Coming Home by krabapple
Title: Coming Home
Author: krabapple
Summary: Remus and Sirius find their way home.
Rating: PG-13 to R (for the final companion art piece)
Recipient: nassima
Notes: Merry Christmas, Nassima! This piece of fiction is meant to accompany nassima's Coming Home series of fan art pieces. The art in question can be found at nassima's journal on the following page, about three quarters of the way down: http://www.livejournal.com/users/nassima/tag/remus-sirius. I know that the first sketch doesn't quite match the beginning of the story, but #2-5 in the series should be pretty close! I hope you enjoy! (Thanks also to my lovely beta, who knows who she is.)
***
Coming Home
As was his way, after leaving Hogwarts, Remus Lupin went home. The small house on the outskirts of Otterburn wasn't the only home Remus had known; he counted Hogwarts and the flat he and Sirius had shared in London as the others. But the two-bedroom, one bath Otterburn house with the roof in need of new shingles and the rocky garden filled with rosebushes his mother had planted was the home that was left standing, and it was the one Remus always went back to, no matter how long he had been away.
He also knew, in a quiet part of his heart, that the house was a place where Sirius would be able to find him. If, of course, Sirius was so inclined. Sirius, James and Peter had come to visit one summer, for a week the August after fifth year. There was a patch of paint peeling along the back of the house where James had knocked a Quaffle wide during a pick-up game in the garden, and though Peter had never confessed, there was also a Wormtail-sized hole in the cooling pantry where Remus' mother used to keep the sweets.
Sirius, for his part, had spent many hours that week assisting Remus' father David with the network of bookshelves he had been building throughout the house since Remus had been a wee one. Contrary to popular belief, it had been Remus' father who had been the bookworm, and who had rubbed some of his love for literature off onto his son; David Lupin had spent most of his spare time over the years either reading books or building shelves to put them on, and he had created built-in bookshelves in every room of the house, including two in a corner of the kitchen.
That summer Mr. Lupin had been finishing the last of the shelves, the ones in the dining room, and Sirius had spent hours helping him put up the simple large squares of space; the two had fallen into a rhythm and begun to work seamlessly. Sirius had done a great deal of work with sandpaper, arms falling into an easy stroke, smoothing out the rough edges of the wood with patience and care. Remus had spent much of that week watching Sirius' arms and hands, how his biceps rippled underneath his shirt, how his forearms stiffened and then eased while he ran the sandpaper over the wood, back and forth, back and forth; the way Sirius' fingers lay along the piece of paper and gathered calluses from the rough work; the way sweat would trickle down the back of Sirius' neck and disappear beneath the collar of his t-shirt. Remus had spent much of that week learning about the earthy, musky shades of desire, feeling it curl and pool in his gut, letting it release in the cool patter of the water in the shower he always took before bed. And though nothing occurred between him and Sirius that summer, Remus would forever after associate the smell of wood and the rough texture of sandpaper with sex, and with Sirius.
Upon entering his home that June, Remus sighed as the stuffy smell of a house too long closed up found his nose, making him sneeze. He carefully set his satchel in the entryway, and thought that, perhaps, for the first time in years, he might not mind dusting off the dirty shelves quite so much as he usually did.
***
Patience was a virtue Remus had learned over the years, and he was not surprised that it wasn't until the last part of July that the big, black dog came trotting down the lane toward the house in the middle of the day, while Remus was sitting in the garden, pruning and watering the roses. The dog stopped at the gate, as if asking permission, and Remus shielded his eyes against the sun with one hand and gestured toward the house with the trowel he held in the other. Padfoot loped slowly into the yard, coming to sit on his haunches in front of Remus, again as if asking permission. Remus carefully set the trowel down next to his pruning shears and watering can, and then lifted his hand and placed it on Padfoot's head, giving the dog a gentle stroke from the top of his head toward the scruff of his neck, stopping to scratch along his right ear. Out of pleasure and reflex Padfoot's left leg began to shake, then thump along the ground in an enthusiastic rhythm.
Remus laughed then, and Padfoot came forward, standing up and placing his front paws on both of Remus' shoulders. Remus, still laughing, said, "You don't scare me, you big tangle of fur," and then opened both arms to embrace the dog. It was still a stretch, though Padfoot was, as Remus noticed, smaller and much scrawnier than he had been, but the large frame was still intact. Remus nodded and buried his face a bit in the dog's fur, while Padfoot's snout came up the length of Remus' face, his head resting on Remus' shoulder, his breath warm on Remus' ear.
They stayed like that for several heartbeats until Remus slackened his arms slightly and said, "Sirius, if you lick my ear you're sleeping on the floor tonight," and the dog barked loudly -- into Remus' ear, of course. Remus smiled and disentangled himself from the dog.
"Come. You can have a bath or lunch, whichever you prefer first," he said, standing. Padfoot looked up and barked again, following Remus around the house and through the back door.
***
As it happened, lunch (cold chicken on slightly stale bread) came first, followed by the most thorough and slow application of every tooth cleaning and repair charm Remus knew, but when he was done Sirius smiled a toothy, cocky grin and Remus' heart skipped a beat. Sirius then went and took a shower so long that as Remus was putting out the towels, he considered that there couldn't possibly be more hot water left, but that Sirius obviously didn't care. Remus also carefully placed a clean pair of underwear and a long night shirt (one of his father's that Remus had kept) with the towels; he wanted to give Sirius some proper clothes, of course, but he was sure that though he could dig up a shirt somewhere, all of his pants were far too short for Sirius. Sirius might seem fragile and rail thin, but he certainly hadn't actually shrunk. Remus sighed; he should have thought to purchase some clothes for Sirius, but that couldn't be helped now. One or both of them would have to venture into the village soon for that purpose.
Remus waited until the water had been off for a full half hour before knocking on the spare room door, opening it only at Sirius' muffled reply of, "Come in."
Remus entered to find Sirius standing at the old bureau, scowling into the mirror and attempting to pull a comb through his tangled hair. He hit a particularly bad snarl and winced; he was dressed in the night shirt Remus had left out for him. Remus hadn't left a comb, but Sirius must have procured one from somewhere.
Sirius met Remus' gaze in the mirror and sighed. "I look like an escaped mental patient," he said, gesturing at the long white shirt and his bare feet.
"I wouldn't say that," Remus said, coming closer.
Sirius cocked an eyebrow. Remus shrugged, putting his hands in his pockets.
"We'll go shopping for clothes for you tomorrow," Remus said. "I'm sorry I didn't think of it before."
"You don't have to cater to my every need, Mr. Moony," Sirius replied, trying again to tug the comb through the same snarl, only succeeding in wincing again.
Remus held out his hand. "I can have a go at it," he said.
For a moment, Sirius looked rebellious, on the verge of insisting he could do it himself, when his shoulders relaxed and the lines around his mouth faded. "Maybe you'll have better luck," he said, handing the comb to Remus, their fingers making brief contact as the plastic slid from one hand to another. Remus tried to keep his hand from shaking at even the slight contact. Sirius sat down on the floor, back to Remus, to give Remus easier reach. Remus sat, too.
Once he was sure his hand was steady, Remus put the comb to Sirius' hair, gently threading the wet, pitch black strands through the teeth of the comb. He was gentle and patient, starting at the crown of Sirius' head and working through a section to the very end, trying hard not to tug Sirius' head back as he worked through the tangles. Sirius, for his part, sat still as a stone as Remus worked his way around Sirius' head.
It took almost an hour before Remus was done, but when he was, Sirius' hair was shiny and sleek, black against the stark white of the night shirt he was wearing. Remus stood up briefly to place the comb back on the bureau, and brought a small hand mirror with him as he sat back down, handing it to Sirius. "Better?" he asked.
"Better," Sirius affirmed, shaking his head slightly to watch the strands move back and forth. "It's just . . ."
"What?"
"It's a little long," Sirius confessed.
"I can cut it, if you want."
Sirius' mouth twitched in the mirror.
It took Remus the work of a few moments to figure out why, before his eyes widened. "Oh, sod off," he grumbled good-naturedly. "James' hair grew back! Didn't even take a month."
"Madame Pomfrey had to shave it all off. James Potter, bald as the day he was born. Merlin, was he mad at you."
"He asked me to cut it like that Muggle movie star. Just because the photo wasn't accurate . . ."
"It was your hands that weren't accurate," Sirius said. "I'll never forget the look on James' face when he saw himself in the mirror."
"I'm a bit surprised that you haven't forgotten," Remus said without thinking; once his words caught up with him, he bit his lip.
But Sirius didn't say anything right away, just looked thoughtful. After a minute's silence, he put the mirror on the ground and said, "Anything with James . . . the Dementors didn't take it away. It's all too . . . tainted. Too . . . painful for me. Sad. It stayed." Sirius didn't move except to look down.
Remus was still, too, thinking for a moment that being disemboweled with a teaspoon would be too good a punishment for him. When he kneeled forward, Sirius turned to face him, eyes dry and disturbingly blank to Remus. Remus kneeled closer and reached out, gently touching his fingers to Sirius' cheek, as the fingers of their other hands started to become entwined. At Remus' touch, the far off, glazed look slowly faded out of Sirius' eyes, which focused instead on Remus' face. Sirius closed his eyes, then opened them again, as if blinking the last of the frost away.
Remus' fingers remained warm and steady on Sirius' face as Sirius said, "Besides. This way I have them to share with Harry."
Remus felt his heart crack open a little more at that, the schism widening in his chest. He leaned in further, until Sirius' breath was hot and moist on his lips, making sure he had Sirius' permission. When Sirius leaned in, too, bumping their noses, Remus folded his lips over Sirius' haltingly. It was far from the best kiss Remus had ever had, but he would come to count it as the most blessed one he would ever have the fortune to give or receive.
Sirius pressed his lips back, then broke the kiss, whispering into Remus' mouth, "You can do whatever you like."
They both knew he wasn't just talking about cutting his hair.
***
Remus did cut Sirius' hair, a trim that ended up costing Sirius five inches, mostly due to the fact that Remus was undeniably unskilled with a pair of scissors and in the end had to use a cutting and straightening charm to sort the mess out. Still, the entire adventure seemed to leave Sirius satisfied, his hair still reaching down past his shoulders, and his laugh at Remus' ineptitude was enough to make Remus secretly happy that he couldn't cut a straight line to save his life.
Remus went to make more sandwiches and some Earl Gray. While the tea was steeping, Remus took a quick shower himself, changing into gray pajama bottoms and his matching dressing gown; he emerged to settle the simple supper onto a tray before taking it back into the spare room.
There he found Sirius fast asleep, his newly washed and cut hair sprawled on the pillow. The night shirt he had been wearing was off and balled up underneath the pillow; whether Sirius had taken it off while conscious or asleep, Remus didn't know.
Remus contemplated the tableau for a moment before deciding that Sirius probably needed sleep right now more than he needed food. Sirius was dead still on the bed; not even a leg was twitching. Only his chest moved up and down in the rhythm of breath. Remus paused before setting the tray down so that he could pull the blankets a little tighter around Sirius. He crept over to the bed and pulled the blankets up delicately, hoping not to wake Sirius, who didn't stir. Feeling strangely as if he was intruding on a private moment for Sirius, Remus slowly padded away from the bed and picked up the tray.
He returned to the kitchen, where he heated up the tea with a warming charm and ate his supper in quiet, reading the Prophet and skipping over the daily article on what to do if one sighted Sirius Black.
***
Four hours later, and Sirius was still sleeping. Remus, hesitant to wake him but feeling strongly that he needed some kind of sustenance, finally decided to wake Sirius briefly for a cup of tea before putting him back to bed.
Remus carried his mother's ancient kettle and a cup and saucer into the room where Sirius was sleeping. Sirius was now on his side, one arm slung almost entirely off the bed; the blankets had ridden down again and Sirius' bare chest shone a bit in the candlelight. He still seemed to be sleeping soundly, though Remus now noted movement under Sirius' eyelids and a slight twitch where his left foot was under the blankets.
Remus sat gently on the bed, placing himself next to Sirius, and felt the bed give a bit under his added weight. He was still for a moment before putting one hand on Sirius bare shoulder; the skin was warm and soft, and Remus closed his eyes briefly, a bit overwhelmed.
Remus didn't want to wake Sirius suddenly, but he wasn't sure what to do. He used the hand on Sirius' shoulder to gently shake him, and he called Sirius' name, softly but clearly. When Sirius stirred the smallest fraction, Remus did the same again.
Remus was not prepared when Sirius' eyes flew open, and Sirius was suddenly and fully awake. He felt Sirius' body tense under his hand and Remus moved his hand from Sirius' shoulder to his back, rubbing slow, soothing circles. Remus watched as Sirius took in his surroundings with slightly wild eyes, finally coming to rest those eyes on Remus' face. Remus, so used to the feeling himself, recognized the look of a caged animal when he saw one, and his heart contracted a bit as he looked into Sirius' upturned face, saying, "It's all right, Sirius. It's fine. It's just me."
"Remus?"
Remus continued to rub slow circles on Sirius back. "Just me. You're at my house, remember? Everything's fine. Everything's fine," he repeated.
"Moony," Sirius said, relaxing into the mattress a little.
"Right. That's right."
"Sorry," Sirius mumbled.
"No need," Remus said, attempting a light tone. "I didn't want to wake you, but I thought you might like some tea." As it came out of his mouth, Remus could think of nothing that sounded more ridiculous than waking a grown man so he could be force-fed some tea, but Sirius only smiled.
"I mean, you didn't have any supper . . ."
Sirius' smile grew a bit wider. "It's all right, Remus." He sat up and rubbed one eye with the heel of right hand. "Don't want to lose my strength and all that. I suppose . . ." Sirius trailed off and looked at the kettle and cup, now on the floor.
"Er, yes," Remus said, hastily pouring some tea into the cup, and handing it to Sirius. Sirius drank the tea down so quickly Remus was afraid it would scald, but Sirius only gestured for more; he drank the second cup more slowly, though he didn't exactly sip it, either. When he was done, he smiled at Remus over the rim.
"You didn't put in any milk or sugar," Sirius said.
Remus hesitated. "I . . . you always drank your tea black. But I have some milk, if you like . . ."
Sirius shook his head. "No, you're right. You always did know me." Sirius paused, and looked down, lashes long over the shadows under his eyes. "Anyway. Putting milk in tea is barbaric."
Remus, who knew Sirius was fully aware he took milk in his tea, smiled, and took Sirius' chin in his fingers so he could tip it upwards. Sirius' eyes finally met his after a few moments. When they did, Remus said, with absolute seriousness, "You, Mr. Black, are a tea snob."
Sirius blinked, then blinked again. "Breeding shows."
"Always."
Sirius paused. "Earl Gray."
Remus took the cup out of Sirius' hands, and put it on the floor. "It's what I had."
"It's what I like," Sirius corrected. "You prefer English Breakfast. Rather pedestrian in your tastes."
Remus smiled, and shrugged.
Sirius shook his head, and suddenly leaned in closer. Remus, sitting on the side of the bed, had no where to go, though he briefly thought about scooting back. "You only used to keep Earl Gray around for me." He stopped, eyes searching Remus' face for something Remus couldn't name. "You still do."
Remus fought the urge to look down as Sirius had. "I always did. Still did. I've always bought both; never got out of the habit, I reckon."
"What else didn't you get out of the habit of?" Sirius asked.
Remus was silent before answering. "Expecting the chair I kept in the bedroom to have Padfoot's fur on it. Never poaching eggs. Keeping chocolate in the freezer. Thinking I'd find a pack of cigarettes stashed in the back of the utensil drawer. Expecting the wireless to be stuck on the Quidditch station." He stopped. Sirius kissed him.
From the beginning, it wasn't an innocent kiss. Before, the kiss they had shared was soft and warm, tender. This one was also tender, but demanding. Hungry. Remus tangled his hands into Sirius hair, and let himself be swept along as Sirius' tongue gently grazed his own.
They exchanged kisses for several minutes until they had to break apart for air; Remus was still catching his breath when Sirius' lips latched onto his pulse point. Remus' head automatically fell further back, allowing Sirius better access to the column of his throat, which Sirius took full advantage of. Part of Remus' brain knew that there would be a mark there in the morning, and the other part simply did not care. He swallowed, and Sirius followed the bob of his Adam's apple with his tongue. Remus shivered.
"Did you get out of the habit of this?" Sirius whispered in Remus' ear.
Remus shook his head before leaning forward and putting his head on Sirius' shoulder. "Not of imagining it," he said. He felt Sirius' hands tighten on his back, pulling him even closer.
As he caught his breath, Remus asked, "Don't you think . . . is this . . . too soon?" he managed. He picked his head up off of Sirius' shoulder.
Sirius started to look, of all things, hurt, before shaking his head. "I did my waiting. Twelve years of it." He paused. "Didn't you?" he added.
Remus' eyes grew heated, lit from the inside. He stood up abruptly, causing the tea cup near his foot to turn over. Instead of pulling away from Sirius, however, he linked their hands together and pulled him up to stand in front of him. He kissed Sirius fiercely, as if trying to pour twelve years of longing and anguish into Sirius' mouth. Sirius took it all, and answered back, bringing their joined hands up to his chest. Remus finally broke his mouth away, and kissed Sirius' cheek, whispering, his words a breath on Sirius' skin, "Come back to our bed, Sirius."
After he spoke, Remus tugged their joined hands and started to move toward his bedroom, and Sirius willingly followed.
***
Remus woke the next morning to two distinct sensations. One, there was sunlight streaming into the room, onto the bed, and onto him. Two, something was tickling him.
Remus opened his eyes and looked up. Oh. Someone.
Remus watched Sirius' face as Sirius' fingers continued to trace an unknown pattern up and down Remus lower abdomen. Sirius continued to trail his finger up and down, around Remus' navel and across to his hip; it took him several minutes to realize that Remus was awake, but when he did, he smiled.
"Good morning," Remus said.
"Morning," Sirius answered, smiling, before leaning down to kiss Remus. Remus returned the kiss with affection.
"So you know," Sirius added, as he pulled away, "I've had time to plan our day."
"Oh?" Remus raised an eyebrow.
"Indeed. One of us has to go into the village; I need some clothes, and Harry needs a cake."
Remus furrowed his brow. "Harry needs a cake?"
"The boy's birthday is only four days away," Sirius explained, as if this was something Remus needed to be reminded of, which he didn't. "Your mum always made that nice chocolate cake. The recipe must be around here somewhere . . ." Sirius trailed off when he noticed Remus was laughing. "What?"
"You're not making a cake," Remus said.
"I most certainly am."
"No. Not in this house. Harry might not remember your cooking, but I do." At Sirius' frown, he added, "We can order a cake. At the baker's. It'll be ready to send by owl in time."
Sirius subsided, looking a bit put out but mostly pacified. "Do you think I can go into the village myself? Not as Padfoot, I mean?"
Remus considered. There was a wizarding population in Otterburn, and they were as likely to be out shopping on this sunny day as anyone else; still, Remus looked at Sirius' face and didn't have the heart to refuse. In any case, he knew a fair number of concealment and deception charms that would do the trick well enough to get Sirius past the friendly wizards in the village. He nodded, and watched Sirius beam.
"Perhaps not until I bring you back some proper clothes, though," Remus added.
Sirius wrinkled his nose, and Remus was strongly reminded of Padfoot. "I can borrow some of yours. It's summer, Moony. Surely I can be seen in the village in shorts."
Remus was up and had Sirius pinned back to the bed almost before Sirius had a chance to start laughing. Sirius' arm accidentally hit the bookshelves to his left and knocked a few of the volumes to the floor. Remus raised his eyebrows. "Closer to clam-diggers, I'd say," Remus said, which only made Sirius laugh harder. The sound was still a little hollow, but it was quickly gaining tone.
When he finished laughing Sirius sighed, his whole body moving underneath Remus'. Remus squirmed a bit at the sensation, and a wicked smile grew over Sirius' face as Sirius leaned up to kiss him.
Settling back onto the pillows, Sirius spared a look over the side of the bed, at the bookshelves and the books on the floor. "I love those shelves," he said. "I remember the summer I helped your dad build some." His gaze returned to Remus' face. "They make the whole house smell like wood."
"They make the whole house smell like you," Remus said, and leaned down for another kiss.
***
Author: krabapple
Summary: Remus and Sirius find their way home.
Rating: PG-13 to R (for the final companion art piece)
Recipient: nassima
Notes: Merry Christmas, Nassima! This piece of fiction is meant to accompany nassima's Coming Home series of fan art pieces. The art in question can be found at nassima's journal on the following page, about three quarters of the way down: http://www.livejournal.com/users/nassima/tag/remus-sirius. I know that the first sketch doesn't quite match the beginning of the story, but #2-5 in the series should be pretty close! I hope you enjoy! (Thanks also to my lovely beta, who knows who she is.)
***
Coming Home
As was his way, after leaving Hogwarts, Remus Lupin went home. The small house on the outskirts of Otterburn wasn't the only home Remus had known; he counted Hogwarts and the flat he and Sirius had shared in London as the others. But the two-bedroom, one bath Otterburn house with the roof in need of new shingles and the rocky garden filled with rosebushes his mother had planted was the home that was left standing, and it was the one Remus always went back to, no matter how long he had been away.
He also knew, in a quiet part of his heart, that the house was a place where Sirius would be able to find him. If, of course, Sirius was so inclined. Sirius, James and Peter had come to visit one summer, for a week the August after fifth year. There was a patch of paint peeling along the back of the house where James had knocked a Quaffle wide during a pick-up game in the garden, and though Peter had never confessed, there was also a Wormtail-sized hole in the cooling pantry where Remus' mother used to keep the sweets.
Sirius, for his part, had spent many hours that week assisting Remus' father David with the network of bookshelves he had been building throughout the house since Remus had been a wee one. Contrary to popular belief, it had been Remus' father who had been the bookworm, and who had rubbed some of his love for literature off onto his son; David Lupin had spent most of his spare time over the years either reading books or building shelves to put them on, and he had created built-in bookshelves in every room of the house, including two in a corner of the kitchen.
That summer Mr. Lupin had been finishing the last of the shelves, the ones in the dining room, and Sirius had spent hours helping him put up the simple large squares of space; the two had fallen into a rhythm and begun to work seamlessly. Sirius had done a great deal of work with sandpaper, arms falling into an easy stroke, smoothing out the rough edges of the wood with patience and care. Remus had spent much of that week watching Sirius' arms and hands, how his biceps rippled underneath his shirt, how his forearms stiffened and then eased while he ran the sandpaper over the wood, back and forth, back and forth; the way Sirius' fingers lay along the piece of paper and gathered calluses from the rough work; the way sweat would trickle down the back of Sirius' neck and disappear beneath the collar of his t-shirt. Remus had spent much of that week learning about the earthy, musky shades of desire, feeling it curl and pool in his gut, letting it release in the cool patter of the water in the shower he always took before bed. And though nothing occurred between him and Sirius that summer, Remus would forever after associate the smell of wood and the rough texture of sandpaper with sex, and with Sirius.
Upon entering his home that June, Remus sighed as the stuffy smell of a house too long closed up found his nose, making him sneeze. He carefully set his satchel in the entryway, and thought that, perhaps, for the first time in years, he might not mind dusting off the dirty shelves quite so much as he usually did.
***
Patience was a virtue Remus had learned over the years, and he was not surprised that it wasn't until the last part of July that the big, black dog came trotting down the lane toward the house in the middle of the day, while Remus was sitting in the garden, pruning and watering the roses. The dog stopped at the gate, as if asking permission, and Remus shielded his eyes against the sun with one hand and gestured toward the house with the trowel he held in the other. Padfoot loped slowly into the yard, coming to sit on his haunches in front of Remus, again as if asking permission. Remus carefully set the trowel down next to his pruning shears and watering can, and then lifted his hand and placed it on Padfoot's head, giving the dog a gentle stroke from the top of his head toward the scruff of his neck, stopping to scratch along his right ear. Out of pleasure and reflex Padfoot's left leg began to shake, then thump along the ground in an enthusiastic rhythm.
Remus laughed then, and Padfoot came forward, standing up and placing his front paws on both of Remus' shoulders. Remus, still laughing, said, "You don't scare me, you big tangle of fur," and then opened both arms to embrace the dog. It was still a stretch, though Padfoot was, as Remus noticed, smaller and much scrawnier than he had been, but the large frame was still intact. Remus nodded and buried his face a bit in the dog's fur, while Padfoot's snout came up the length of Remus' face, his head resting on Remus' shoulder, his breath warm on Remus' ear.
They stayed like that for several heartbeats until Remus slackened his arms slightly and said, "Sirius, if you lick my ear you're sleeping on the floor tonight," and the dog barked loudly -- into Remus' ear, of course. Remus smiled and disentangled himself from the dog.
"Come. You can have a bath or lunch, whichever you prefer first," he said, standing. Padfoot looked up and barked again, following Remus around the house and through the back door.
***
As it happened, lunch (cold chicken on slightly stale bread) came first, followed by the most thorough and slow application of every tooth cleaning and repair charm Remus knew, but when he was done Sirius smiled a toothy, cocky grin and Remus' heart skipped a beat. Sirius then went and took a shower so long that as Remus was putting out the towels, he considered that there couldn't possibly be more hot water left, but that Sirius obviously didn't care. Remus also carefully placed a clean pair of underwear and a long night shirt (one of his father's that Remus had kept) with the towels; he wanted to give Sirius some proper clothes, of course, but he was sure that though he could dig up a shirt somewhere, all of his pants were far too short for Sirius. Sirius might seem fragile and rail thin, but he certainly hadn't actually shrunk. Remus sighed; he should have thought to purchase some clothes for Sirius, but that couldn't be helped now. One or both of them would have to venture into the village soon for that purpose.
Remus waited until the water had been off for a full half hour before knocking on the spare room door, opening it only at Sirius' muffled reply of, "Come in."
Remus entered to find Sirius standing at the old bureau, scowling into the mirror and attempting to pull a comb through his tangled hair. He hit a particularly bad snarl and winced; he was dressed in the night shirt Remus had left out for him. Remus hadn't left a comb, but Sirius must have procured one from somewhere.
Sirius met Remus' gaze in the mirror and sighed. "I look like an escaped mental patient," he said, gesturing at the long white shirt and his bare feet.
"I wouldn't say that," Remus said, coming closer.
Sirius cocked an eyebrow. Remus shrugged, putting his hands in his pockets.
"We'll go shopping for clothes for you tomorrow," Remus said. "I'm sorry I didn't think of it before."
"You don't have to cater to my every need, Mr. Moony," Sirius replied, trying again to tug the comb through the same snarl, only succeeding in wincing again.
Remus held out his hand. "I can have a go at it," he said.
For a moment, Sirius looked rebellious, on the verge of insisting he could do it himself, when his shoulders relaxed and the lines around his mouth faded. "Maybe you'll have better luck," he said, handing the comb to Remus, their fingers making brief contact as the plastic slid from one hand to another. Remus tried to keep his hand from shaking at even the slight contact. Sirius sat down on the floor, back to Remus, to give Remus easier reach. Remus sat, too.
Once he was sure his hand was steady, Remus put the comb to Sirius' hair, gently threading the wet, pitch black strands through the teeth of the comb. He was gentle and patient, starting at the crown of Sirius' head and working through a section to the very end, trying hard not to tug Sirius' head back as he worked through the tangles. Sirius, for his part, sat still as a stone as Remus worked his way around Sirius' head.
It took almost an hour before Remus was done, but when he was, Sirius' hair was shiny and sleek, black against the stark white of the night shirt he was wearing. Remus stood up briefly to place the comb back on the bureau, and brought a small hand mirror with him as he sat back down, handing it to Sirius. "Better?" he asked.
"Better," Sirius affirmed, shaking his head slightly to watch the strands move back and forth. "It's just . . ."
"What?"
"It's a little long," Sirius confessed.
"I can cut it, if you want."
Sirius' mouth twitched in the mirror.
It took Remus the work of a few moments to figure out why, before his eyes widened. "Oh, sod off," he grumbled good-naturedly. "James' hair grew back! Didn't even take a month."
"Madame Pomfrey had to shave it all off. James Potter, bald as the day he was born. Merlin, was he mad at you."
"He asked me to cut it like that Muggle movie star. Just because the photo wasn't accurate . . ."
"It was your hands that weren't accurate," Sirius said. "I'll never forget the look on James' face when he saw himself in the mirror."
"I'm a bit surprised that you haven't forgotten," Remus said without thinking; once his words caught up with him, he bit his lip.
But Sirius didn't say anything right away, just looked thoughtful. After a minute's silence, he put the mirror on the ground and said, "Anything with James . . . the Dementors didn't take it away. It's all too . . . tainted. Too . . . painful for me. Sad. It stayed." Sirius didn't move except to look down.
Remus was still, too, thinking for a moment that being disemboweled with a teaspoon would be too good a punishment for him. When he kneeled forward, Sirius turned to face him, eyes dry and disturbingly blank to Remus. Remus kneeled closer and reached out, gently touching his fingers to Sirius' cheek, as the fingers of their other hands started to become entwined. At Remus' touch, the far off, glazed look slowly faded out of Sirius' eyes, which focused instead on Remus' face. Sirius closed his eyes, then opened them again, as if blinking the last of the frost away.
Remus' fingers remained warm and steady on Sirius' face as Sirius said, "Besides. This way I have them to share with Harry."
Remus felt his heart crack open a little more at that, the schism widening in his chest. He leaned in further, until Sirius' breath was hot and moist on his lips, making sure he had Sirius' permission. When Sirius leaned in, too, bumping their noses, Remus folded his lips over Sirius' haltingly. It was far from the best kiss Remus had ever had, but he would come to count it as the most blessed one he would ever have the fortune to give or receive.
Sirius pressed his lips back, then broke the kiss, whispering into Remus' mouth, "You can do whatever you like."
They both knew he wasn't just talking about cutting his hair.
***
Remus did cut Sirius' hair, a trim that ended up costing Sirius five inches, mostly due to the fact that Remus was undeniably unskilled with a pair of scissors and in the end had to use a cutting and straightening charm to sort the mess out. Still, the entire adventure seemed to leave Sirius satisfied, his hair still reaching down past his shoulders, and his laugh at Remus' ineptitude was enough to make Remus secretly happy that he couldn't cut a straight line to save his life.
Remus went to make more sandwiches and some Earl Gray. While the tea was steeping, Remus took a quick shower himself, changing into gray pajama bottoms and his matching dressing gown; he emerged to settle the simple supper onto a tray before taking it back into the spare room.
There he found Sirius fast asleep, his newly washed and cut hair sprawled on the pillow. The night shirt he had been wearing was off and balled up underneath the pillow; whether Sirius had taken it off while conscious or asleep, Remus didn't know.
Remus contemplated the tableau for a moment before deciding that Sirius probably needed sleep right now more than he needed food. Sirius was dead still on the bed; not even a leg was twitching. Only his chest moved up and down in the rhythm of breath. Remus paused before setting the tray down so that he could pull the blankets a little tighter around Sirius. He crept over to the bed and pulled the blankets up delicately, hoping not to wake Sirius, who didn't stir. Feeling strangely as if he was intruding on a private moment for Sirius, Remus slowly padded away from the bed and picked up the tray.
He returned to the kitchen, where he heated up the tea with a warming charm and ate his supper in quiet, reading the Prophet and skipping over the daily article on what to do if one sighted Sirius Black.
***
Four hours later, and Sirius was still sleeping. Remus, hesitant to wake him but feeling strongly that he needed some kind of sustenance, finally decided to wake Sirius briefly for a cup of tea before putting him back to bed.
Remus carried his mother's ancient kettle and a cup and saucer into the room where Sirius was sleeping. Sirius was now on his side, one arm slung almost entirely off the bed; the blankets had ridden down again and Sirius' bare chest shone a bit in the candlelight. He still seemed to be sleeping soundly, though Remus now noted movement under Sirius' eyelids and a slight twitch where his left foot was under the blankets.
Remus sat gently on the bed, placing himself next to Sirius, and felt the bed give a bit under his added weight. He was still for a moment before putting one hand on Sirius bare shoulder; the skin was warm and soft, and Remus closed his eyes briefly, a bit overwhelmed.
Remus didn't want to wake Sirius suddenly, but he wasn't sure what to do. He used the hand on Sirius' shoulder to gently shake him, and he called Sirius' name, softly but clearly. When Sirius stirred the smallest fraction, Remus did the same again.
Remus was not prepared when Sirius' eyes flew open, and Sirius was suddenly and fully awake. He felt Sirius' body tense under his hand and Remus moved his hand from Sirius' shoulder to his back, rubbing slow, soothing circles. Remus watched as Sirius took in his surroundings with slightly wild eyes, finally coming to rest those eyes on Remus' face. Remus, so used to the feeling himself, recognized the look of a caged animal when he saw one, and his heart contracted a bit as he looked into Sirius' upturned face, saying, "It's all right, Sirius. It's fine. It's just me."
"Remus?"
Remus continued to rub slow circles on Sirius back. "Just me. You're at my house, remember? Everything's fine. Everything's fine," he repeated.
"Moony," Sirius said, relaxing into the mattress a little.
"Right. That's right."
"Sorry," Sirius mumbled.
"No need," Remus said, attempting a light tone. "I didn't want to wake you, but I thought you might like some tea." As it came out of his mouth, Remus could think of nothing that sounded more ridiculous than waking a grown man so he could be force-fed some tea, but Sirius only smiled.
"I mean, you didn't have any supper . . ."
Sirius' smile grew a bit wider. "It's all right, Remus." He sat up and rubbed one eye with the heel of right hand. "Don't want to lose my strength and all that. I suppose . . ." Sirius trailed off and looked at the kettle and cup, now on the floor.
"Er, yes," Remus said, hastily pouring some tea into the cup, and handing it to Sirius. Sirius drank the tea down so quickly Remus was afraid it would scald, but Sirius only gestured for more; he drank the second cup more slowly, though he didn't exactly sip it, either. When he was done, he smiled at Remus over the rim.
"You didn't put in any milk or sugar," Sirius said.
Remus hesitated. "I . . . you always drank your tea black. But I have some milk, if you like . . ."
Sirius shook his head. "No, you're right. You always did know me." Sirius paused, and looked down, lashes long over the shadows under his eyes. "Anyway. Putting milk in tea is barbaric."
Remus, who knew Sirius was fully aware he took milk in his tea, smiled, and took Sirius' chin in his fingers so he could tip it upwards. Sirius' eyes finally met his after a few moments. When they did, Remus said, with absolute seriousness, "You, Mr. Black, are a tea snob."
Sirius blinked, then blinked again. "Breeding shows."
"Always."
Sirius paused. "Earl Gray."
Remus took the cup out of Sirius' hands, and put it on the floor. "It's what I had."
"It's what I like," Sirius corrected. "You prefer English Breakfast. Rather pedestrian in your tastes."
Remus smiled, and shrugged.
Sirius shook his head, and suddenly leaned in closer. Remus, sitting on the side of the bed, had no where to go, though he briefly thought about scooting back. "You only used to keep Earl Gray around for me." He stopped, eyes searching Remus' face for something Remus couldn't name. "You still do."
Remus fought the urge to look down as Sirius had. "I always did. Still did. I've always bought both; never got out of the habit, I reckon."
"What else didn't you get out of the habit of?" Sirius asked.
Remus was silent before answering. "Expecting the chair I kept in the bedroom to have Padfoot's fur on it. Never poaching eggs. Keeping chocolate in the freezer. Thinking I'd find a pack of cigarettes stashed in the back of the utensil drawer. Expecting the wireless to be stuck on the Quidditch station." He stopped. Sirius kissed him.
From the beginning, it wasn't an innocent kiss. Before, the kiss they had shared was soft and warm, tender. This one was also tender, but demanding. Hungry. Remus tangled his hands into Sirius hair, and let himself be swept along as Sirius' tongue gently grazed his own.
They exchanged kisses for several minutes until they had to break apart for air; Remus was still catching his breath when Sirius' lips latched onto his pulse point. Remus' head automatically fell further back, allowing Sirius better access to the column of his throat, which Sirius took full advantage of. Part of Remus' brain knew that there would be a mark there in the morning, and the other part simply did not care. He swallowed, and Sirius followed the bob of his Adam's apple with his tongue. Remus shivered.
"Did you get out of the habit of this?" Sirius whispered in Remus' ear.
Remus shook his head before leaning forward and putting his head on Sirius' shoulder. "Not of imagining it," he said. He felt Sirius' hands tighten on his back, pulling him even closer.
As he caught his breath, Remus asked, "Don't you think . . . is this . . . too soon?" he managed. He picked his head up off of Sirius' shoulder.
Sirius started to look, of all things, hurt, before shaking his head. "I did my waiting. Twelve years of it." He paused. "Didn't you?" he added.
Remus' eyes grew heated, lit from the inside. He stood up abruptly, causing the tea cup near his foot to turn over. Instead of pulling away from Sirius, however, he linked their hands together and pulled him up to stand in front of him. He kissed Sirius fiercely, as if trying to pour twelve years of longing and anguish into Sirius' mouth. Sirius took it all, and answered back, bringing their joined hands up to his chest. Remus finally broke his mouth away, and kissed Sirius' cheek, whispering, his words a breath on Sirius' skin, "Come back to our bed, Sirius."
After he spoke, Remus tugged their joined hands and started to move toward his bedroom, and Sirius willingly followed.
***
Remus woke the next morning to two distinct sensations. One, there was sunlight streaming into the room, onto the bed, and onto him. Two, something was tickling him.
Remus opened his eyes and looked up. Oh. Someone.
Remus watched Sirius' face as Sirius' fingers continued to trace an unknown pattern up and down Remus lower abdomen. Sirius continued to trail his finger up and down, around Remus' navel and across to his hip; it took him several minutes to realize that Remus was awake, but when he did, he smiled.
"Good morning," Remus said.
"Morning," Sirius answered, smiling, before leaning down to kiss Remus. Remus returned the kiss with affection.
"So you know," Sirius added, as he pulled away, "I've had time to plan our day."
"Oh?" Remus raised an eyebrow.
"Indeed. One of us has to go into the village; I need some clothes, and Harry needs a cake."
Remus furrowed his brow. "Harry needs a cake?"
"The boy's birthday is only four days away," Sirius explained, as if this was something Remus needed to be reminded of, which he didn't. "Your mum always made that nice chocolate cake. The recipe must be around here somewhere . . ." Sirius trailed off when he noticed Remus was laughing. "What?"
"You're not making a cake," Remus said.
"I most certainly am."
"No. Not in this house. Harry might not remember your cooking, but I do." At Sirius' frown, he added, "We can order a cake. At the baker's. It'll be ready to send by owl in time."
Sirius subsided, looking a bit put out but mostly pacified. "Do you think I can go into the village myself? Not as Padfoot, I mean?"
Remus considered. There was a wizarding population in Otterburn, and they were as likely to be out shopping on this sunny day as anyone else; still, Remus looked at Sirius' face and didn't have the heart to refuse. In any case, he knew a fair number of concealment and deception charms that would do the trick well enough to get Sirius past the friendly wizards in the village. He nodded, and watched Sirius beam.
"Perhaps not until I bring you back some proper clothes, though," Remus added.
Sirius wrinkled his nose, and Remus was strongly reminded of Padfoot. "I can borrow some of yours. It's summer, Moony. Surely I can be seen in the village in shorts."
Remus was up and had Sirius pinned back to the bed almost before Sirius had a chance to start laughing. Sirius' arm accidentally hit the bookshelves to his left and knocked a few of the volumes to the floor. Remus raised his eyebrows. "Closer to clam-diggers, I'd say," Remus said, which only made Sirius laugh harder. The sound was still a little hollow, but it was quickly gaining tone.
When he finished laughing Sirius sighed, his whole body moving underneath Remus'. Remus squirmed a bit at the sensation, and a wicked smile grew over Sirius' face as Sirius leaned up to kiss him.
Settling back onto the pillows, Sirius spared a look over the side of the bed, at the bookshelves and the books on the floor. "I love those shelves," he said. "I remember the summer I helped your dad build some." His gaze returned to Remus' face. "They make the whole house smell like wood."
"They make the whole house smell like you," Remus said, and leaned down for another kiss.
***