixed him with bemused blue eyes, and, “Darling,” he’d drawled, “after all these years? You should know by now that it’s in yours.”

So they’d tried again. And, as before, at the same instant as moonrise over England, wracking pain had engulfed Remus as the wolf, harnessed but present, raged inside him. Through blood-filled eyes he’d glimpsed Sirius’ bone-white face, seen the hands reaching for him. The wolf readied to spring for those hands, but the man screamed “NO!” and with all his flagging strength Disapparated, leaving Sirius with only air to grasp at and curse.

Apparate, Disapparate, and Apparate again, from point to designated point. How he’d done it, Remus never knew. When at last he’d reached the cottage’s threshold he had been half-blind with agony and his bones had felt ready to tear through his skin. He’d been unconscious when Sirius reached him.

Sirius did not like to talk about what had happened next. Remus had been ill--so violently ill that he’d truly frightened Sirius, who’d sent for Harry and ordered his godson to drag Madam Pomfrey all the way to New Zealand, by the hair if necessary. Remus remembered nothing of their arrival or what the three together had done. His world had been reduced to pain of a kind he had never before experienced. It had been like foundering in a sea of molten silver and he’d have drowned if not for the arms that had held him tightly when he froze, the hands that had sponged his throbbing limbs when he burned, and the murmured--or shouted--pleas and encouragements thrown out like a lifeline, that had fluttered dimly on the edge of his crumbling spirit.

When next he’d opened his eyes, “Did it work?” he’d mouthed weakly and received in answer a torrent of blistering invectives that had continued above Harry’s and Poppy’s protests, abating only when Sirius’ breath ran out. The sobs that had followed--as Harry and Poppy exited discreetly--had been infinitely worse. Sirius had held him through those, so he’d felt as well as heard the awful, dragging gulps and shudders. That was the third time he’d seen Sirius cry.

Recuperation had been slow, despite the gentle care of Sirius, Harry, and Poppy--who’d refused point-blank to leave until Remus could at least walk to the loo unaided and until she’d had the solemn pledge of each man that he’d take of himself and the others.

Remus had given his word reluctantly. For the first time in more than thirty years he had not become the thing he hated, but Sirius, who loved him, and Harry, to whom he’d become a kind of mentor and who had already lost so much, would not let him forget how very close he’d come to dying as a result. Another attempt, Poppy had warned them all severely, would kill him surely.

But he’d brooded on it, wondered as he’d lain in bed, too weak to get up, what he should have done differently. Sirius, who had always been able to read him better than anyone, had guessed his mind and asked no questions but had stood at the foot of his bed and said with none of his customary fire, “Don’t do it. I was wrong. It’s a stupid idea. Please, Remus. I need you.”

He’d started to speak, but Sirius had brushed his half-formed protests aside and gone on passionlessly: “I mean it. If you’re really thinking of doing it again, just--leave. I’d rather hear a door slamming than a coffin lid. I’m used to grief, but I’m a bit tired of it. I’d prefer anger. I’d prefer neither, come to it. I don’t want to live without you, but if I have to… I’m so fucking tired.”

He’d looked it. He’d looked, Remus had thought, like a man who had spent twelve years in Azkaban and five being hunted mercilessly by some of the foulest creatures that walked the earth. He’d looked like a man in greater need of a haven than anyone else in the world save own his godson.

Though it had taken tremendous effort, Remus had held his arms out to him.

Sirius had looked at him for a long moment, then--clearly not trusting his voice--shaken his head and walked away.

A dim ray of hope had come to them at breakfast the next day, and from a source none could have anticipated. In a letter delivered by screech owl--which had torn about the bedroom shrieking piercingly--the new Deputy Headmaster of Hogwarts had informed them that,

Your incompetence and self-importance continues to astound me, even after all these years. As no doubt you are aware, this school will be reopening in a very few weeks and requires its matron. The students, as you may remember, have a certain tendency toward mishap. No doubt, he’d added at the bottom of the parchment, you will be requiring my services regarding the Wolfsbane Potion again.

Why they’d never considered the Potion in the first place, Remus never knew. They hadn’t wanted help, they had been so sure they wouldn’t need it, they had been as self-important as Snape claimed. The possibilities seemed limitless.

“Your hair is greyer than before,” Sirius informed him as, afterward, he’d helped him to the sofa in the living room. “You’re thin as a rake. Harry’s afraid to say anything because he thinks it’s not his business if you kill yourself or not. He thinks he doesn’t have the right to give you the telling off you deserve. For that, I blame Lily’s goddamn sister’s family. But he’s scared. So am I.”

“So am I,” Remus had admitted. “I don’t want to die. As long as there’s a chance it might work, I’m going to try it. Stop me.” It had been an entreaty, not a challenge.

“I’m telling you, don’t do it.”

“I mean really stop me.”

“How?”

“Say you’ll leave me.”

“No.”

“Say you’ll never forgive me.”

“No.” The hand smoothing the hair away his face had trembled. “This is about your will,” Sirius had said tiredly. “It’s always been about that. Always, even when we were kids. You had to be in control. You had to have the final say. Schmendrick’s nose, you wouldn’t shag me for the longest time because you were afraid of losing control. I remember. I know you. You’ll hate me if I try to stop you. The only thing I can do is keep telling you that I need you, and hope it gets through. I hate it! You’re the most stubborn man in the world,” he’d managed to choke out before his voice collapsed.

“Second most,” Remus had whispered, more frightened by Sirius’ fear than the memory of agony. “You’re more stubborn. You put up with me.”

Poppy had left for Hogwarts that afternoon. Harry had followed a few days later, ostensibly to visit Ron and Hermione and to see Ginny before the start of term, but Sirius and Remus had realised, guiltily, that he’d felt a little awkward and out of place watching his distraught godfather carry his invalid former teacher around the cottage. As soon as Remus was strong enough to travel, he and Sirius had gone as well. In the week preceding the next full moon, Remus had taken his Potion faithfully and on the day before what would be their third--and if it failed, final--attempt, Sirius had informed him in no uncertain terms that if things went wrong again, Sirius would pull him back, bind and gag him if necessary, and wipe his mind of any memory of this scheme. “Because I’d rather have you alive and hating me than dead,” he’d said helplessly.

And, overwhelmed by relief, and fear, and love, “Thank you,” Remus had said. And, “Yes,” because he had not trusted his voice with more. He’d held out his arms again, and Sirius, who had always understood him better than anyone, had known what it was he had not been able to say and had pulled him close in a grip that, it had seemed, nothing could have broken.

And it had worked, Remus thought dazedly, while Sirius kissed him, stroked and kneaded his body with strong, knowing hands. The Wolfsbane Potion was not the most pleasant thing to ingest. It left him weak and achy for several days after the full moon, but it subdued the wolf. Remus still felt the creature; it was like another organ, pulsing inside him. Until they found a real cure he would never be without it. But deprived of the source of its power and suppressed by the Potion, the wolf was not stronger than his will. He had not seen the full moon in almost two years. In all that time, he had not transformed once.

He had Sirius to thank--for his freedom, his dignity, for almost every other thing that had ever made him happy. He had this man. Whatever had befallen him, or would in future, he had this man. This wonderful man.

“What is it?” Sirius asked softly, lifting his lips.

“Hmm?”

“Your breath sort of--hitched. And now you’re looking at me like--that.”

“Like what?”

“Like--” Sirius propped himself up on one elbow and ran a hand, lightly, over Remus’ features. He traced his eyebrows, his nose, the sharp lines of his jaw, and the gentle curve of his mouth. “Like…that,” he whispered. “Like you fancy me or something.”

“Fancy that.”

“I do. Frankly, I’m amazed.” He did not laugh; he looked perfectly earnest.

“That I fancy you?”

“No, not that.”

“Well, good. After all these years, if you had any doubts--”

The tips of their noses touched. “I’m amazed,” said Sirius, “and grateful that we’re here. That we were spared. That they--” he meant Harry and Ginny, who were in the room down the hall “--were spared.”

“Were we? Were they?” Remus frowned, the faces of their beloved dead, as Sirius called them, flashing swiftly through his mind.

Sirius’ warm breath caressed Remus’ face, though for a moment he did not speak. When he did his voice was raw, as though his wounds were still quite fresh, his battles only newly won. “No,” he said. “No, of course not. I mean… But--” He kissed Remus’ forehead and tried again. “I mean-- We survived it. Our years alone, Azkaban, the war, our own bloody stupidity.”

How long ago that seemed, now. In the silvery twilight the details of their lives, of the room around them, seemed to dissolve. There were the two young people not terribly far away, and there was the safe, sheltering circle of Sirius’ arms. Everything else--if there was anything else--hardly mattered.

Sirius said, “I made two promises, one to James and Lily, one to you. Kept them, too, didn’t I?”

James and Lily could not have asked for a more loyal or devoted godfather for their son, Remus thought. As for the other promise…

The hemp bracelet Sirius had given to him on his sixteenth birthday had fallen apart years ago. The little pearl that had once adorned it he still had. It lay in a box on his dresser where it could not be lost or forgotten. The bright gold ring on his finger, and the matching one Sirius wore, bespoke a more recent promise each had made to the other, and kept every day. “Yes,” said Remus, finally. “Yes, you did.”

“Well… I’m glad I lived through everything so I could keep my promises. Cariad.”

How he loved hearing that word, and in just that tone, with that lilting accent coming through the roughness. He would walk through any wilderness for that word, for this life, brave anyone’s scorn. He lifted his hands to cup the other man’s face and brush at the heavy hair that framed it. In the dim light Sirius’ hair gleamed like water. The silver strands washed away, as did the fine lines at the corners of his mouth and eyes. “Sirius?”

“What, Moonlight?”

“Starlight,” he teased back, grinning, and felt warmth flow giddily through his limbs. “Sirius, you look about seventeen.”

There was nothing more to say. The other man’s lips stopped his laughter. Their noses nudged. And then suddenly they were kissing with all the fierce and fervent sweetness with which they had been born--and never lost, even after losing each other. Through all their lonely years, they’d kept it safely tucked away, forgotten even by themselves, until they found each other again.

6/16/03