Fic: A Recipe in Four Parts (2/4)

[carmentakoshi]

Title: A Recipe in Four Parts
Author: carmentakoshi
Prompt: #14 from the rs_career_fest by remuslives23
Rating: PG for slight language
Pairing(s): Remus/Sirius, James/Lily

Summary: Present day non-magic AU. The recipe: Remus, a down-on-his-luck junior accountant, is assigned to a small, equally down-on-its-luck business. The ingredients: add one handsome but surly baker, two young parents and co-managers, one energetic toddler, and one concerned best mate. Mix. Bake, let sit, and enjoy.

Warnings: pompous writing, liberties taken with the profession of accountant
Word Count: approx. 33 000

Part Two
In Which The Oven Is Warmed

Remus Lupin was never one to go back on his word, but he was not beyond cursing himself in retrospect.

This business of rehabilitating the Potters’ failing establishment was definitely not going as Remus had planned. Naive as he was, he had allowed himself to believe that a few sound business decisions such as modified ingredient lists and a few weeks spent eating nothing but baked beans for supper would be enough to reverse the bakery’s ill fortune. Sadly, this was not the case.

Sirius had, by some miracle and no little skill of his own, managed to get the oven working again, but faulty machinery was no longer the worst of their problems, what with the ever-increasing cost of living and of certain fine ingredients quite necessary to serious bakers. The Potters assured Remus that they were doing all they could to cut back on such costs, but profits were still meagre, and as the life expectancy of the bakery dwindled, so did any apparent control Sirius had on his temper.

Remus had thought that he had already seen the worst of Sirius’ anger, but in this too, he proved to be deeply misinformed. At every one of Remus’ weekly visits, Sirius would, from the safety of his floured countertop, bestow upon his accountant the worst names he could possibly muster, without bothering to lower his voice any more than it took for him to escape Lily’s notice. Remus had often felt the urge to plant his feet and yell right back at him, but it had been a passing urge that his common sense had quickly stamped down. There was no helping Sirius’ behaviour toward him, his mind duly informed him on such occasions. Better to just let it go.

So he did. In this manner, a month passed.

Remus instead put all of his energies into figuring out new ways of improving Harry’s welfare. He had no other cases which necessitated the same amount of monitoring as this one, which was fortunate considering the amount of work to be done. Sometimes, Remus would be up most of the night, sitting up in bed by the faint light of a single table lamp as he went over small business strategies in his handwritten notes. He shared these strategies with James and Lily Potter as often as he was able, usually upstairs in the Potters’ study, where Sirius was less likely to overhear. The first time Remus had dared take the more proactive approach and discuss such things with James in the bakery proper, Sirius had nearly had a fit. Although Remus had narrowly avoided receiving a flying baking pan to the head, Sirius had screamed so loudly that upstairs, Harry had been startled out of a nap and had ended the entire thing with his cries.

James and Lily had banished Sirius from the bakery with the orders to purchase more ingredients, and had profusely apologized to Remus. He had accepted their apologies with his usual grace, but something in the back of his mind had told him it was not enough. Why was it that he was doing all he could to help this business get back on its feet, and the only thing Sirius could do was yell at him for it? What could he possibly want?

(Also, the other questions, the ones that tormented Remus in the night: why was he doing this? what did he want? why was he so willing to give so much of his time and energy for a place that was not his, people that were not family, or even that close to him? why, why, why are you doing this to yourself?)

Despite everything, Remus still found himself watching the surly baker for long moments at a time, and wishing with stupid desperation for his approval. He had never been one to depend on others’ opinions of him, but somehow, the way that Sirius treated him week after week hurt and annoyed him deeply. It was no longer an issue of Sirius hating him for his job. This felt more involved, more personal.

He knew that he was under no obligation to stay. He was an employee of an upstanding establishment, after all. He had rights! He could very easily cry foul and run to the state for protection, upon which any and all blame would be placed upon the client. If he did that, he would be free. No more responsibility, no more trouble. It would be out of his hands. None of his concern.

A lesser man would have reflected upon this and made the logical choice, that choice being to turn tail and leave the bakery to its own devices. However, Remus, as tedious as his life was getting with the weekly diatribes, was not one to turn his back on a person - or a business - in need.

And, he had to grudgingly admit, this was becoming a matter of pride as well. What kind of man would he be if he withdrew his offer of help, if he broke his promise? He was not even sure if he would be able to live with himself, not after seeing young Harry and the way in which his parents carried on to support him. He had sworn to help him as well as the elder Potters. By the same token, he had extended his helping hand to Sirius, and although the latter was trying his damnedest to bite said hand, Remus felt compelled to offer his aid all the same.

All Good Samaritan compulsions aside, Remus had to confess, only to himself and only in the late night, that his attraction to Sirius was a factor in the equation. It was uncouth and unprofessional of him, he knew, but there was no helping that the Sirius he had first met - the grinning, cheerful Sirius with a smudge of flour on his cheek - was just his type. It was only a further indication of the unjustness of the world.

It was not only that. Remus had to respect a man that was as dedicated to his work as Sirius was. Although he obviously had no qualms about verbally degrading complete strangers, he possessed a love for his job that had probably been one of the only things keeping the bakery afloat for so long. It was certainly one of his better qualities.

Incorrigibly, Remus could not help sneaking glances at Sirius at the bakery, sometimes descending the stairs from the study after a weekly meeting as silently as he could in order to catch a glimpse of the baker at work. Before long, Remus had practically memorized the shape of his shoulders and back, or the length of his legs in blue jeans and work boots, or the curve of his nape under the long black hair. It was a scrutiny that, quite frankly, bordered on obsession, and Remus always forced himself to look away whenever he caught himself, making an effort to hide the shame from his expression.

Things went on in this way. Slowly, the days progressed, the ecstasy of hope dimmed, and the bakery struggled on. Then, one day approximately two months from that very first day, things began to look up.

It was getting cooler in London. Soon, Remus would be pedaling his bicycle through snow drifts and across icy lanes, a yearly experience that he did not regard with any sort of relish. He could have easily spent a bit more in order to take public transit like everyone else, but he found he enjoyed the exercise, if not the weather. His otherwise sedentary lifestyle called for such things.

Nevertheless, it was with a grumble that he pulled up to the front of Harry’s on one frosty afternoon, sore-jointed and chilled to the bone. He attached his bicycle to the lamppost as quickly as his stiff fingers would allow, then grabbed his briefcase and rushed into the building, taking care to swiftly close the door behind him. The chime, familiar by now, sounded in greeting.

Remus stood still before the door for a good moment, letting his limbs thaw while the frost on his thick woolen scarf melted into droplets. The backroom of the bakery radiated a welcoming heat, and Remus instinctively moved closer to it as he removed his gloves and stuffed him into his coat pocket.

Lily descended the stairs from the living quarters as Remus was unraveling his scarf. She gave a warm smile as she spotted him.
“Why hello there, Mister Lupin. Dreadful weather, isn’t it?”
“Quite.”
“Well, you’re free to stay as long as you like. Perhaps you’d like to sit beside the oven for a spell?”
“That would be wonderful, actually,” Remus replied, only half-jokingly, “But I’m afraid I have urgent news today.”
Lily’s eyebrows came together, and she reached up to nervously pull at a stray lock of her red hair. “Urgent? Mister Lupin, don’t tell me...”

Remus said nothing, but the pleased shine in his eyes was enough. Lily clapped her hands over her mouth in amazement, exclaiming, “Really? Truly, Mister Lupin?”
Remus smiled and only said, “Is Mister Potter in right now, ma’am? I would like to speak to you both.”
“Oh, of course, he’s right here! James! James dear, come quick!”
“What, what? What’s wrong? Is it Harry? Is Harry hurt? ”
James came stumbling into the bakery from the backroom, glasses askew. He bounded straight toward Lily and latched himself to her as though struggling for balance, crying, “Lily! What is the matter.”
“Don’t be so overexcited, dear,” Lily chastised. “I was just calling you because Mister Lupin is here, and apparently he has some news.”
James straightened and pushed his glasses eagerly back up the bridge of his nose, eyeing Remus with trepidation.
“News? Is this true, Mister Lupin?”
“It is indeed, sir. If you’ll have a seat?”
“In my own bakery, why not,” said James shakily, and sat down next to Lily at the table that was clearly Harry’s property, judging from the myriad crayon scribbles decorating the surface.
Remus sat opposite the couple with as much poise as he could muster, but it was clear that he was in as much of a state of agitation as poor James. With great deliberation, he opened his briefcase and spread the bakery’s documents on the table. The most important columns were marked in yellow highlighter on the copies intended for the Potters’ files.

“So what are we looking at here, Mister Lupin?” James asked, as he usually did during such sessions, except that his expression was far more drawn. He did not seem to notice how his wife beamed across the table at Remus.
“Well, you see, Mister Potter...”
“Oh, Mister Lupin,” Lily cut in, “Do spare James the agony, will you? Tell him already!”
James looked confusedly from Lily to Remus. “What? Tell me what?”
“I think what your lovely wife is trying to tell you,” Remus said with a smile, “is that the news is good.”
James looked at him blankly, disbelief mingling with the resurging hope. Remus tipped his head toward the papers and allowed his smile to widen. “Things are getting better.”
James gave a shout of joy and Lily clutched her hands to her chest, and their reactions were so uplifting that Remus had to laugh as he pushed the documents toward them.
“If you’ll look here, you’ll see that the changes you implemented last month have helped profits. It’s not too much, considering our goal, but it’s a definite start. Keep this up and you’ll be well on your way.”
“And this place, this whole place, everything we have,” Lily said breathlessly, “all of it will be saved?”
Remus hesitated, not wanting to imbue his clients with any exaggerated, false hope, but he found he could do nothing but nod in the face of their relieved, excited gazes.

James and Lily clasped hands at the confirmation, their entire manner bespeaking their utter joy.
“Oh dear, oh my dear,” James said, his voice still a tad shaky. “I knew it, I knew it all along, Lily.”
“Of course you did, darling. There definitely has to be another reason why you’ve been so uptight lately.”
James raised his eyes at Lily’s gently sarcastic tone, looking shocked. “Y-You knew-“
“James Potter, who do you think I am?” Lily admonished, but not unkindly. “Did you honestly think I wouldn’t notice you skulking about with that desperate look on your face?”
“I...but...you know...stiff upper lip and all that...”
“I know.”
Lily embraced him tightly, and James held her back, sending Remus a woeful glance that Remus returned with amused sympathy. He lowered his eyes to the table and began occupying himself with separating the documents from their copies, feeling a bit intrusive all the while. In the eight months that he had spent working at Ackerly & Pettigrew Accounting, he had never seen such joy on a client’s face. He was not quite sure how to react.

Before long, James and Lily rose, Lily accepting the pile of papers from Remus while James reached out and enthusiastically shook Remus’ hand in both of his own. Lily beamed at them and said, “Well, I suppose we should go tell Sirius, then?”
“Tell me what?”
Right on cue, Sirius appeared in the doorway to the backroom, looking more overwrought than Remus had ever seen. For the first time, Remus noticed the dark bags under the man’s eyes, smudging his pale skin purple with tiredness. This news would do him good as well.
“Tell me what, Lily?” Sirius insisted with mounting alarm. “Is it bad? What has the damn accountant told you now?”
She frowned at him, but could not help her expression from flickering back to a smile. “Oh, come off it, Sirius. You know as well as we do that he’s done nothing but help.”
“And help he has,” James continued, wrapping one arm tight around Lily’s waist. “Sirius, he’s done it. We’ve done it. It’s getting better!”
“Better,” Sirius repeated. “Are you certain?”
He came from behind the counter and turned slowly toward Remus, who felt like he wanted to shrink from his gaze. Sirius’ grey eyes were darker than ever and weary.

Remus kept his eyes locked with Sirius’, and for some reason his smile came easily. “Yes.”

A pause, then Sirius gave a mighty whoop of happiness and bounded forward to clutch both Potters in a fierce embrace. They laughed and tottered against him, and Sirius was shouting, “Yes, yes! I knew it! I knew we could! This is brilliant! ”
He spun his friends around with renewed energy, so that James and Lily protested with alarm and tore themselves away. Sirius was undeterred and moved to sling his arms over their shoulders instead, a wide, boyish grin splitting his handsome face. Remus’ heart skipped a beat at the sight, before he had to sternly remind himself that This Was Not Happening.
“I knew it,” Sirius repeated fervently. “I just knew it. Well done. I told you. Everything’s going to be all right.”
“And we have Remus to thank for that, in a way,” Lily added. “Oh, I’m sorry, I mean Mister Lupin-“
Remus gave a small smile of his own, feeling somehow flattered. “Remus is fine, Missus Potter.”
“Then you simply must call me Lily,” she said. She detached herself from Sirius and clutched at Remus’ arm instead.
“And me, James,” James added. He moved to slap Remus’ amicably on the shoulder. “Good show, mate.”
“Thank you, but I’m only doing my job...”
He trailed off when he saw Sirius looking straight at him, his posture rigid. He seemed to be struggling, and Remus would quite frankly have feared for his life had James and Lily not been flanking him.

After a tense, protracted moment, Sirius sighed and raised a hand to scratch the back of his head, looking uncharacteristically hesitant.
“I suppose I owe you an apology, then,” he said roughly, his gaze cast elsewhere now. “So, yeah...sorry. That I chewed you out and stuff.”
Remus willed himself to breathe. “A-Apology accepted. Thank you.”
“But that doesn’t mean you can slack off!” Sirius returned, his gaze snapping back to Remus. “You’ve got to follow this through to the end, just like the rest of us. This is your responsibility now, too.”
“I’m aware. I’ll do my best, as always.”
“As always,” Sirius repeated, looking disgruntled. He stepped forward and offered Remus his hand. “I guess I should introduce myself properly this time. Sirius Black, head baker of this fine establishment.”
Remus took his hand and shook it gratefully, trying very hard to keep his gaze linked with Sirius’. James said, “Hey, wait, I thought I was head baker?”
“You can hardly fulfill duties like those if you’re always running upstairs to tend to Harry, now can you?” Lily said airily. Watching Remus and Sirius, she looked far more contented than she had in a long time.

=====

It was a week after that Remus finally decided to sample the bakery’s main wares for himself.

Peter had been giving him passive-aggressive hell for a while now, probably due to the fact that he had never gotten his lemon tart, and considering that Remus had found enough change in his coat pocket to warrant such a purchase (probably planted by Peter himself, upon retrospect), he decided it was high-time he rewarded his best mate. After all, it was thanks to him that he was handling the Potters’ case now, and even though he could have lived without the I-hate-your-guts-by-default-so-sod-off thing from Sirius, he had to admit the budding friendships he had now were well worth the initial trouble.

So it was with bravery and mustering all the good in his heart that Remus wrapped himself tightly in his wool coat and scarf that lunch time, preparing himself physically and mentally for the outside cold. Peter glanced at him curiously as he passed while lugging a pile of files. He deposited them onto someone else’s desk without so much as a sheepish look, calling, “Hey, where are you off to?”
“The bakery. M’gonna get some lunch and that tart you wanted.”
“Brilliant. You know you’re my best mate in the entire universe, right?”
“I shudder to think,” said Remus cheerfully, and waved a farewell greeting as he left.

It was colder than ever. Snow had been forecasted for the next day, but Remus was praying to whatever god that existed that the prediction would not come true so soon. He was already shivering as he unchained his trusty bicycle from the rack, and was not looking forward to a long winter of the same.

The thought of the warmth of Harry’s bakery urged him on through the chilled streets, so that he made it there in record time, ignoring the cold sting of the wind in his eyes all the while. As he was clumsily securing his bike onto his usual lamppost, someone called out to him, and he turned to see Lily and Harry Potter making their way up the road. Both were as bundled up and red-cheeked from cold as he was. Smiling, Remus shifted his briefcase to his left hand and reached out for Lily’s grocery bags with his right.
“I’ll take those for you if you’d like, ma’am.”
“Oh, you’re a dear.” She handed them over and shifted Harry in her arms, so that she supported him much more comfortably. “We weren’t expecting you today, Remus.”
He peered down curiously into Lily’s plastic bags. “I thought I’d come for lunch. And to pick up something for my friend, who apparently appreciates your wares.”
“Well, come on in, then. Tell Remus to come in, darling.”
“Weem com’ih.”
“...close enough.”
She pushed the bakery door open with her hip and let them in, sighing in the warmth. Remus stepped in awkwardly behind her and shoved the door closed with his foot, then tottered to the nearest table and set down the heavy bags with a grunt of effort. From the counter, James and Sirius looked up from their work and called out in greeting. Sirius turned his eyes slowly to Remus.
“Carrying her shopping already? The man’s only been around two months and he’s already whipped like my specialty cream.”
“Stop your teasing, Sirius, he was only being a gentleman,” Lily said briskly, “which is more than I can say for either of you.”
“I’m gentle,” James protested.
“I’m gentle,” Sirius squeaked in gross imitation, earning himself a floury punch from James.
Lily shook her head at them and proceeded to unwrap Harry’s winter clothes from his tiny body. She hoisted up the groceries again and said, “Remus, do you mind watching Harry for a moment? I’ll just go put all this away and I’ll be right back to make your lunch.”
“Oh, er...of course.”
She smiled at him and disappeared upstairs, lugging both the bags and the winter gear. After their brief scuffle, James and Sirius had returned to work. Remus seated himself on a nearby chair, next to Harry who, as usual, looked right at home on top of the table.

Harry was rather quiet that day, and actually seemed on the verge of a nap despite his excursion into the pre-winter cold, so Remus felt it safe to glance over at the baking counter from time to time, where James and Sirius worked with amazing efficiency and grace. Although James too was obviously very good at his job, it was Sirius that Remus’ gaze kept returning to. In his movements and posture, Remus kept re-seeing the things that had attracted him to Sirius in the first place: the firm line of his jaw, the broadness of his shoulders, the smooth, confident shape of his forearms, wrists, and hands. He was, in all honesty, a beautiful man if Remus had ever seen one.

Remus did not think he was in love. He was not stupid enough to even entertain the possibility, not anymore. Falling in love was something he had allowed to happen too early, too many times. Furthermore, he had learned through years of practice that it is always far easier to admit one’s attraction to someone when that attraction means nothing.

Nothing. It means nothing. Only that I’ve been on my own for a long time.

Remus must have been staring too long as he thought these things, because suddenly Sirius was looking up and locking gazes with him, looking puzzled and slightly annoyed and something else, a somehow familiar expression that was strangely like...? - no, don’t think about it.

“That looks good,” Remus said, his voice sounding overly loud to his own ears. “What you’re making now, I mean.”
Sirius looked back down at his pastries-in-the-making and shrugged, but a grudgingly pleased smile hooked up his lips. “Of course it does. S’my specialty, after all.”
“I thought your cream was your specialty, Mister Black?”
“I can have a specialty cream and a specialty pastry, can’t I?” Sirius replied haughtily. “Shows what you know, Mister High-and-Mighty-Accountant.”
“The only one being high and mighty around here is you, Sirius,” James put in. “Tone it down, or you’ll influence Harry.”
“I think he’s beyond being influenced right now,” Remus noted.
Harry was sitting slightly slumped on the table, his eyelids lowering progressively over his bottle green eyes. James took one look at him and hurriedly washed his hands clean, then rushed over to lift the tot into his arms.
“There, there,” he crowed, transforming instantly into the doting young father, “Daddy will bring you to nap-nap-time, all right? There’s a good boy. Come on now, come on.”
“Nap,” Harry agreed sleepily, “Da’, nap.”
“That’s right, Harry! Nap! Naps are good!”
“On with it, James,” Sirius said with petulant mock-disgust.
James pulled a face at him. “Just you wait ‘til you have kids. Come on, Harry. It seems your goddad needs a nap-nap-time of his own, doesn’t it?”
He carried Harry carefully up the stairs, talking all the while. Once he was out of earshot, Sirius sighed theatrically and wiped his hands off, but not before leaving a familiar smudge of flour on his left cheek and God, Remus really wanted to wipe it off himself. Or perhaps lick it off. Either one would do, really.

It was a bit more awkward to be staring at Sirius now that they were alone in the small shop, so Remus was forced to occupy his time in other ways. He moved over to the luncheon counter in what he hoped looked like a leisurely stroll and peered past the glass at the proffered choices. Without warning, a loud electronic beep sounded from the backroom, making him jump. He had not realized that he had gotten so tense.

Sirius cast him a faintly amused look, but seemed to suddenly remember that this was his (sort of) enemy standing before him. His expression turned carefully blank.
“Oi, Lupin.”
“Hm?”
Sirius leaned rakishly against the counter, his face deadly serious. “If you think these pastries I’m working on look good, wait until you see the finished product.”
“Oh? Is that what’s in the oven right now?”
“Very astute,” said Sirius with unmasked sarcasm. “I need to go get them and leave them to cool. Then you’ll see.”
Without another word, he turned and strode into the backroom with pride. Remus’ eyes followed him until he was out of sight. Not in love, but definitely attracted.

Lily returned to the bakery proper just then and busied herself with preparing Remus’ sandwich. There was a grace to her too, while she did her work. Only now was the incredible passion of these people becoming clear to Remus, who liked his job well enough but did not relish it in the same way James, Lily, and Sirius did theirs. This, Remus reflected, is what people with a dream look like. This is what they can do.

As though to confirm this very thought, Sirius emerged some minutes later from the oven room with a tray of flaky, golden pastries. He was looking absolutely chuffed.
“See here,” he said boisterously, “aren’t they lovely?”
“Definitely,” said Remus in agreement.
“See, Sirius, I told you we could still do well with different ingredients,” Lily said from her end of the bakery.
Sirius sniffed aristocratically and set the tray down on the counter. “They’d be even better-looking and tasting with the right ones.”
Lily sighed but said nothing more on the subject as she handed Remus his lunch. “Here you are, Remus. Oh, and what will your friend be having?”
He indicated the lemon tarts and accepted a wrapped one gratefully (“Fresh from this morning, dear!”), handing over the money as beside them, Sirius busied himself with his work once more. Remus decided he could stand to linger, and seated himself at Harry’s table to eat. He seemed to have no qualms about watching Sirius when the latter was so absorbed in his work.

Sirius had moved the uncooked pastries aside to sit for a while before turning to the fresh ones. As Remus watched with fascination, he began to decorate them with tiny, delicate-looking cream rosettes and succulent raspberry glaze, drizzled liberally over the tops in a fine latticework. Remus’ mouth fairly watered at the sight and smell of the lovely little cakes.

Sirius seemed to notice Remus’ interest, because he glanced up, for perhaps longer than necessary, before moving the last plain pastry to a small plate. He decked it in the same way as the others then came around the counter himself to place it on Remus’ table. Remus looked up at him in bewilderment.

“Sweet tooth, Lupin?” Sirius asked with a cockily raised brow. “Go on. Try it.”
“Oh. Thank you.”
Slowly, Remus picked up the pastry and bit into it. A moment passed, then two. Sirius crossed his arms expectantly.

“This...”
Remus swallowed, licked his lips, and took another much more enthusiastic bite. Apparently, this was all Sirius needed. His lips parted in a wide grin. “Good, isn’t it?”
“Good? Mister Black, this is delicious! ” Remus was so enamored he nearly fell off his chair. “This is brilliant. How are you not famous for this?”
Sirius tipped his head in faux-modesty. “Just bad luck, I suppose. But don’t worry, my day will soon come.”
Remus smiled up at him and popped the rest of the pastry in his mouth, savoring it in a way that he had not savored anything in a long time. “It...it tastes beautiful, Mister Black. Exquisite.”
“Exquisite, eh? I like the sound of that.” Sirius nodded, satisfied, and waved a hand airily. “Oh, and let’s stop with the ‘Mister Black’ business, all right? No one’s ever called me that, ever. It’s Sirius.”

Sirius. Remus wanted to whisper the name right then, to taste it like he had just tasted the heavenly pastry.

Instead, he said, “All right, then. But only if you call me Remus.”
Sirius eyed him for a moment - unsure? - but then he smiled, much easier than before. Behind him, something in Remus’ tone had caused Lily to look up. She frowned pensively at them both.

Sirius tossed his head smugly and clapped Remus on the shoulder. The touch sent electric shivers across Remus’ skin.
“Well, I couldn’t possibly hate a man who loves sweets the way you do,” Sirius declared. “Even though you do wear wool suits and god-awful ties, I suppose we can be friends.”
“I suppose so,” Remus said, a little weakly.
“Right, then,” Sirius said loudly, slapping Remus’ shoulder one more time before pulling away, “back to work for me.”
“Ah, for me too,” Remus replied, having miraculously recovered his senses. “They’ll be expecting me at the office, especially my friend who wants this tart.”
“Off with you, then, and regale him with Harry’s finest,” Sirius urged, waving him off with a damp towel.
“And make sure to bring your friend with you, next time,” Lily added with a smile.
“I will. Thank you both.”

Remus bundled himself up again and retrieved his briefcase before stepping out into the cold. The wind howled in the eaves and the dark, heavy sky seemed about to bring its winter offering much earlier than promised, but Remus felt and saw none of it. He could swear that every single nerve ending in his left shoulder was on fire.

=====

“You’re grinning like an idiot,” Peter pointed out charitably. He gestured vaguely toward Remus with his second beer bottle.
Remus straightened and grabbed his own bottle up from the stained coffee table. “Am not.”
“Are too.”
“I am not.”
“You are so transparent right now, Remus. It’s embarrassing.”
Remus slumped back against the squishy couch cushions and took a swig of his beer, glowering faintly at Peter all the while. After work that day, Peter had invited Remus over to his flat for a beer, as thanks for the lemon tart. The place brought back a score of memories for Remus, who had spent a lot of his undergraduate days under this very roof, but right now, the lingering sensation of Sirius’ fingertips on his shoulder was what was occupying his thoughts.

In the back of his mind, he knew that he was letting this get out of hand. It was one thing to fancy a bloke’s looks upon meeting him, but completely another to react to his touch in such a manner. He had spent quite a bit of the afternoon gazing out the window at the frosted streets, his chin propped up absently in his palm, as he replayed the moments of his brief, friendly contact with Sirius in his mind. It was a warm little daydream that he had indulged for longer than he should have, and for that he was dutifully ashamed.

Apparently, this was still not enough to erase the stupid, subconscious grin from his face, which was only further proof that life was indeed bollocks.

Peter cocked a grin at him and leaned forward expectantly.
“So,” he said, faking nonchalance terribly, “how’s your client doing?”
“All right. They’re making headway, I think. If they keep it up, they just might pull through.”
“Good show.”
“Yeah. How about you? Any grand developments?” Remus asked, though he already knew the answer.
Peter shrugged and reclined against the arm of the couch. “Nah, you know me, just doing my own thing. Something will turn up eventually.”
“You mean a client?”
“I can get clients any time I like. One case is enough for me for now, though. No, I mean in...in life.”
Peter took a hasty gulp of beer in a clumsy attempt to hide the way his tone had changed just then, but Remus was too quick. “Life, huh? What d’you mean?”
“You know,” said Peter quickly, “things. Life. You know.”
“Pete...?”
“You know what I mean, right? Just life.”
“I’m afraid I don’t.”
Peter waved his free hand in the air above his head, like he was searching for something on a top shelf. When Remus still failed to understand, he let his arm drop and sighed deeply.

Remus set his beer back on the coffee table and shifted sideways in his seat, so that he was facing Peter and leaning both arms up on the back of the couch. He let his head fall slightly against his arms, giving his friend all his attention.

Peter stared at him for a second, but the blank look soon gave way to a troubled one. He set his beer down on the floor. “Remus...” he began softly, “you...you like your job, right? Working for my dad?”
Remus shrugged. “Yeah, sure. It’s okay.”
“But it’s not really what you want to do forever, is it?”
“Er...”
“I don’t think I...I don’t think I want to be an accountant anymore.”
Remus blinked slowly. The beer had already begun to settle like a light veil over his brain. Still, he was able to ask the question that had been hovering on his lips for some time, perhaps even since their university days: “Did you ever really want to be an accountant?”
Peter looked stricken. “I-I don’t know.”
“It was rhetorical, Pete.”
“Oh.” He snatched his beer back from the floor and took a mighty swig. “I...I guess you have a point. B-But my dad, he was so...so proud...to have his son follow in his footsteps...”
“I know,” Remus said kindly.
“And...and all I ever do is lay about the office all day and...and what? Nothing. I’m useless in finance. Abso-bloody-lutely useless.”
“O-Oh, come now, Pete. You’re not useless.”
“...big, useless lump of useless junk... guh...”
“Peter, you’re not useless,” Remus snapped, louder and with a lot more slightly slurred words than he intended. “You just haven’t found it yet. The thing.”
Peter cradled his beer and looked at him blearily. “The thing?”
“Yeah, the thing. The thing that’ll make it all worth it.”
“It?”
“Life.”
“Oh. Yeah.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Good.”
Peter tipped his head back and chugged down the last of his beer, then set the empty bottle down on the floor next to his first with a loud clink.
“So I s’pose you’ve found it, then?” said Peter abruptly. He was not nearly as buzzed as Remus had thought.
Remus frowned at him, packing himself tighter against the cushions. “Found what?”
“The thing. The thing that will make it all worth it. That’s why you’ve been staring off into space and grinning like a damn fool all day.”
“I do not grin like a damn fool.”
“Do too. Is it him?”
“Who?” said Remus suspiciously, in a tone of I-do-not-like-where-this-is-going. It was a tone that Peter, as was his habit, pointedly ignored. He said, with another swish of his hand, “That bloke at your clients’ bakery. Sirius.”
“What? Are you implying that he might be my ‘thing’?”
“S’good as any.”
“Good Lord, Peter. You haven’t even seen him.”
At this, Peter straightened and gave a crooked sort of smile. “I did, actually. Went with one of the senior accountants who got the job first. I thought he looked just your type, actually. Tall, dark, handsome, with a hint of scoundrel?”
Remus groaned and hid his face on the crooks of his elbows, blushing to his ears. “You do not realize the meaning of the words coming out of your mouth, do you?”
“I’m not that pissed yet,” Peter replied, kicking Remus halfheartedly from the other end of the couch. “Would like to be, though. So is it him?”
“It’s not going to happen,” Remus griped against his elbows. “He’s just the bloke who works for my clients and that’s all he’ll ever be.”
“Sounds to me like you’re complaining.”
“Why should I complain? I knew it from the start. Get me another beer.”

Peter obliged, and soon Remus was nursing his third while Peter polished off a fourth. Their disjointed conversation lulled, so that they lay sprawled on Peter’s cheap couch drinking cheap beer in companionable silence for some time.

Suddenly, as he was uncapping his fourth beer and Peter his fifth, Remus said, “He’s just a bloke. Just another bloke like all the others.”
Peter hiccoughed.
“So what if he’s nice to me now and makes fantastic pastries and has nice arms?” Remus continued gruffly. “In the end, he’s just a bloke. Just another goddamn bloody bloke like all the rest.”
“All the rest?” said Peter fuzzily.
“I shouldn’t even be thinking about him at all. Stupid Sirius. I can’t.”
“Remus...”
“Not him or his forearms or his cheekbones or his stupid-bloody-fantastic arse...”
“Remus...!”
“What, Pete?”
“Have you ever been...hurt by any of those?”
“What?”
“You know...hurt. Badly. So that you’d be wary of all blokes after that.”
“God, you’re pissed.”
“Damnit, Remus, I’m being serious.”
“...no. No, I haven’t ever been hurt. Not badly. Just the usual.”
“Distance. Rupture. Heartbreak,” said Peter in a vaguely sing-song voice.

They both sighed and swigged their bottles.

“Besides,” Remus went on, narrowly avoiding spilling beer down his front as he leaned back, “he doesn’t really show any signs of...you know...”
Peter snorted. “As if your gaydar is completely infallible.”
“I like to think it is,” Remus replied, but was too sloshed to feel particularly affronted.
“Have you even tried asking him out?”
“No. Of course not.”
“Well, if you’re going to be mooning over him all the time, you might as well.”
“Pete, no. I’ll make a fool of myself.”
“You’d do a lot more in life if you forgot about that. What if he says yes?”
“He wouldn’t,” Remus said stubbornly. He stared moodily at the label on his beer bottle. Across the couch, Peter was studying Remus with as much concentration as a man with almost five beers in his system possibly could.

Finally, Peter sighed and tossed back the rest of his beer. Remus watched him as he rose unsteadily from the couch and gathered up the empty bottles and placed them by the door. The totter in his step was indicative of the mixture of his troubled thoughts with all that alcohol.

As though coming to his senses, Remus put his beer down on the coffee table. He lay back, taking up the full length of the couch, and stared up at the water-bruised ceiling. “When did this become a pity party?” he grumbled.
“Hell if I know. I just wanted a nice, friendly drink, since we hadn’t...” Peter paused, belched loudly, and resumed, “...hadn’t done that in a while.”
“Yeah, you’re right. Thanks for that.”
Peter smiled faintly. Remus sat up and stretched, then clambered to his feet and said, “Well, I guess I’ll be going.”
“Going? Where?”
“Home, Pete. To my flat. In case you’ve forgotten, I don’t live here anymore.”
“There’s no way I’m letting you bike through the streets of London like that,” Peter said, sounding for all the world like a worried mother hen, albeit a more-than-halfway drunk one. “You should stay tonight. There’s plenty of room.”
“Oh. Er. All right.”
Peter nodded firmly and teetered off to get the spare linen, while Remus sat on the couch and gazed unseeingly out the single living room window.

Night had fallen almost as soon as they had gotten to Peter’s flat, yet another sign that winter was fast approaching. Soon, it would be December, and Christmas. After that, January, and the New Year. Remus was not sure if he would have the heart to celebrate it much. Surely, he would not have much to do except come over to Peter’s for a drink or two, and maybe Christmas Eve take-out. But even Peter would be leaving briefly after that, to see his parents and his more distant relatives, leaving Remus to celebrate alone in snowy London.

Well, he did not mind much. He could make dinner for himself and watch Christmas specials on the telly. Perhaps he would visit his parents’ graves, tell them how he had been.

His thoughts drifted back to Peter, who, it seemed, was finally beginning to question his way of life. It was true that accounting was the not the most exciting, fascinating profession in the world, but at least it was realistic and down-to-earth. He had never thought Peter would much enjoy it, and had even tried to talk him out of it at some point, but back then Peter had laughed it off and said that it would do, that there was nothing else he wanted to do anyway. And besides, Dad will be proud. He’ll be happy.

Remus was glad that now, at least, Peter was beginning to see that it wasn’t really his father’s happiness that mattered most at the moment.

As for Remus, he had chosen this of his own accord. He could do it. He would not complain. It was a good job that he did well, and even though it would take him several years still to pay off his student loans, he could not possibly want more, could he?

Peter returned with the sheets and an extra pillow, his footsteps heavy with drink and sleepiness.
“Here, mate. Make yourself comfortable.”
“Thanks.”
“No problem. Hey, Remus.”
“Mm?”
Peter leaned over the back of the couch and looked Remus straight in the eyes. “You know, I wouldn’t suggest it if I didn’t think you should.”
Remus looked at him, poised in the act of spreading a sheet over the couch. He could not say anything. He schooled his expression into one of confusion.

The moment passed, and Peter straightened. “Guess you’re drunk off your arse, eh? Fine, lightweight. See you in the morning.”
Remus said, “Yeah. G’night.”
“G’night.”
Peter shuffled off to his room. Remus finished making his bed and seated himself on top of it. He kicked off his shoes and folded his legs up under him, propping his arms up on the back of the couch as he had before. He let his head fall to the side, let his eyes fall half-closed, let the swirling worry-thoughts, the stunning bright hope-thoughts, and the soft resigned tired-thoughts wash over him through the haze of alcohol. In this way, he dozed, fully-dressed, with his gut full of take-out dinner and beer and his heart full of a familiar heaviness he just could not get rid of.

“You know, I wouldn’t suggest it if I didn’t think you should.”

I know, Pete. I’m sorry.

=====

The next Monday, after a whole weekend of staying in and entertaining himself with a paperback novel he had been meaning to read for some time, Remus encountered one of the most surprising events of his young adult life. For one thing, Sirius actually looked happy to see him that day.

“Oi! Remus! About bloody time you got here!”

For another, he looked absolutely ecstatic, which Remus immediately pegged as one of his better looks. Surely Remus’ slight smile had everything to do with having received an actual greeting from the man today, and nothing to do with the fact that he had called him by name, and not the contemptuous Lupin he had gotten used to.

The door had barely closed behind Remus before Sirius was upon him, balancing a large plate of pastries in one hand. With the other hand, Sirius tugged hard on Remus’ scarf to pull it away from his nose and mouth, saying, “Off with that. You need to eat some of this right now.”
“I think not,” Remus replied immediately as he snatched possessively at his scarf. “Not until I know what it is.”
“It doesn’t have a name yet,” Sirius said with mock-patience. “I just invented it this weekend. Call it my newest specialty, if you will.”
Remus slowly unraveled his scarf as he eyed the pastries. These ones were an even deeper golden-brown than the first one Remus had had, cream-filled, and drizzled over with a reddish glaze.
“Is that strawberry glaze?”
Sirius snorted. “Strawberry. How very pedestrian. That, my poor, ignorant finance monger, is a glaze made from an assortment of wild berries.”
“Wild!” Harry added from his usual table.
“Wild indeed,” said Sirius with a pleased grin. “Now sit down and have some.”
“Sirius, I haven’t even had lunch yet.”
“You can eat lunch later. Right now, I need someone who knows nothing about pastries to taste this.”
“Well, in that case,” said Remus with a roll of his eyes, “I suppose I must oblige.”
“Excellent. Here, Harry, you have one too.”
Harry reached eagerly for the treat as Remus seated himself at an adjacent table. As always, the other tables were deserted.

Sirius placed a smaller plate down before Remus and set a single wild berry and cream pastry on it, fussing with the presentation as Remus watched. Remus said, “Is it always this empty at this time? It’s lunch now, isn’t it?”
“Yeah,” said Sirius distractedly, “there are usually a couple of people in. Little old ladies and the like. They haven’t been in a while, though. Must be the cold.”
“Mm.”
Sirius straightened and pushed the plate closer to Remus. “There. Go on, try it and tell me what you think.”
Remus picked up the pastry and bit carefully into it, trying not to get cream all over his face. Harry, however, seemed to have no qualms about this, and was happily smearing it over his mouth and chin as he ate. Sirius ran to get a napkin for him.

Remus had to stop himself from closing his eyes with delight. The pastry’s crust was flaky but gave easily under his teeth. The cream filling was light and fluffy, with just the right amount of sweetness, and the wild berry glaze did indeed make plain strawberry seem quite ordinary with its enhanced tanginess. The whole put together was simply the most delectable thing Remus had ever tasted.

Halfway through the process of wiping Harry’s face off with a clean damp rag, Sirius twisted around to look at Remus over his shoulder. “Well? How is it?”
Remus swallowed. “M’not sure. My mind is pretty much blown right now.”
Sirius smiled and turned back to Harry. “Brilliant. They’ll sell like hotcakes, then?”
“We can only hope.”
“Brilliant,” Sirius said again. He finished cleaning Harry up and picked up the large plate of pastries, saying to Harry in a conspiratorial whisper, “Now don’t tell your dear mum I gave you a sweet before lunch. She’ll go bonkers.”
Harry nodded soberly. Remus restrained a smile.

Satisfied, Sirius returned to the counter and carefully placed the rest of the pastries behind the display glass.
“So why’re you here today?” Sirius asked as he cleaned up behind the counter. “Come to tell us to switch for even cheaper ingredients? Or perhaps you want us to rethink our retirement plans?”
“Oh, er...”
Why had he come? It was actually still a little early for lunch, and Lily did not even seem to be around. It definitely could not be that he had come here for Sirius. The very thought was simply ridiculous.
“Just...wanted to see how things were carrying on,” Remus said lamely.
Sirius raised his eyebrows at him. “Well, all right. As you can see, we’re just fine.”
“Indeed.”
“James and Lily are still upstairs sleeping, so you’ll have to wait for lunch.”
“Sleeping? Whatever for?”
Sirius’ expression darkened, but for once his anger did not seem to be directed toward Remus. “They’re just tired. It’s from all this running around and getting the bakery back, and taking care of Harry. It’s taking its toll.”
Sirius’ gaze shifted to Harry, who was now amusing himself with a few plastic toy dinosaurs. He sighed.
“I hope you meant it when you said you’d help us,” he said in a low voice. “It means a lot to them.”
“Of course I meant it. I don’t go back on my word.”
“Hmph.”
Sirius resumed his cleaning, cursing under his breath at the mess. He opened a drawer, then another, then slammed them both closed. He turned and glanced crossly around the room, hands on his hips.
“Bloody hell,” he said matter-of-factly.
“Blood ‘ell,” said Harry without looking up.
“Oh, shit. Lily’s gonna give me hell for teaching him that one.”
“S’what you get for talking like that in front of him,” said Remus smugly.
Sirius turned to him with a scowl. “You can shut your mouth, Mister High-And-Mighty-Accountant, and help me look for that dishrag.”
Sirius turned away and continued to look around his work area as Remus glanced around the shop from his seat. Harry was making squeaking sounds as he played, accompanying the plastic dinosaurs while he made them gallop across the table and back again, where they merrily trampled a squishy white meadow.
“Oh. Wait. I found it.”
Remus stood and gently took the damp dishrag away from Harry, who ceased playing and looked up at him with gooey green eyes.
“Sorry,” Remus told him, “need to return this to your goddad.”
“God’ad.”
“That’s right.”
Harry returned to his game, and Remus walked around the counter to hand Sirius his dishrag.
“He’s learning quite fast,” said Remus.
Sirius accepted the rag and smiled, looking fondly over at the boy playing on the table. “Yes, he’s quite smart. But then, he should be, what with Lily being his mother and all that.”
Remus laughed. “She does seem very brilliant.”
“She is. He’s lucky to have her. Not that James isn’t brilliant too,” Sirius added as he began to swipe across the countertop with the remoistened rag, “it’s just...a different kind of brilliance, I guess.”
“Mm. You’re all excellent at what you do here, though.”
“’Course,” said Sirius stiffly, “except for the making money part, apparently.”
They lapsed into uncomfortable silence for a moment, as Sirius cleaned and Harry played and Remus stood behind the counter doing nothing.

After a while, he seemed to come to his senses and said, “Oh, I suppose I’m in the way. I’ll just...”
“No need. Here.”
Sirius tossed Remus another rag and gestured toward the opposite counter. Remus looked at him, bewildered. Sirius jerked his head toward the counter again, looking as though he was making the most natural request in the world.

Remus sighed and rolled up his shirtsleeves, wondering what in God’s name is he was doing even as he was running the rag under the tap and beginning to wipe the counter. Sirius turned away to do the same, but not before Remus caught a glimpse of the cheeky grin on his face. Silently, Remus scrubbed the counter, mentally cursing every holder of the Black name, past, present, and future.

They worked standing back to back for some time, listening to Harry’s dinosaurs rampaging across the table, until Remus thought he was done. He cleaned the rag out in the sink and draped it over the edge to dry.
“Squeaky clean over there?” Sirius asked.
“The squeakiest,” said Remus firmly.
Sirius came over to inspect Remus’ work, and rewarded him with a light, if slightly condescending, pat on the back.
“Looks like you’re good for something other than making people’s lives miserable. Good show.”
“Thank you,” Remus replied with every bit of sarcasm he could muster.
Sirius rewarded his sarcasm with a boyish wink - Did he just bloody wink at me-shit, why do my legs feel like jelly? Must be tired... - and waved him away, seeming to think he had done enough for the time being. Remus returned to the customer side of the bakery, wondering if this was his cue to leave.

“Weemus.”
It took a moment before Remus realized Harry was saying his name. He turned to the boy, his shock plainly apparent on his face.
“Y-Yes?”
“Weemus,” Harry said again. He reached out with one pudgy little hand and offered him one of the plastic dinosaurs, a long-necked one of an odd purplish colour.
“He wants you to play with him,” said Sirius from the counter. He sounded amused, which was at once flattering and extremely mortifying to the poor accountant.
“Oh. Oh, well...I suppose.”
Remus seated himself hesitantly beside the play table and took the proffered dinosaur from Harry, who grinned. Remus smiled. “Thank you.”
Harry gave a shake of the head, as though to say “No problem, mate”, and resumed playing. Not really knowing what to do, Remus imitated him. Harry recommenced his hooting dinosaur sounds, bumping his hand regularly against Remus’ as the creatures galloped.

A few minutes passed like this before Remus finally had the courage to ask the question that had been plaguing him since the week before.
“Mister Bla-...Sirius?”
“Hm?”
“If you’re all making such a low income here, why don’t you try something else?”
“What d’you mean? Is this another one of your finance tricks?” said Sirius suspiciously.
“No, no. I’m just saying. I mean, with your skills, you could easily find work as a pastry chef. James and Lily too. You’re all talented. I can’t imagine you having that much trouble finding jobs.”
Sirius was silent. Remus and Harry made the dinosaurs run another lap back and forth across the table, then Remus decided to take his chances.
“Especially you, Sirius. You do incredible things in this bakery, but just imagine what you could do in a high-class establishment. What with your skills and your education, you could-”
“You just don’t get it, do you?”
Remus raised his eyes at the low tone and, as he thought, met Sirius’ stormy grey eyes. He had ceased working and was hunched over the counter. His hairnet was scrunched in one tightly clenched hand, so that his long black hair hung down over his shoulders and across his forehead, mussed from the intensity of his stance.
“You’re all business, aren’t you, Lupin?” Sirius growled. “All business, nothing else. Do you realize how sad that is? Do you?”
“I-“
“Because I don’t think you do. No, you definitely don’t, because if you did-“ he slammed his fist down on the counter once, making both Remus and Harry jump, “then you wouldn’t be suggesting that we just give up our dream.”
Remus’ eyes widened as he realized the extent of his folly. “Wait, Mister Black, just listen-”
“No! You listen, you great, gormless idiot, because you obviously have some learning to do. Now I don’t know what kind of fancy degree you need to tell us how to manage our money, but I very much doubt it gives you the right to tell me what you just did.”
“I’m only trying-”
“Have you ever had a dream, Lupin? Something you really wanted? Something you would do anything to obtain?”
“I...”
Remus tried to say “Yes, of course, everyone has dreams” or something equally diplomatic, but for some reason the words would not come out, would not even form on his lips. Finally, he just closed his mouth and looked away, toward the table decorated with Harry’s crayon scribbles. Harry’s hands had stopped moving, like he was listening intently.

“That’s a ‘no’, isn’t it?” said Sirius quietly. He shook his head and seemed about to continue, but his anger had gone as quickly as it had come. He settled for scrubbing ineffectually at the already clean counter.

Remus put the purple dinosaur down on the table and reached up to gently pat Harry on the head. Harry said, “Weemus?”
“I think I should go. Sorry, Harry. I’ll play with you again next time.”
“’kay,” said Harry sadly. He picked up his dinosaurs and started again with markedly diminished enthusiasm.

Remus donned his coat and scarf again and left. Sirius did not say a word of parting, so neither did he.

Part Three A