Our Private Universe (part 1 of 2) by busaikko
Title: Our Private Universe
Author: busaikko
Summary: Watch Remus, Peter said, look for evidence; but what Sirius found was something different. Christmas 1979.
Rating: NC17
Warning: senile dementia of a sort
Recipient: imochan who asked for post-Hogwarts pre-Azkaban era; non-shmoopy AU (one could say the AU starts here); awkward, boyish moments, the skirting in-between time between friendship and love; and "if you're writing James, I need me some Peter too" (Peter is a major figure, if mostly absent). Art-minded people might want to check out Imo's Sirius Black for inspiration. Also her boys and a motorbike. OK, doesn't quite go with the story (wish it did) but so OMG gorgeous!
~*~
Our Private Universe
The First Day: December 21 (Friday)
"Watch Remus," Peter urged him, over beers in the pub, over curry, over fish and chips dripping through The Mail. "That's all we ask. Keep an eye on him." James, when he was with them, would look away, nod.
Well. So Sirius had watched him. Had tried to get close to him. Had kept an eye out for all the signs that Peter said were suspicious, and when he looked he saw them. The avoidance, the secrecy, the odd injuries and absences. The way Dumbledore's eyes followed Remus around the room. The way the other Order members silenced themselves in his presence. The look on Remus' face when the word werewolf was spoken.
If you find that he is the spy, Peter and James said, late one night over Chinese take-away in Peter's mother's kitchen, we'll take care of it. He's one of our own.
Innocent until proven, James added, and Peter looked away that time. It reminded Sirius of his father's expression when his mother came downstairs in front of company. Indisposed, he always said, and it had come as a shock to Sirius years later to discover that this was not a synonym for drunk.
"Evidence," Peter said, still studying the horrible avocado-coloured tiles on the walls. "It would help."
Which was how Sirius came to be here, spending his Christmas holiday chez Lupin.
Remus had begged off James' parents' annual dinner and dance, saying he had to go home. He'd looked thin and bone-weary and smoked too much. Sirius had looked at James and Lily and their bump and in a fit of madness had asked Remus if he needed company. He could cook, he said, and do light housekeeping, and was generally thought to be sturdy and useful. Remus' eyes had gone as bright as fairy lights. That was all the invitation Sirius needed.
Standing in front of the door, keys in his hand, Remus bit his lip and looked back.
"Anytime you want to go, just go. I won't mind. It's not--" an odd look--shame?--flickered over his face. "Don't stay for me, I'm used to it."
"Just open the damn door, I'm freezing," Sirius said.
Being indoors didn't help much. The front room was as bitterly cold as it was outside: all the windows were open. Snow had actually piled up on the floorboards behind the sofa. Remus asked him to stay downstairs, and he was glad for it. The house stank of burnt vegetables, and piss, and unwashed things, and the dust of neglect. The electric lights wouldn't turn on, Remus said, muttering something about the bills. Sirius shut the windows, banished the snow, and lit the fire that had been left set in the fireplace.
He heard the thump of doors above him, the tread of Remus' boots on bare floors, and a low growl of a voice that must be Remus' dad. Fuck, he thought, why am I here?
Remus came down the stairs and went to squat in front of the fire. He still wore his jacket and muffler; so did Sirius.
"My dad's sleeping," he said. "There's a lady from the village who's supposed to come. She hasn't. I pay her to come. He can't... he can't really live alone." Remus rubbed his hands together in front of the fire, then stood. "I made up my old room for you upstairs." He undid his coat and hung it on a peg behind the door, but kept his muffler on. "You hungry?"
"No," Sirius said, not even wanting to think about what the kitchen looked like. Remus picked up his bag and started up the stairs. After a moment, Sirius followed.
He wasn't sure what he expected from Remus' bedroom. Walls of books, posters of Quidditch or Muggle rock bands, old toys. But the room was tiny and sterile. There was a gable, and the bed was in front of the window. There was a cheap chest of drawers, the flimsy kind that was built from a kit. There was an electric lamp that didn't work. Of course. The kerosene lantern next to it had a smoke-blackened chimney through which the light shone dully. The walls had been papered with a floral print that had both faded and yellowed with time. That was it.
"Homely," Sirius said, and then realised how sarcastic that sounded.
Remus looked around, shrugged. "Everything I didn't take with me, my parents binned. My mother never could stand clutter. I put warming charms on the blankets," he added. "The bath is right across the hall. Your towels are in the top drawer, and there's hot water." He shrugged again. "Lock the door when you sleep, and keep your wand under your pillow."
Sirius opened his bag, took out his pyjamas. "Right. Good night."
Remus nodded. "I'll see you in the morning, then," he said, and shut the door softly behind him.
The Second Day: December 22 (Saturday)
The house had already awakened when Sirius crawled out of bed. He didn't want to--his breath rose in white billows before him, no better than if he'd been outdoors--but there were wonderful smells of food, and his stomach growled. He took a hot shower (the bathroom had a gleaming, freshly scrubbed lemony shine) and dressed, and then went to find the kitchen.
Remus was sitting at a collapsible aluminium table with his back to Sirius, but he turned in his seat and smiled. The room sparkled with cleanliness; from the dark shadows under Remus' eyes, Sirius guessed he'd been up the better part of the night. He'd never suspected Remus of being house-proud; in this house, it was probably a losing proposition.
"Didn't know if I'd see you before noon." Remus stood, indicating that Sirius should take the chair. "Dad, this is Sirius Black, my friend from school."
Sirius stepped forward, introduced himself, and shook hands. He'd seen Remus' father before, on the train platform once and a couple of times at school, exuding strength and good health as McGonagall escorted him to the infirmary. He had the same powerful build now but he was somehow fuzzier around the edges. His hair was uncut, not closely cropped, and he wore a red jogging suit instead of the saffron robes of his profession. Remus really looked very little like him, Sirius thought: the eyes were the same brown but a different shape, and Remus had a slighter build. He wondered if there were any pictures of Remus' mother around; and whether he'd have the nerve to ask to see one.
Remus was talking about the plans for the day, which seemed to involve a large amount of laundry and a trip to the village. He asked Sirius to peg the wash, which Sirius agreed to, only later realising it had been a trap that Remus had baited with jam on toast and sausages. Remus seemed intent on washing every scrap of cloth in the house, all the sheets and clothes and towels. Admittedly, Remus' job was worse, involving bathtubs of boiling water and scrubbing and cleansing spells that exploded. When he brought down the last basketful of wet things Remus had been reduced to wearing a thin vest and his pyjama bottoms, but he still cheerfully helped Sirius peg the sheets straight and cast a general Wind-Up charm on all the lines, making the sheets snap briskly.
"There are drying spells, too, you know," Sirius said, rubbing his numb fingers together.
"It smells nicer dried in the sun," Remus said, taking down a pair of trousers and a jumper as they headed back to the house. He said a charm, and a puff of steam rose up. It smelt vaguely of fried onions. Remus pulled the clothes (and the smell) on over what he already wore and put the kettle on.
"Shall we head out after we eat?" he asked, already taking out crackers and bread and a tinned ham.
"Do you want me to help?" Sirius said, politely, even though Remus seemed to have everything under control.
"Why don't you look around and write up a list?" Remus suggested, slicing the ham thinly and heating up a skillet. "I think we need almost everything--milk, eggs, flour, meat, veg...."
"Where's the pantry?" Sirius asked, and Remus pointed out the shelves next to the door, on which there were a few dented tins and a plastic bucket with dusty sprouting potatoes. Sirius went to beg a piece of paper and a biro from Mr Lupin and was still writing his list when Remus set the food on the table.
"You're never going to buy all that," Remus said incredulously, as Sirius squeezed a few more items onto the back of the paper. He leant over to read it upside-down. "Cinnamon? What do you want with cinnamon?"
"Good on toast," Mr Lupin said absently. Sirius suspected that that summed up the Lupin family attitude to food in general.
"Anyway, I'm buying," Sirius said, folding the list into his shirt pocket. "I said I'd do the food, and I meant it. From now on," he added, pointing at Remus, "you are not allowed in the kitchen except to make tea and to look decorative. This is supposed to be your holiday."
Mr Lupin put down his ham and toast. "He's going to the office on Christmas Day," he said, waving vaguely at Remus with his glass. Remus took it from him and got up to refill it with water.
"Why're you doing that, Moony?"
"Time and a half," Remus said, masterfully repressing a squirm as his father and Sirius looked at him. "It's not like we have plans. Do we? Are we doing something?"
"Well, we're not eating Christmas dinner without you," Sirius said. He didn't say, Are you that strapped for money? Every naked space in the house that cried of furniture sold off, the bare shelves, the ridiculous electric lights that sat dark, all proclaimed a poverty that had nothing to do with fashion and everything to do with Remus working himself into an early grave. He knew that Remus had trouble getting and keeping jobs; he was cagey enough about his present employment to make Peter's insinuations that it was dodgy, if not downright Dark, ring true. "Stop doing the washing up, I said I'd take care of it, didn't I?"
He had to beat Remus away from the dishes with a tea towel, which he then used to tie Remus down to the sofa. He summoned a book at random from the shelf (How to Hex Your Enemies and Curse People) and stuck it in Remus' hands.
"And stay there," he added. Remus was laughing too hard to respond verbally, but he gave Sirius a very rude gesture indeed. Sirius told Mr Lupin to go discipline his boy, and finished up in the kitchen.
He came out to find Remus still sitting obediently on the sofa, but he had some kind of ledger out and was frowning over some very complicated Arithmancy.
"Let's go shopping," Sirius said, and threw Remus' coat at him. Remus grabbed it with one hand and put the ledger away in a battered biscuit tin that he shoved under the sofa. He untied himself and asked his father if he needed anything from the village. For one horrible moment Sirius thought Mr Lupin might want to come with them; he opened the door and let a cold draught in. Mr Lupin pulled his cardigan shut and asked for some kind of sweets. Remus shrugged into his coat, grabbed his muffler, and started down the road with Sirius on his heels.
"So, what's wrong with your dad?" Sirius asked, never one to be tactful. Life was more interesting that way.
Remus kicked at the dirty snow that lined the narrow road. "One too many curses. Maybe. He was a cursebreaker, you know." He glanced sideways, and Sirius nodded. They'd all thought it the coolest thing ever, back in school. "I've tried to get it lifted. But no one seems to know...."
Sirius thought about the furtive research Remus was always doing, and he wondered how far Remus might go in his search for a cure. Who he might ask for help. But when he spoke he didn't say that. "What will you do if he doesn't get better? If he gets worse?"
"I've applied to the Aged Wizards' Home."
"Expensive," Sirius said. More money than threadbare Remus had, at any rate.
Remus abused the snow a bit more. "Dumbledore knows someone who wants the house. We'll sell it. Dad gets a pension as well." He hopped a little as some of the snow slid into his boot.
"Does he even know who you are?" Sirius asked abruptly.
Remus smiled without humour. "On good days. He never remembers how old I am, though. I caught him cutting up the sheets, once, for nappies. Most of the time he thinks I'm his junior assistant Matthews, who was a bloody incompetent cursebreaker. I was... I was glad when they snapped my dad's wand. I mean, it's terrible and it drives him crazy, can't even boil water by himself, but I was so relieved. I used to be afraid to sleep." He stopped speaking and spread his hands. "Anyway. Not your problem, Pads."
Which was Lupine for 'change the subject'.
"So, what are the holiday plans?" Sirius asked, and the pinched look returned to Remus' face. Oops. "I thought," he said, looking around for inspiration, "we could get a tree. It seems like there are a few around here."
Remus glanced at the woods. "I'm not sure we can just go around chopping down trees."
"We'll dig it up for a few days and put it back, no one the wiser. And--" Sirius relaxed, secure in his possession of a plan--"we can hang gingerbread men on it. And put the presents under it." Remus glanced at him. "Oh, Merlin, you do have presents, don't you, Moony? Well, it's a good thing we're going in to town, that's all I can say. I got a sweater for your dad," he said, half-questioning. "Seemed safe. I didn't get one for you, got you something better, so you have to get me something good. Did I mention I've a turntable now?"
"Only a thousand times, Pads," Remus said, but he looked slightly less panicked.
The road rounded a corner, and the valley opened up before them. There was a partially iced-over river and a cluster of snow-covered houses up the hillside, smoke rising from chimneys into the clear blue sky.
"Bloody quaint, Moony," Sirius said, pausing for a moment. "You're sure there are shops?"
Remus punched him on the arm. "I grew up here, I should know. That's the school I attended, over there, next to the church. That park's where I broke my arm in a very foolish bicycle and swing dare. That tree, right down the hill here, is where every day for eight months Billy Cowlie and his mates used to wait for me and shake me down for lunch money."
"What's Billy Cowlie doing now?"
"Dead," Remus said shortly. "Overdose, back in our sixth year. Bit of a scandal, left a girlfriend and a baby behind. Gossip is a powerful force around here," he said, only half in apology, and started down the hill.
"Is that a warning?" Sirius asked, amused at being cautioned to be on good behaviour.
"Oddly enough, I cannot think of a single thing that you could do today that would have me shunned from village society for the rest of my life."
Sirius paused, thinking of at least ten things that he could do that would have them burning Remus in effigy; and something must have shown on his face, because Remus grinned and shook his head.
"All right, perhaps you could, but you won't."
"What makes you so certain of that?" Sirius asked absently, noting how suggestively phallic the War Memorial could be under certain circumstances.
"Because I'm asking you nicely."
"Low blow."
"If I fought fair I'd never win."
The words hung in the air where Remus had tossed them, with self-deprecating humour, and Sirius listened to their echoes until his head buzzed.
"Oi, Pads, you're miles away." Remus tugged on his scarf. The road had run into the high street at an angle, and there were indeed shops. "We'll get the food last--too heavy to carry around." Ha, Sirius thought, you're waiting for the end-of-the-day specials. "Where do you want to go?"
Sirius shrugged. "I'll follow you."
Remus smiled. "You're in for a hike, then."
Which turned out to be the truth. Remus stopped in every shop up and down the high street, the Muggle ones and the Wizarding ones alike, and paid his father's credit. (Sirius had no idea what Mr Lupin did with his purchases; they certainly weren't in the house. Remus shrugged and said he probably left them somewhere, or they were stolen.)
Everyone seemed to know Remus, and Sirius found himself watching their hands. The Muggles simply smiled, but every witch or wizard invariably made a warding gesture, anything from a simple 'avert' to the three-fingered 'werewolf' to a full 'back, evil.' At one shop the owner gave some cryptic warning to the girl at the till, who refused to meet Remus' eyes or take the money from his hand, making him set it down on the counter and not moving to take it until his hands were both at his sides. The owner pointedly kept her back turned to him. Sirius held his tongue (firmly, between his teeth), but the door had just shut behind him when he exploded.
"That bitch."
Remus laughed. "You're more right than you know. Look at the shop name."
Sirius twisted to look back. "Is it the same--?"
"There aren't that many Greybacks in the wizarding world. That's his mum."
"Merlin's balls, how do you stand it?" Sirius waved one arm around in agitation, and Remus ducked reflexively. "How can you live here?"
"Padfoot." Remus fixed him with a sharp glare. "Calm down." He waited until Sirius let out his breath in an angry huff and then started walking. "Firstly, I don't live here. I hate coming here, but it's home. For now. Secondly." He tucked his hands in his pockets and led the way into a small park at the head of the road. "Greyback was a Squib, did you know that? He wanted to have a place in the wizarding world. He wanted to be turned, just like those Muggles who seek out vampires. But afterwards, he was afraid, and he asked my father for help. And my father couldn't help him. It's a curse that can't be lifted."
Remus stopped in front of a small iced-over pond that was ringed with willows. "My father nearly killed him for what he did to me, apparently. But Billie Cowlie never came near me again." Remus' mouth curled in what Peter had always called his Dark Creature smile. "That's Billie over there," he said, pointing to an open can of beer sitting on a stone, and that was when Sirius realised that they were in the cemetery, surrounded by the dead. Remus walked a few paces and bent to wipe away the snow from a marker set in the ground. "My mum," he said, straightening and rubbing the end of his muffler between his reddened hands. "Let's go get groceries."
Sirius nodded and followed. Remus seemed unaware that he'd made Sirius entirely speechless with rage and horror and pity and pain. Sirius wrapped his hand around his grocery list and hung on for dear life.
The Third Day: December 23 (Sunday)
Sunday morning they set out to find the perfect tree. The tree they decided on was the best they could find without ripping each other's throats out: not perfectly symmetrical, and rather hollow on one side, but a proper height. They got it back to the house, roots bound up in burlap sacking, through a combination of magic and sheer stupid strength. After a final epic battle to get it through the front door, Sirius left Remus to get it stood up in the front room while he went to the kitchen to entertain Mr Lupin with tales of their escapades, prepare food, and bake gingerbread men for the tree (he'd brought Mr Potter's foaming gingerbread recipe).
Talking to Mr Lupin was peculiar: most of the time it was like talking to a cat, but just when he'd lulled Sirius into relaxing he'd come out with a terribly disconcerting remark. "You're wasting that meat, boy, just throw the fat right in," or, "Do all the young people at school wear their hair like girls, or are you two the only freaks?" Sirius had adopted a smile-and-nod policy, but his lip was sore from being bitten by the time Remus appeared, his face well scratched but looking grubbily satisfied.
Remus washed the table efficiently, tidying away his father's breakfast things. Mr Lupin let him, but clung to his crossword puzzle. (Sirius had been warned that the crossword was sacred and not to be touched.)
"Smells good, Pads," he said, taking out three robin's-egg-blue plastic bowls and dishes.
"He has a name," his father snapped. "So do you. Use them."
"Yes, sir," Remus said, turning to get spoons from the drawer. His father slapped him across the backs of his legs with the newspaper, and Sirius nearly knocked the soup over. Remus met his eyes and held his gaze until Sirius looked away; and then set the flatware out, and put out glasses of water at each place. He took out the new loaf of bread and sliced it thickly. He set a slice on each plate and looked expectantly at Sirius. "Ready when you are."
They were halfway through their second bowls of soup when Mr Lupin looked up at his son.
"Remus John," he said, "named after your mother's grandfather and my father. Ugliest baby I ever saw. School going well?"
Remus had set his bread down and looked at his father with a smile that made Sirius' heart ache. Peter, Peter, he thought, it should be you here, you bastard. I'm a lousy spy, I'm not like you. I'm not naturally inclined to be suspicious. I keep looking for something that'll prove you wrong, not right.
"Left school," Remus said. "I've a job delivering owl-order parcels now, down in Manchester."
"Why the hell would you want to do that?" his father asked. "It's your life, of course, but you're bright enough you could do better."
Remus shrugged. "Best I could find. The money comes in handy."
His father laughed; not the harsh laugh Sirius had heard before. "And what does our Remus do with his money in Manchester? Girls, beer, and the cinema?"
"Two out of three," Remus said.
"Ha. Chip off the old block. Your mother's always asking when you're going to bring someone home. I tell her you're too young. You should have some fun while you're young."
Remus grinned. "Tell Sirius about the goblin horde in the Alps. The diamonds."
"Oh, he wouldn't want to hear about that," his father protested; but Sirius insisted, and they were still laughing hours later, long after Remus finished the washing up, and they'd had coffee (proper coffee, Sirius had seen to that), and Sirius had iced his army of gingerbread men and run string loops through their heads. It was already getting dark when Sirius asked Mr Lupin a question and was met by narrowed eyes.
"Who the hell are you, and what are you doing in my house?" he asked.
Remus stood, pushing his chair back noisily on the scarred floorboards. "I'll get the ladder, shall I?" he announced. "We'll get the Christmas things down out of the attic. Sirius, show Dad the tree, would you?" And he was out of the kitchen before Sirius could re-introduce himself to Mr Lupin.
The ladder was more than half rotten, but Remus managed not to break his neck climbing down it with the two dusty boxes labelled Christmas. He had refugee spiders in his hair, but Sirius decided not to mention it.
They set the boxes down in front of the fire. Mr Lupin sat in his chair with the newspaper; Remus and Sirius sat on the floor.
Sirius opened the boxes with glee. He'd never actually trimmed a tree: at his parents' house (he schooled himself not to say home) and at Hogwarts he'd always been presented with a fait accompli. He tipped out a tangled ball of fairy lights and set Remus to unsnarling them, so he could keep the fun parts to himself.
There were fading chains of paper links, which he put aside. There were delicate glass balls in red and silver with wire hooks. There was an entire flock of brightly coloured birds that rose up in a whir of feathers when he opened the box. They swooped around the room, chirping, before finally settling onto the tree.
"We usually put the lights on first," Remus said, but he was smiling.
"They're brilliant," Sirius said, totally charmed. He coaxed a bright yellow bird off its branch and set it in his hair. It pulled out a few strands and started building itself a nest above his ear.
Having exhausted the first box, Sirius started on the second. He wasn't sure what the first thing was. It was wrapped in newspaper and very heavy. He unwrapped it and stared. It was made of clay and painted red and brown with great green eyes.
"Remus," he said, and held it up. Remus looked and turned red.
"Oh, Merlin, I should bin that."
"What is it?"
Remus blushed harder. "It was supposed to be an elephant. I had a bit of a fixation. I made it in nursery," he added, in apologetic explanation.
"It's..." Sirius searched for the most offensive adjective. "...adorable. And you painted it your very own self. I am madly in love with this elephant. If you bin it I will be desolate. My only question is how to get it on the tree."
Remus took up his wand; Sirius curled his fingers around the elephant reflexively.
"It's just a simple hover charm, honestly, Pads." Remus winced slightly as the nickname slipped; Sirius wondered if by the end of the visit they would be addressing each other like complete strangers. Like the complete strangers he increasingly felt they were.
The elephant rose from his hands and settled comfortably at the top of the tree, causing two lovebirds to trill in alarm.
Remus flicked his wand again, and the lights rose up, serpentine, to wind themselves around the tree. Sirius gave him the glass balls to take care of, to keep Remus away from his box.
He took out a set of wooden disks illustrated with Snitches, bludgers, and brooms; stars made out of ice lolly sticks and twine; and strings of pinecones and sea shells. He added the gingerbread men last: the birds seemed very interested in them, and he supposed they'd be reduced to crumbs by Boxing Day. He broke off a leg and fed it to the bird in his hair.
The Lupin tree was decidedly eccentric, but lovely, Sirius decided.
The last thing in the box was a shoebox tied shut with a faded green ribbon. He had it open and was rummaging through the tissue before he noticed Remus watching him.
"My mother made those," Remus said, as he uncovered a carved wooden nativity scene. Sirius took out sheep, geese, goats, cows. Remus shifted to sit next to him. "She gave Mary her face, and Joseph my dad's." He held out the dolls to show Sirius.
Sirius peered down at the tiny sleeping baby Jesus. "I thought your dad said you were an ugly baby."
"He wasn't born yet," Mr Lupin said. "Or she'd have abandoned the project. Here." He got up and crossed to the battered desk in the corner, and over Remus' protests took out a photo album. He opened it and handed it to Sirius. "That's him the day after he was born. We were hoping he'd improve overnight. But look what happened."
The colour had washed out from the picture, but as Sirius watched swollen, lashless eyes blinked and a toothless mouth opened in a wail of rage.
"Good lord," Sirius said, staring. "Don't show this to Lily. You really do look just like a monkey."
Remus made a futile effort to get the album back, so Sirius got up and went to sit on the arm of Mr Lupin's chair, holding the album so that they could both see. After a while, Remus stretched out on the hearthstones with his arm draped over his face; but Sirius was certain that he was listening as his father described his life in photos.
The Fourth Day: December 24 (Monday)
Remus spread a layer of newspaper over the kitchen floor and set a chair in the middle. "Haircuts," he said to Sirius by way of explanation as he sharpened a wicked looking pair of scissors and then a straight razor. "We always go down for midnight mass." He turned on the electric light with great satisfaction: he had made a special trip out to the post office and apparently had begged prettily enough for someone to take pity on him and turn the power on.
"Your hair looks better long. Makes you look less of a swot."
"Praise from Sirius Black is praise indeed," Remus said dryly. He set his weaponry on the table and went to get his father.
Mr Lupin looked far less dotty, Sirius thought, with the ragged ends of his hair shorn. Remus finished up with the lather and the razor and stepped back. Mr Lupin looked the way he had been in the family photos, like a Ministry worker. He stood, and Remus knocked the stray bits of hair from his cardigan. Mr Lupin sat down at the table, alternately working on the crossword and looking at his hair in the hand mirror.
"You should do mine," Sirius said abruptly. "If we're going to church and all."
"I have trouble," Remus said, smiling, "picturing you in a church."
"Picture me as a choirboy," Sirius said. "Thrice weekly practice at St Bugga's. Thank God my voice changed." He sat down and pulled the towel over his shoulders. "Not too much, mind you. Be gentle with me."
"He still looks like a girl," Mr Lupin said, when Remus finished.
"That's two inches off, dad." Remus paused, scissors still in his hand, and looked at his father.
"I'll do you," Sirius offered.
"I can do it myself. I doubt you've ever cut hair in your life."
"How hard can it be?" Sirius asked, pushing Remus down into the chair.
"I want to see his ears," Mr Lupin said, and Remus rolled his eyes.
"The important thing," Remus said, as Sirius tentatively removed a large chunk of hair from the back, "is not to try and correct mistakes by cutting off more."
"Oh. Good," Sirius said absently, and Remus made a noise and grabbed the mirror from the table.
They left the house at eleven and walked down to the church in a whirl of biting wind and snow. Sirius carried the torch, and Remus kept a hand on his father's arm. The road was rough with ice and treacherous on the slopes. As they approached the church, bells began to ring, and Remus looked up in delight. Sirius fell a pace back as well-wrapped women descended on them and washed Remus and his father into the church in a wave of solicitous attention. Remus insisted on a back pew (Sirius had a sneaking suspicion that this had something to do with paranoia about the state of the back of his head; it wasn't that bad--Sirius had secretly regrown the worst bits when Remus wasn't looking), and he and Sirius sat on either side of Mr Lupin.
The service was long and the church was freezing, but the music was pleasantly familiar. Sirius found himself reluctant to leave, although the wind that howled outside might have had something to do with it. One of the twittering ladies, accompanied by a daughter, pushed her husband forward to offer Mr Lupin a ride home, so sorry that they didn't have seats for the boys. Remus was gracious and said that he appreciated it, that the cold didn't bother him a whit, and he gave his father the keys.
As soon as they rounded the corner from the church, Sirius and Remus Apparated, laughing, straight into the kitchen. Remus sent Sirius up to bed and sat down to wait for his father to come home.
Part II
Author: busaikko
Summary: Watch Remus, Peter said, look for evidence; but what Sirius found was something different. Christmas 1979.
Rating: NC17
Warning: senile dementia of a sort
Recipient: imochan who asked for post-Hogwarts pre-Azkaban era; non-shmoopy AU (one could say the AU starts here); awkward, boyish moments, the skirting in-between time between friendship and love; and "if you're writing James, I need me some Peter too" (Peter is a major figure, if mostly absent). Art-minded people might want to check out Imo's Sirius Black for inspiration. Also her boys and a motorbike. OK, doesn't quite go with the story (wish it did) but so OMG gorgeous!
~*~
Our Private Universe
The First Day: December 21 (Friday)
"Watch Remus," Peter urged him, over beers in the pub, over curry, over fish and chips dripping through The Mail. "That's all we ask. Keep an eye on him." James, when he was with them, would look away, nod.
Well. So Sirius had watched him. Had tried to get close to him. Had kept an eye out for all the signs that Peter said were suspicious, and when he looked he saw them. The avoidance, the secrecy, the odd injuries and absences. The way Dumbledore's eyes followed Remus around the room. The way the other Order members silenced themselves in his presence. The look on Remus' face when the word werewolf was spoken.
If you find that he is the spy, Peter and James said, late one night over Chinese take-away in Peter's mother's kitchen, we'll take care of it. He's one of our own.
Innocent until proven, James added, and Peter looked away that time. It reminded Sirius of his father's expression when his mother came downstairs in front of company. Indisposed, he always said, and it had come as a shock to Sirius years later to discover that this was not a synonym for drunk.
"Evidence," Peter said, still studying the horrible avocado-coloured tiles on the walls. "It would help."
Which was how Sirius came to be here, spending his Christmas holiday chez Lupin.
Remus had begged off James' parents' annual dinner and dance, saying he had to go home. He'd looked thin and bone-weary and smoked too much. Sirius had looked at James and Lily and their bump and in a fit of madness had asked Remus if he needed company. He could cook, he said, and do light housekeeping, and was generally thought to be sturdy and useful. Remus' eyes had gone as bright as fairy lights. That was all the invitation Sirius needed.
Standing in front of the door, keys in his hand, Remus bit his lip and looked back.
"Anytime you want to go, just go. I won't mind. It's not--" an odd look--shame?--flickered over his face. "Don't stay for me, I'm used to it."
"Just open the damn door, I'm freezing," Sirius said.
Being indoors didn't help much. The front room was as bitterly cold as it was outside: all the windows were open. Snow had actually piled up on the floorboards behind the sofa. Remus asked him to stay downstairs, and he was glad for it. The house stank of burnt vegetables, and piss, and unwashed things, and the dust of neglect. The electric lights wouldn't turn on, Remus said, muttering something about the bills. Sirius shut the windows, banished the snow, and lit the fire that had been left set in the fireplace.
He heard the thump of doors above him, the tread of Remus' boots on bare floors, and a low growl of a voice that must be Remus' dad. Fuck, he thought, why am I here?
Remus came down the stairs and went to squat in front of the fire. He still wore his jacket and muffler; so did Sirius.
"My dad's sleeping," he said. "There's a lady from the village who's supposed to come. She hasn't. I pay her to come. He can't... he can't really live alone." Remus rubbed his hands together in front of the fire, then stood. "I made up my old room for you upstairs." He undid his coat and hung it on a peg behind the door, but kept his muffler on. "You hungry?"
"No," Sirius said, not even wanting to think about what the kitchen looked like. Remus picked up his bag and started up the stairs. After a moment, Sirius followed.
He wasn't sure what he expected from Remus' bedroom. Walls of books, posters of Quidditch or Muggle rock bands, old toys. But the room was tiny and sterile. There was a gable, and the bed was in front of the window. There was a cheap chest of drawers, the flimsy kind that was built from a kit. There was an electric lamp that didn't work. Of course. The kerosene lantern next to it had a smoke-blackened chimney through which the light shone dully. The walls had been papered with a floral print that had both faded and yellowed with time. That was it.
"Homely," Sirius said, and then realised how sarcastic that sounded.
Remus looked around, shrugged. "Everything I didn't take with me, my parents binned. My mother never could stand clutter. I put warming charms on the blankets," he added. "The bath is right across the hall. Your towels are in the top drawer, and there's hot water." He shrugged again. "Lock the door when you sleep, and keep your wand under your pillow."
Sirius opened his bag, took out his pyjamas. "Right. Good night."
Remus nodded. "I'll see you in the morning, then," he said, and shut the door softly behind him.
The Second Day: December 22 (Saturday)
The house had already awakened when Sirius crawled out of bed. He didn't want to--his breath rose in white billows before him, no better than if he'd been outdoors--but there were wonderful smells of food, and his stomach growled. He took a hot shower (the bathroom had a gleaming, freshly scrubbed lemony shine) and dressed, and then went to find the kitchen.
Remus was sitting at a collapsible aluminium table with his back to Sirius, but he turned in his seat and smiled. The room sparkled with cleanliness; from the dark shadows under Remus' eyes, Sirius guessed he'd been up the better part of the night. He'd never suspected Remus of being house-proud; in this house, it was probably a losing proposition.
"Didn't know if I'd see you before noon." Remus stood, indicating that Sirius should take the chair. "Dad, this is Sirius Black, my friend from school."
Sirius stepped forward, introduced himself, and shook hands. He'd seen Remus' father before, on the train platform once and a couple of times at school, exuding strength and good health as McGonagall escorted him to the infirmary. He had the same powerful build now but he was somehow fuzzier around the edges. His hair was uncut, not closely cropped, and he wore a red jogging suit instead of the saffron robes of his profession. Remus really looked very little like him, Sirius thought: the eyes were the same brown but a different shape, and Remus had a slighter build. He wondered if there were any pictures of Remus' mother around; and whether he'd have the nerve to ask to see one.
Remus was talking about the plans for the day, which seemed to involve a large amount of laundry and a trip to the village. He asked Sirius to peg the wash, which Sirius agreed to, only later realising it had been a trap that Remus had baited with jam on toast and sausages. Remus seemed intent on washing every scrap of cloth in the house, all the sheets and clothes and towels. Admittedly, Remus' job was worse, involving bathtubs of boiling water and scrubbing and cleansing spells that exploded. When he brought down the last basketful of wet things Remus had been reduced to wearing a thin vest and his pyjama bottoms, but he still cheerfully helped Sirius peg the sheets straight and cast a general Wind-Up charm on all the lines, making the sheets snap briskly.
"There are drying spells, too, you know," Sirius said, rubbing his numb fingers together.
"It smells nicer dried in the sun," Remus said, taking down a pair of trousers and a jumper as they headed back to the house. He said a charm, and a puff of steam rose up. It smelt vaguely of fried onions. Remus pulled the clothes (and the smell) on over what he already wore and put the kettle on.
"Shall we head out after we eat?" he asked, already taking out crackers and bread and a tinned ham.
"Do you want me to help?" Sirius said, politely, even though Remus seemed to have everything under control.
"Why don't you look around and write up a list?" Remus suggested, slicing the ham thinly and heating up a skillet. "I think we need almost everything--milk, eggs, flour, meat, veg...."
"Where's the pantry?" Sirius asked, and Remus pointed out the shelves next to the door, on which there were a few dented tins and a plastic bucket with dusty sprouting potatoes. Sirius went to beg a piece of paper and a biro from Mr Lupin and was still writing his list when Remus set the food on the table.
"You're never going to buy all that," Remus said incredulously, as Sirius squeezed a few more items onto the back of the paper. He leant over to read it upside-down. "Cinnamon? What do you want with cinnamon?"
"Good on toast," Mr Lupin said absently. Sirius suspected that that summed up the Lupin family attitude to food in general.
"Anyway, I'm buying," Sirius said, folding the list into his shirt pocket. "I said I'd do the food, and I meant it. From now on," he added, pointing at Remus, "you are not allowed in the kitchen except to make tea and to look decorative. This is supposed to be your holiday."
Mr Lupin put down his ham and toast. "He's going to the office on Christmas Day," he said, waving vaguely at Remus with his glass. Remus took it from him and got up to refill it with water.
"Why're you doing that, Moony?"
"Time and a half," Remus said, masterfully repressing a squirm as his father and Sirius looked at him. "It's not like we have plans. Do we? Are we doing something?"
"Well, we're not eating Christmas dinner without you," Sirius said. He didn't say, Are you that strapped for money? Every naked space in the house that cried of furniture sold off, the bare shelves, the ridiculous electric lights that sat dark, all proclaimed a poverty that had nothing to do with fashion and everything to do with Remus working himself into an early grave. He knew that Remus had trouble getting and keeping jobs; he was cagey enough about his present employment to make Peter's insinuations that it was dodgy, if not downright Dark, ring true. "Stop doing the washing up, I said I'd take care of it, didn't I?"
He had to beat Remus away from the dishes with a tea towel, which he then used to tie Remus down to the sofa. He summoned a book at random from the shelf (How to Hex Your Enemies and Curse People) and stuck it in Remus' hands.
"And stay there," he added. Remus was laughing too hard to respond verbally, but he gave Sirius a very rude gesture indeed. Sirius told Mr Lupin to go discipline his boy, and finished up in the kitchen.
He came out to find Remus still sitting obediently on the sofa, but he had some kind of ledger out and was frowning over some very complicated Arithmancy.
"Let's go shopping," Sirius said, and threw Remus' coat at him. Remus grabbed it with one hand and put the ledger away in a battered biscuit tin that he shoved under the sofa. He untied himself and asked his father if he needed anything from the village. For one horrible moment Sirius thought Mr Lupin might want to come with them; he opened the door and let a cold draught in. Mr Lupin pulled his cardigan shut and asked for some kind of sweets. Remus shrugged into his coat, grabbed his muffler, and started down the road with Sirius on his heels.
"So, what's wrong with your dad?" Sirius asked, never one to be tactful. Life was more interesting that way.
Remus kicked at the dirty snow that lined the narrow road. "One too many curses. Maybe. He was a cursebreaker, you know." He glanced sideways, and Sirius nodded. They'd all thought it the coolest thing ever, back in school. "I've tried to get it lifted. But no one seems to know...."
Sirius thought about the furtive research Remus was always doing, and he wondered how far Remus might go in his search for a cure. Who he might ask for help. But when he spoke he didn't say that. "What will you do if he doesn't get better? If he gets worse?"
"I've applied to the Aged Wizards' Home."
"Expensive," Sirius said. More money than threadbare Remus had, at any rate.
Remus abused the snow a bit more. "Dumbledore knows someone who wants the house. We'll sell it. Dad gets a pension as well." He hopped a little as some of the snow slid into his boot.
"Does he even know who you are?" Sirius asked abruptly.
Remus smiled without humour. "On good days. He never remembers how old I am, though. I caught him cutting up the sheets, once, for nappies. Most of the time he thinks I'm his junior assistant Matthews, who was a bloody incompetent cursebreaker. I was... I was glad when they snapped my dad's wand. I mean, it's terrible and it drives him crazy, can't even boil water by himself, but I was so relieved. I used to be afraid to sleep." He stopped speaking and spread his hands. "Anyway. Not your problem, Pads."
Which was Lupine for 'change the subject'.
"So, what are the holiday plans?" Sirius asked, and the pinched look returned to Remus' face. Oops. "I thought," he said, looking around for inspiration, "we could get a tree. It seems like there are a few around here."
Remus glanced at the woods. "I'm not sure we can just go around chopping down trees."
"We'll dig it up for a few days and put it back, no one the wiser. And--" Sirius relaxed, secure in his possession of a plan--"we can hang gingerbread men on it. And put the presents under it." Remus glanced at him. "Oh, Merlin, you do have presents, don't you, Moony? Well, it's a good thing we're going in to town, that's all I can say. I got a sweater for your dad," he said, half-questioning. "Seemed safe. I didn't get one for you, got you something better, so you have to get me something good. Did I mention I've a turntable now?"
"Only a thousand times, Pads," Remus said, but he looked slightly less panicked.
The road rounded a corner, and the valley opened up before them. There was a partially iced-over river and a cluster of snow-covered houses up the hillside, smoke rising from chimneys into the clear blue sky.
"Bloody quaint, Moony," Sirius said, pausing for a moment. "You're sure there are shops?"
Remus punched him on the arm. "I grew up here, I should know. That's the school I attended, over there, next to the church. That park's where I broke my arm in a very foolish bicycle and swing dare. That tree, right down the hill here, is where every day for eight months Billy Cowlie and his mates used to wait for me and shake me down for lunch money."
"What's Billy Cowlie doing now?"
"Dead," Remus said shortly. "Overdose, back in our sixth year. Bit of a scandal, left a girlfriend and a baby behind. Gossip is a powerful force around here," he said, only half in apology, and started down the hill.
"Is that a warning?" Sirius asked, amused at being cautioned to be on good behaviour.
"Oddly enough, I cannot think of a single thing that you could do today that would have me shunned from village society for the rest of my life."
Sirius paused, thinking of at least ten things that he could do that would have them burning Remus in effigy; and something must have shown on his face, because Remus grinned and shook his head.
"All right, perhaps you could, but you won't."
"What makes you so certain of that?" Sirius asked absently, noting how suggestively phallic the War Memorial could be under certain circumstances.
"Because I'm asking you nicely."
"Low blow."
"If I fought fair I'd never win."
The words hung in the air where Remus had tossed them, with self-deprecating humour, and Sirius listened to their echoes until his head buzzed.
"Oi, Pads, you're miles away." Remus tugged on his scarf. The road had run into the high street at an angle, and there were indeed shops. "We'll get the food last--too heavy to carry around." Ha, Sirius thought, you're waiting for the end-of-the-day specials. "Where do you want to go?"
Sirius shrugged. "I'll follow you."
Remus smiled. "You're in for a hike, then."
Which turned out to be the truth. Remus stopped in every shop up and down the high street, the Muggle ones and the Wizarding ones alike, and paid his father's credit. (Sirius had no idea what Mr Lupin did with his purchases; they certainly weren't in the house. Remus shrugged and said he probably left them somewhere, or they were stolen.)
Everyone seemed to know Remus, and Sirius found himself watching their hands. The Muggles simply smiled, but every witch or wizard invariably made a warding gesture, anything from a simple 'avert' to the three-fingered 'werewolf' to a full 'back, evil.' At one shop the owner gave some cryptic warning to the girl at the till, who refused to meet Remus' eyes or take the money from his hand, making him set it down on the counter and not moving to take it until his hands were both at his sides. The owner pointedly kept her back turned to him. Sirius held his tongue (firmly, between his teeth), but the door had just shut behind him when he exploded.
"That bitch."
Remus laughed. "You're more right than you know. Look at the shop name."
Sirius twisted to look back. "Is it the same--?"
"There aren't that many Greybacks in the wizarding world. That's his mum."
"Merlin's balls, how do you stand it?" Sirius waved one arm around in agitation, and Remus ducked reflexively. "How can you live here?"
"Padfoot." Remus fixed him with a sharp glare. "Calm down." He waited until Sirius let out his breath in an angry huff and then started walking. "Firstly, I don't live here. I hate coming here, but it's home. For now. Secondly." He tucked his hands in his pockets and led the way into a small park at the head of the road. "Greyback was a Squib, did you know that? He wanted to have a place in the wizarding world. He wanted to be turned, just like those Muggles who seek out vampires. But afterwards, he was afraid, and he asked my father for help. And my father couldn't help him. It's a curse that can't be lifted."
Remus stopped in front of a small iced-over pond that was ringed with willows. "My father nearly killed him for what he did to me, apparently. But Billie Cowlie never came near me again." Remus' mouth curled in what Peter had always called his Dark Creature smile. "That's Billie over there," he said, pointing to an open can of beer sitting on a stone, and that was when Sirius realised that they were in the cemetery, surrounded by the dead. Remus walked a few paces and bent to wipe away the snow from a marker set in the ground. "My mum," he said, straightening and rubbing the end of his muffler between his reddened hands. "Let's go get groceries."
Sirius nodded and followed. Remus seemed unaware that he'd made Sirius entirely speechless with rage and horror and pity and pain. Sirius wrapped his hand around his grocery list and hung on for dear life.
The Third Day: December 23 (Sunday)
Sunday morning they set out to find the perfect tree. The tree they decided on was the best they could find without ripping each other's throats out: not perfectly symmetrical, and rather hollow on one side, but a proper height. They got it back to the house, roots bound up in burlap sacking, through a combination of magic and sheer stupid strength. After a final epic battle to get it through the front door, Sirius left Remus to get it stood up in the front room while he went to the kitchen to entertain Mr Lupin with tales of their escapades, prepare food, and bake gingerbread men for the tree (he'd brought Mr Potter's foaming gingerbread recipe).
Talking to Mr Lupin was peculiar: most of the time it was like talking to a cat, but just when he'd lulled Sirius into relaxing he'd come out with a terribly disconcerting remark. "You're wasting that meat, boy, just throw the fat right in," or, "Do all the young people at school wear their hair like girls, or are you two the only freaks?" Sirius had adopted a smile-and-nod policy, but his lip was sore from being bitten by the time Remus appeared, his face well scratched but looking grubbily satisfied.
Remus washed the table efficiently, tidying away his father's breakfast things. Mr Lupin let him, but clung to his crossword puzzle. (Sirius had been warned that the crossword was sacred and not to be touched.)
"Smells good, Pads," he said, taking out three robin's-egg-blue plastic bowls and dishes.
"He has a name," his father snapped. "So do you. Use them."
"Yes, sir," Remus said, turning to get spoons from the drawer. His father slapped him across the backs of his legs with the newspaper, and Sirius nearly knocked the soup over. Remus met his eyes and held his gaze until Sirius looked away; and then set the flatware out, and put out glasses of water at each place. He took out the new loaf of bread and sliced it thickly. He set a slice on each plate and looked expectantly at Sirius. "Ready when you are."
They were halfway through their second bowls of soup when Mr Lupin looked up at his son.
"Remus John," he said, "named after your mother's grandfather and my father. Ugliest baby I ever saw. School going well?"
Remus had set his bread down and looked at his father with a smile that made Sirius' heart ache. Peter, Peter, he thought, it should be you here, you bastard. I'm a lousy spy, I'm not like you. I'm not naturally inclined to be suspicious. I keep looking for something that'll prove you wrong, not right.
"Left school," Remus said. "I've a job delivering owl-order parcels now, down in Manchester."
"Why the hell would you want to do that?" his father asked. "It's your life, of course, but you're bright enough you could do better."
Remus shrugged. "Best I could find. The money comes in handy."
His father laughed; not the harsh laugh Sirius had heard before. "And what does our Remus do with his money in Manchester? Girls, beer, and the cinema?"
"Two out of three," Remus said.
"Ha. Chip off the old block. Your mother's always asking when you're going to bring someone home. I tell her you're too young. You should have some fun while you're young."
Remus grinned. "Tell Sirius about the goblin horde in the Alps. The diamonds."
"Oh, he wouldn't want to hear about that," his father protested; but Sirius insisted, and they were still laughing hours later, long after Remus finished the washing up, and they'd had coffee (proper coffee, Sirius had seen to that), and Sirius had iced his army of gingerbread men and run string loops through their heads. It was already getting dark when Sirius asked Mr Lupin a question and was met by narrowed eyes.
"Who the hell are you, and what are you doing in my house?" he asked.
Remus stood, pushing his chair back noisily on the scarred floorboards. "I'll get the ladder, shall I?" he announced. "We'll get the Christmas things down out of the attic. Sirius, show Dad the tree, would you?" And he was out of the kitchen before Sirius could re-introduce himself to Mr Lupin.
The ladder was more than half rotten, but Remus managed not to break his neck climbing down it with the two dusty boxes labelled Christmas. He had refugee spiders in his hair, but Sirius decided not to mention it.
They set the boxes down in front of the fire. Mr Lupin sat in his chair with the newspaper; Remus and Sirius sat on the floor.
Sirius opened the boxes with glee. He'd never actually trimmed a tree: at his parents' house (he schooled himself not to say home) and at Hogwarts he'd always been presented with a fait accompli. He tipped out a tangled ball of fairy lights and set Remus to unsnarling them, so he could keep the fun parts to himself.
There were fading chains of paper links, which he put aside. There were delicate glass balls in red and silver with wire hooks. There was an entire flock of brightly coloured birds that rose up in a whir of feathers when he opened the box. They swooped around the room, chirping, before finally settling onto the tree.
"We usually put the lights on first," Remus said, but he was smiling.
"They're brilliant," Sirius said, totally charmed. He coaxed a bright yellow bird off its branch and set it in his hair. It pulled out a few strands and started building itself a nest above his ear.
Having exhausted the first box, Sirius started on the second. He wasn't sure what the first thing was. It was wrapped in newspaper and very heavy. He unwrapped it and stared. It was made of clay and painted red and brown with great green eyes.
"Remus," he said, and held it up. Remus looked and turned red.
"Oh, Merlin, I should bin that."
"What is it?"
Remus blushed harder. "It was supposed to be an elephant. I had a bit of a fixation. I made it in nursery," he added, in apologetic explanation.
"It's..." Sirius searched for the most offensive adjective. "...adorable. And you painted it your very own self. I am madly in love with this elephant. If you bin it I will be desolate. My only question is how to get it on the tree."
Remus took up his wand; Sirius curled his fingers around the elephant reflexively.
"It's just a simple hover charm, honestly, Pads." Remus winced slightly as the nickname slipped; Sirius wondered if by the end of the visit they would be addressing each other like complete strangers. Like the complete strangers he increasingly felt they were.
The elephant rose from his hands and settled comfortably at the top of the tree, causing two lovebirds to trill in alarm.
Remus flicked his wand again, and the lights rose up, serpentine, to wind themselves around the tree. Sirius gave him the glass balls to take care of, to keep Remus away from his box.
He took out a set of wooden disks illustrated with Snitches, bludgers, and brooms; stars made out of ice lolly sticks and twine; and strings of pinecones and sea shells. He added the gingerbread men last: the birds seemed very interested in them, and he supposed they'd be reduced to crumbs by Boxing Day. He broke off a leg and fed it to the bird in his hair.
The Lupin tree was decidedly eccentric, but lovely, Sirius decided.
The last thing in the box was a shoebox tied shut with a faded green ribbon. He had it open and was rummaging through the tissue before he noticed Remus watching him.
"My mother made those," Remus said, as he uncovered a carved wooden nativity scene. Sirius took out sheep, geese, goats, cows. Remus shifted to sit next to him. "She gave Mary her face, and Joseph my dad's." He held out the dolls to show Sirius.
Sirius peered down at the tiny sleeping baby Jesus. "I thought your dad said you were an ugly baby."
"He wasn't born yet," Mr Lupin said. "Or she'd have abandoned the project. Here." He got up and crossed to the battered desk in the corner, and over Remus' protests took out a photo album. He opened it and handed it to Sirius. "That's him the day after he was born. We were hoping he'd improve overnight. But look what happened."
The colour had washed out from the picture, but as Sirius watched swollen, lashless eyes blinked and a toothless mouth opened in a wail of rage.
"Good lord," Sirius said, staring. "Don't show this to Lily. You really do look just like a monkey."
Remus made a futile effort to get the album back, so Sirius got up and went to sit on the arm of Mr Lupin's chair, holding the album so that they could both see. After a while, Remus stretched out on the hearthstones with his arm draped over his face; but Sirius was certain that he was listening as his father described his life in photos.
The Fourth Day: December 24 (Monday)
Remus spread a layer of newspaper over the kitchen floor and set a chair in the middle. "Haircuts," he said to Sirius by way of explanation as he sharpened a wicked looking pair of scissors and then a straight razor. "We always go down for midnight mass." He turned on the electric light with great satisfaction: he had made a special trip out to the post office and apparently had begged prettily enough for someone to take pity on him and turn the power on.
"Your hair looks better long. Makes you look less of a swot."
"Praise from Sirius Black is praise indeed," Remus said dryly. He set his weaponry on the table and went to get his father.
Mr Lupin looked far less dotty, Sirius thought, with the ragged ends of his hair shorn. Remus finished up with the lather and the razor and stepped back. Mr Lupin looked the way he had been in the family photos, like a Ministry worker. He stood, and Remus knocked the stray bits of hair from his cardigan. Mr Lupin sat down at the table, alternately working on the crossword and looking at his hair in the hand mirror.
"You should do mine," Sirius said abruptly. "If we're going to church and all."
"I have trouble," Remus said, smiling, "picturing you in a church."
"Picture me as a choirboy," Sirius said. "Thrice weekly practice at St Bugga's. Thank God my voice changed." He sat down and pulled the towel over his shoulders. "Not too much, mind you. Be gentle with me."
"He still looks like a girl," Mr Lupin said, when Remus finished.
"That's two inches off, dad." Remus paused, scissors still in his hand, and looked at his father.
"I'll do you," Sirius offered.
"I can do it myself. I doubt you've ever cut hair in your life."
"How hard can it be?" Sirius asked, pushing Remus down into the chair.
"I want to see his ears," Mr Lupin said, and Remus rolled his eyes.
"The important thing," Remus said, as Sirius tentatively removed a large chunk of hair from the back, "is not to try and correct mistakes by cutting off more."
"Oh. Good," Sirius said absently, and Remus made a noise and grabbed the mirror from the table.
They left the house at eleven and walked down to the church in a whirl of biting wind and snow. Sirius carried the torch, and Remus kept a hand on his father's arm. The road was rough with ice and treacherous on the slopes. As they approached the church, bells began to ring, and Remus looked up in delight. Sirius fell a pace back as well-wrapped women descended on them and washed Remus and his father into the church in a wave of solicitous attention. Remus insisted on a back pew (Sirius had a sneaking suspicion that this had something to do with paranoia about the state of the back of his head; it wasn't that bad--Sirius had secretly regrown the worst bits when Remus wasn't looking), and he and Sirius sat on either side of Mr Lupin.
The service was long and the church was freezing, but the music was pleasantly familiar. Sirius found himself reluctant to leave, although the wind that howled outside might have had something to do with it. One of the twittering ladies, accompanied by a daughter, pushed her husband forward to offer Mr Lupin a ride home, so sorry that they didn't have seats for the boys. Remus was gracious and said that he appreciated it, that the cold didn't bother him a whit, and he gave his father the keys.
As soon as they rounded the corner from the church, Sirius and Remus Apparated, laughing, straight into the kitchen. Remus sent Sirius up to bed and sat down to wait for his father to come home.
Part II