FIC: Objects Of Sentimental Value, for The Community
Title: Objects of Sentimental Value
Author: mindabbles
Written for: A Gift for the Community
Rating: R
Prompt: Raising Harry AU, based on a prompt left by la_elefantina
Summary: Sirius had never accepted defeat, a quality that was as much as hindrance as a help, but this one time it just might work out for the best in the end.
Other notes, warnings, etc.: Thank you so much to elizassecret, midnitemaraud_r, and lesyeuxverts00 for their help with this. Particular thanks to elizassecret for her help coming up with the item for Sirius' gift; to midnitemaraud_r for pointing out time-space paradoxes and helping me to rewrite the thing; and to lesyeuxverts00 for her delicate touch with pretty words. Hmm, this really was a group effort.
There is little left to fear when you have already lived your worst nightmares.
Sirius ran through the village, away from the ruins of James and Lily's home, away from the horror. He ran until his lungs seized and spots of light burst before his eyes. He collapsed against a tree, sobs tearing from his chest.
Thoughts, chaotic and desperate, swam in his mind. He'd never accepted defeat and this seemed like a bloody poor time to start. Then again, he'd never fucked up this badly, either.
He began to catch his breath and searing pain-like nothing he'd ever known-swept through his chest. He closed his eyes and the images of Harry orphaned and injured, and soaring away from him with Hagrid, flashed across his mind.
He turned on the spot and Apparated, away from the last place he had seen James, and toward revenge. He should tell Dumbledore. He should find Remus. But Dumbledore would put the cause first and Sirius couldn't face Remus until he had fixed this. He couldn't afford delays.
Every moment counts when you are looking for a rat in a sewer.
*
Once, during seventh year, he had pushed Remus into this alley on a Hogsmeade weekend and kissed him until they were both panting and hard. He had kissed him and pressed against him until Remus had begged him to do something and pulled him off to the Shack-Sirius giddy with desire and drunk on the look in Remus' eyes.
The alley was dank and dark and smelled of rubbish. It looked the perfect place for a rat to skulk. Sirius hadn't remembered it this way.
James had been dead for nearly twenty-four hours and Sirius had to keep reminding himself that he couldn't ask Prongs to help him find Peter.
Three days ago, he'd placed all of their lives in the hands of a traitor. The back of his head connected satisfyingly with the rough stone wall. He had thought he knew Peter as well as he knew himself, and yet there had been an expression he'd mistaken for nerves when they'd cast the Fidelius charm. He hadn't recognized it, because it was something foreign to Peter, but now he couldn't get it out of his mind. He hadn't realised that what he was seeing was triumph.
Peter was nowhere to be found. His flat, his parents' home, any of their old haunts. Perhaps he'd be stupid enough to come to Hogsmeade. It was familiar. A rat could live quite well behind the shops and Peter always had been good at finding the best hiding spots.
Three days ago, Dumbledore had nodded and argued only slightly when they'd told him the plan-the first plan. Odds were good that Dumbledore would believe Sirius. He'd believe that Sirius was stupid enough to make a last-minute decision that ruined everything.
Remus might believe him. Remus would. But facing Remus would mean seeing the truth, seeing his own grief reflected in Remus' eyes.
"He'd never be stupid enough to come here." An unfamiliar man's voice drifted down the alley.
Two people, a man and a woman, Aurors by the looks of it, were silhouetted against the pale light of the afternoon sky.
"That's the thing about these types. So arrogant. They never think they'll be caught," the woman's voice answered.
Sirius took a deep breath and concentrated and his body shifted and Padfoot stood stock still, ears pricked to catch every sound.
"Well, come on then, we won't find him standing here," the man huffed. "How we drew this detail, I'll never know. Everyone I know is celebrating the end of You-Know-Who and here we are tracking Sirius bloody Black." The woman shrugged and the two walked off in the opposite direction from the Shrieking Shack.
Padfoot trotted out to the street. He walked along the kerb, sniffing the air, and trying to look like a much smaller dog. The door of the Three Broomsticks swung open and the sounds of laughter and celebration and the familiar smells of drink and Rosmerta's mutton pies wafted out. Padfoot stopped just by the newspaper stand at the door, halted in his tracks by the waves of memories.
There on the front page of the Daily Prophet was a photograph of James and Lily, younger and less harried, smiling back at him. He whined unconsciously. Underneath, his own happy face grinned at him with the caption, "Wanted for questioning," incongruous beneath it.
"Away with you. Go on," scolded the woman who sold the papers, brandishing a rolled up copy of the Prophet like a club. She was different from the woman who'd sat there when he'd been at school.
He took off toward the Shack, forcing his steps to slow to a trot so as not to call too much attention to the large black dog that looked remarkably like the Grim.
*
It had been more than three years since Padfoot had run this tunnel, but his memory of it was strong, as were the lingering scents of his pack. Everyone would be asleep, or more likely, gathered in the Great Hall under the watchful eyes of teachers and prefects until Dumbledore was certain he could guarantee their safety.
It was ridiculously easy to run through the corridors unseen-easy for Padfoot to duck behind a tapestry depicting a grisly Goblin battle. The small space could barely hide his bulk. He forced thoughts of four laughing boys who roamed these corridors from his head. It didn't matter anymore.
Coming here for help may have been his last choice, but after more than a day of searching, it was his only choice.
He froze at attention as he picked up the scent of someone he knew-someone who smelled of magic and lemon, with lingering traces of the horrifying scene he himself had left the day before.
*
"Come in, Sirius," Dumbledore called from the spiralling stairs.
Dumbledore's office looked as it always had and Sirius felt a moment of surprise that anything was as it had been.
Dumbledore's hand was resting on a travelling cloak. A small bag was on the desk. He looked as if he were merely pausing-not sitting, not granting Sirius a full audience.
"Going somewhere?" Sirius asked and he realised that he hadn't spoken since he'd told Hagrid to take the bike. Sirius remained in the corner of the office near the door, pacing two steps forward and two back.
"Yes, and like you, I haven't long. Given what I know of you, you are either here to convince me that rumours of your betrayal have been an exaggeration or to try and finish Voldemort's work on your own. You are not quite so foolhardy as some believe, so I am inclined to believe it is the former."
"Neither, Sir," Sirius said quietly. "I'm here to ask for your help."
"Well, I'll admit you've surprised me," said Dumbledore, pushing back his chair. "A feat that several have tried and few have succeeded."
Sirius told Dumbledore, haltingly and with as few words as possible, the events of the past few days. The Headmaster nodded and listened. He neither spoke nor interrupted and Sirius found himself saying things he never meant to admit even to himself.
"I need a Time Turner, sir," Sirius said, his fingers digging into his knees and his voice sounding desperate to his own ears. "I need to fix it."
"You're brighter than that," Dumbledore said. Sirius looked up at the harshness of the words, but the expression on Dumbledore's face was nothing if not kind. "You can't change the event that necessitates your going back. You know that, Sirius."
So that was it. James and Lily were dead. Harry was orphaned and scarred and there was not a blasted thing he could do about it. Sirius squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his hands into fists to stop the rage from overtaking him.
"Listen carefully." Sirius had no idea if Dumbledore had been speaking for several minutes or not, but his stern voice cut through Sirius' spinning thoughts. "You can do a great deal to change what may come next. Come, I have some things to show you." Dumbledore beckoned Sirius to his desk and Sirius stood and cleared his mind with great effort.
*
"Oh, and Sirius," Dumbledore said, as Sirius left his office, "Two more things. I'll need the cloak back in two days and you must bring him back alive."
Sirius froze for a split second. A vague plan of asking Peter for details of how he'd done it, forcing the cowardly rat to enumerate his acts of treachery, screaming and raging at him until he was a quivering mess, had been taking shape in Sirius' mind. It sort of ended there, and while he'd not yet admitted it, killing him for what he'd done to all of them seemed the logical end to the conversation. He might not be able to save James and Lily, but he could avenge them and then he could get Harry.
"Your word, Sirius?" Dumbledore asked quietly.
He nodded once before slipping James' Invisibility Cloak over his head.
*
He kept his word to Dumbledore, if barely.
Based on the information from Dumbledore, he was able to take Peter by surprise. The traitor had put up enough of a struggle to give him an excuse-but the answers to his shouted questions and the confessions, thrown at him out of fear and desperation, gave him no satisfaction.
Peter might need a few days of careful care at St. Mungo's first, but Dumbledore and the Aurors would get their crack at him as well.
*
The Dursleys put up no fight. They didn't even know Sirius and they'd handed their nephew over to him without a thought.
All he'd had to say was, "Dumbledore has changed his mind."
The beastly man had grunted and said, "Thank Christ."
Petunia was balancing her own squalling brat, twice Harry's size, on her hip while Harry sat on the floor, looking scared and confused. Sirius' heart twisted at the look in the baby's eyes. It wasn't one he'd ever seen there before.
She pursed her lips and critically appraised Sirius' boots on her rug, caked with ash and dirt and probably Pettigrew's blood, as if this were the most disturbing thing about the current situation. She stepped aside and nodded toward Harry.
"Come on, Harry," he said softly, bending down to scoop Harry off the floor. "Padfoot's got you."
Harry's weight felt comforting in his arms. The frightened look disappeared from his face, replaced by a tentative smile. He twined his chubby hand into Sirius' hair and yanked hard.
"Ow," Sirius said, and pulled his godson closer, the baby's warm, soft presence filling the chasm in his chest.
Now all he had to do was find Remus, explain everything, and beg for forgiveness.
And bury James and Lily.
*
Remus yanked his door open, his face hard and closed, and Sirius nearly staggered as he realised that he had been the one to put that look there.
He opened his mouth to speak, wanting to measure his words, say the right thing, but everything seemed to rush out in a torrent-long strings of words that may have meant nothing. He couldn't stop; he had to keep talking until he'd talked that look off Remus' face, until Remus understood, and they could figure out how to pick up the pieces of their lives together.
Remus wasn't answering, but he was listening. That was more than Sirius had hoped for on this first attempt.
"I'll make tea," Remus said, his voice strange and distant, after Sirius had talked himself hoarse.
Remus placed his worn, cracked tea things on the table, gentle clinking sounds so out of sync with the cacophony in Sirius' head.
Remus' teapot had wide bands of blue and cream. The divide between the colours had faded so that you couldn't tell where one colour was supposed to stop and the other begin. Strange birds took flight, moving from the cream to the blue, some of their wings chipped and eyes dulled with age. The cheap gold gilt had worn away on the spouts and handles of each piece and the lid for the sugar bowl was missing.
It had likely been a handsome wedding gift for Remus' grandparents. Sirius had never bothered to ask. He knew the origin of his own family’s five-hundred year old Goblin-wrought silver goblets that meant nothing to him, but had no idea where this homely tea set, one that Remus took care to bring along everywhere he went, came from. Remus doggedly treated the thing as if it were priceless despite that fact that they had all taken the mickey out of him for such sentimentality.
Remus slowly lifted his cup to his lips and drained it. Sirius wondered if he would ever speak.
"You should have come to tell me before you went after Peter," Remus said, his voice steely and firm.
*
Christmas was Sirius' favourite time of year. It was the holiday least haunted by pain-far enough past Halloween and a day when good memories filled his head. That first Christmas had not been easy by any means, the losses still raw and painful and so many things left to settle. But Remus and Harry had both been there with him. Having them near had made all the difference, and life gradually became bearable.
As the years passed, it became much better than bearable.
He smiled to himself, watching from where he leant against the door frame as Remus bent down to kiss Harry good night. Sirius shifted slightly so that Remus would have to brush against him on his way out of the room.
"I'll be out in a minute," Sirius said, returning Remus' gentle smile. "After Harry's had his story."
He slipped his hand into his pocket and fingered the roll of parchment within, tied with a sentimental red and gold ribbon. A smile spread involuntarily on his face.
Harry wiggled under his blankets, and refused to lay still, his eyes bright. Sirius sighed. It would likely be more than the promised minute before he could join Remus in front of the fire.
"You staying, Moony?" Harry asked hopefully to Remus' back.
"I rather think I need to," Remus answered gravely, turning to face Harry. "Father Christmas always fills my stocking here, so I must be here in the morning, mustn't I?"
"Have you brought your tea set?" Harry asked, blinking guilelessly at Remus. Sirius winced. It was possible he'd taken the piss one too many times in front of Harry.
"Right, well. Speaking of Father Christmas, no one's stocking's being filled if we don't get to sleep," Sirius said, avoiding Remus' glare. He was starting to feel a little desperate at the thought of being stuck in here with the hyperactive five-and-a-half year old, and trying to get him to sleep while visions of a stocking bursting with parcels danced in his head.
Harry frowned. "Roger says there is no Father Christmas and it's you who puts the orange and presents in my stocking and if that's true then I don't have to go to sleep and we could just have presents now and not wait until morning. Roger says he always opens a present on Christmas Eve, on account of there is no Father Christmas, so the presents are already there and his mum and dad give him one so he'll go to bed on time even though it's Christmas and they can have him out of their hair and have a drink."
Sirius sighed. Given what he knew of Roger, the need for a drink was a likely story. He sat down on the edge of the bed, considering how to answer this. He didn't want to outright lie to Harry, but five seemed a young age to have to lose Father Christmas.
"I, for one," said Remus, frowning and inclining his head thoughtfully, "am not keen on doing anything as rash as doubting the existence of Father Christmas on Christmas Eve. And who is Roger that he's so sure it's worth the consequences?"
"Lad from the play park," Sirius said.
"He's seven," Harry added, nodding seriously.
"Ah, I see," Remus said, exhaling loudly and nodding in return.
"And we do not want you out of our hair," Sirius said, as much to assuage his own guilt at his earlier thoughts as to comfort Harry. After a full day with Harry, he was always ready for some quiet-particularly when Remus was there-but the thought of life with Harry completely out of his hair, and how close he'd come to that made him shudder. "I do want you to have a good rest so that you can enjoy tomorrow."
"So, are we agreed that we will all go to sleep and take the practical approach when it comes to Father Christmas?" Remus asked. "And Harry, thank you for your concern, but I can make do with one of Padfoot's jam jars for my tea in the morning." He flashed Sirius a look.
"All right," Harry said, smiling with relief. "G'night, Moony."
Harry certainly seemed happiest when all three of them were together.
Remus grinned warmly at them both and turned to walk down the corridor where he would finish filling Harry's stocking, fill Sirius', pour he and Sirius healthy tumblers of Firewhisky, and sit listening to the Witching Hour on the Wizarding Wireless until Sirius joined him. Sirius loved Christmas Eve.
He cracked open the worn copy of The Tales of Beedle the Bard and began to read. All through the story, his mind was half on his gift for Remus.
*
The large, misshapen, red face looms over Harry. It's shouting horrible things, things about Harry's mum and dad, things about Harry being no good, things about magic and evil, and someone more frightening than him coming to get Harry and take him away. He can't imagine anyone more frightening than the big, red-faced man. Harry scuttles into a cupboard and turns into a mouse…
Harry was out of his bed before he was even awake.
"Padfoot?" he called quietly, always too quietly. He knew Sirius wouldn't hear him, but he still felt disappointed when Sirius didn't come.
He clutched Floppy Dog to him like a shield and padded out of his room, lifting and placing his feet carefully so that the feet of his pyjamas didn't slip on the polished floor.
Sirius' door was open and his bed empty. Harry took a deep breath. That meant he had the long walk down the dark corridor to the front room or the kitchen. Sirius said he didn't allow monsters in their house, but taking the practical approach, Harry pressed his back against the wall and, looking rapidly back and forth, slid along as quickly as he could.
The soft, golden glow from the candles and the bright star on the tree made Harry feel warm and safe. He could see Remus' point about Father Christmas. It certainly felt like a night when just that kind of magic would happen.
Sirius was sitting on the couch with Remus, their shoulders touching and heads leaning close as they spoke in low tones. Seeing them there made him feel protected. No monsters could possibly make it down the corridor and to his room while they were in the front room.
Harry started into the room, eyeing the slim gap between them and imagining how warm and comforting it would be to slip into that space. He took one step and the gap disappeared. Sirius put his face in Remus' and they kissed.
Harry waited a moment for them to stop kissing and say good night. But they kept kissing, and Harry pulled a face. Something that Roger had said came back to him.
"Are you going to kiss naked?" he asked abruptly.
Remus and Sirius sprang apart, and both turned pink. Remus almost never turned pink.
"What?" Sirius squawked.
He could tell he'd upset them or startled them, and rushed to explain. "Roger says that his mummy and daddy kiss naked because he saw them one time. He said all grown-ups do it when they live together and Moony is the only other grown-up who sort of lives here, but not really. Moony, why don't you live with us?"
"Uhm," Remus said, and Harry thought he looked as if he'd sat on something sharp.
Sirius coughed like he always did when Harry had asked something that wouldn't be answered until it was just the two of them.
"Come along, Harry. Back to bed," Sirius said, lifting him into his arms and carrying him back down the now completely monster-free corridor.
*
"Roger sounds like a right treasure," Remus said when Sirius returned.
Remus had refilled their glasses while Sirius settled Harry in, and he looked sleepy and inviting, reclining on the couch in front of the fire.
"He's a bloody menace. It's no wonder his mum and dad drink," Sirius answered, falling onto the couch next to Remus.
"What did you tell Harry?" Remus ran his hand through his hair, a strand or two of silver glinting in the firelight.
Sirius fumbled for Remus' hand. "I told him we'd definitely be kissing naked."
Remus laughed, low and sweet, and Sirius abandoned plans of giving Remus his gift now-and having the subsequent discussion-in favour of a kiss.
Remus' lips stayed curved in a contented smile, and he laughed again against Sirius' mouth. Sirius slung his leg over Remus, pulling himself into Remus' lap.
"What's funny?" Sirius asked, smoothing his hands down Remus' chest.
Remus shook his head. "Sirius," he said. His tone was almost scolding but his hands moved over Sirius' shoulders and arms and he shifted his hips, making Sirius gasp.
"Sirius, Harry's been asleep ten minutes. Don't you think we should move to a room with a door, or wait in case he's along with another bit of wisdom from Roger's storehouse?" Remus asked.
Sirius started to remark that it was an impressive sentence to manage while he was straddling Remus' lap, his lips on Remus' neck and hands on his chest, but he merely sighed and reluctantly pulled himself away from the soft spot on Remus' neck.
"He's dead away, Moony." He slipped a hand into Remus' robes, caressing the warm, sensitive skin.
"Besides, I like it here," Sirius whispered, and he lowered his mouth again to Remus' neck. "I like the fire," he murmured as he trailed one hand down Remus' belly.
"I like the lights and the tree." He pulled Remus' ear lobe into his mouth and lightly stroked his fingers across the taut fabric of Remus' trousers, tilting his head so he'd catch Remus' sigh against his cheek.
"It's festive," he added imploringly.
"I suppose the worst that can happen is he'll have a tale or two of his own for Roger," Remus said, laughter and desire making his voice rich.
"That's my Moony."
Remus chortled and shook his head, and Sirius thought he heard him mumble, "Idiot," just as he cupped the back of Sirius' head and pulled him down to his open mouth.
"Mm," Sirius hummed into the kiss. He tipped his head forward so Remus had to tip his back, and moved over him, deepening the kiss.
"Not naked," Sirius whispered, and he pushed Remus' robes open, smiling as Remus laughed again. Remus' skin was flushed and warm under his clothing, and Sirius caressed circles through the dusting of light brown hair.
Remus moaned softly and slid his hands up under Sirius' robes, until Sirius squirmed at the strong fingers moving up his thighs.
"Moony," Sirius groaned as those fingers began to stroke.
He pressed his forehead against Remus', and Remus opened his eyes. Every nerve ending in his body narrowed to the contact with Remus' hand, and every thought in his head focused on Remus' eyes.
"Closer, Padfoot," Remus said, his tongue darting to wet his lips. "I want to feel you."
"Yeah," Sirius breathed. He hitched forward on Remus' lap, and leant again to kiss Remus as they rubbed against each other. He brushed his fingers through Remus' hair, and trailed them along his jaw and under his chin.
Remus grinned wickedly. He grasped Sirius' wrist, pulling Sirius' hand to his mouth. He laved a long, wet lick across Sirius' palm that made him shiver. Sirius wrapped his hand around them both and they moved together, friction and a slick slide and, fuck, he wanted to wrap himself up in this man forever.
"Close," Remus gasped. He tilted his head back to bare the sensitive, strong column of throat, and threw his arms across the back of the couch, arching his hips into Sirius.
Sirius was torn between bending to kiss and lick and bite that gorgeous neck, and maintaining the vantage point from which he could see every flutter of eyelashes, every tensing of tendons, every pull of teeth on swollen lips as Remus came undone.
Remus pushed hard into his hand and Sirius' breath left his lungs. Remus' mouth worked around a string of incoherent pleas, and the flush deepened up his chest and throat as he arched once more, hot and fast, and Sirius gasped, biting his own lip to muffle any sound that might wake Harry.
He folded in onto Remus, cheeks pressed together, his arms around Remus' shoulders and Remus' hands rubbing soothing patterns into his back.
Remus held him tightly and swung his legs up onto the couch so they were lying next to each other, tangled up in the soft light of the tree and the fire that made everything else seem hushed and still.
"That was fantastic, Padfoot," Remus said, stretching so his warm skin slid along Sirius' relaxed body. "But that was not the question of Harry's I actually meant."
"Ah, his other question," Sirius said. "Before I go on, I do feel compelled to point out that we never did entirely kiss naked."
"I do love that you are so precise. And anyway, the night is young. What did you tell him about my living here? That's three times in as many weeks he's asked."
"I told him that you're a pack rat and we don't have room for all your bloody heirlooms," Sirius said with a poorly concealed smirk.
Remus huffed as he always did when Sirius teased him about this, and said indignantly, "I have one or two things of sentimental value, and you never shut up about them. Prat. Just because you have no soul."
Sirius laughed, and with great reluctance he rose from the couch and Remus' warm embrace, wrapping his robe back around him. He lifted a large box from next to the hearth. It made a soft clinking sound as he carried it toward Remus.
Remus eyed him suspiciously as he placed it on his lap. "If you think you'll get me to bed early because you've given me a present on Christmas Eve, you've another think coming."
"Open it."
"You haven't given me another new set of tea things," Remus said, narrowing his eyes at Sirius. He grabbed his wand and with a flick, the paper fell away completely unblemished and reusable. "I'm not putting mine in the bin."
"Why don't you tear it open like a normal person?"
Remus rolled his eyes and flipped open the large box. He sat in stunned silence for a moment before he spoke.
"You've given me my own tea set for my Christmas." He said it slowly, as if he were speaking to someone who'd sustained spell damage.
"Stand up, git," Sirius said.
"Oi, hang on," Remus said. "You kidnap my tea things and give them to me in a box, and call me a git?"
"Would you stand up and come here?"
Remus put the box aside and stood, facing Sirius, looking at him as if he expected something to leap at him from within the box.
Sirius stepped closer and embraced him, casually concealing the wand in his hand. He surreptitiously waved it toward the box behind Remus' back.
"What are you…?" Still frowning, Remus twisted to see what Sirius was doing. When he looked down into the box and saw that the pot and cups were gone, he squawked, "What-?"
Sirius quietly said, "Hush," and pressed a small scroll of parchment into Remus' hand. He watched as Remus undid the red and gold tie, a little smile on his face. Remus unrolled it, mouthing the words "Turn around," as he read.
Remus turned, and Sirius slipped his hands around Remus' waist, pulling him close as he rested his chin on his shoulder.
In the little nook where Sirius' book shelf had been-books he would never read again but refused to get rid of-was a small china hutch that had not been there a minute ago. Displayed behind a respectful glass front were Remus’ teapot, milk jug and sugar bowl, and the three remaining cups and saucers.
Sirius watched Remus stare at it until he felt him inhale sharply, a moment of dawning comprehension.
He said quietly, "Please, Remus."
They would have probably set up house together years ago if it hadn't been for Harry. But there had been so much to figure out, so much to get used to; and then time had just flown by, and suddenly Harry was five.
Remus leaned back against him and tilted his head to rub his cheek against Sirius' hair. "Padfoot?"
"Harry and I are both happier when you're here."
He felt the smile as Remus' cheek pressed more firmly against his face. "Where're your books?"
"Took 'em to the White Elephant Sale," Sirius said, wrapping his arms more tightly around Remus.
"Pfft, you did not."
"All right, then. They're in the bedroom, where your bedside table would be, if you must know."
"Maybe we can make room for them out here, add a few shelves to the hutch," Remus said, turning in Sirius' arms and brushing his lips against Sirius' cheek.
"We'll tell Harry in the morning. It'll be a brilliant present for him," Sirius said, smiling. "And I must have been very, very good to get you in my stocking."
Remus chuckled and shook his head. "Daft," he murmured, but he couldn't seem to hold back his grin.
The lights on the tree twinkled, and the fire crackled merrily in the grate, throwing dancing shadows upon the walls. Three stockings, bursting with carefully chosen gifts, hung from the mantelpiece, the biggest one waiting for Harry. Sirius' thoughts wandered to Harry, tucked safely in bed. Then Remus shifted in his arms, still grinning. Looking at him, Sirius was filled with a sense of wonder at this home they'd built together-out of the ruins of the family they had been, they had made something right and whole.
Sirius tightened the embrace, pulled Remus close and kissed him. Things were definitely looking up this year.
Author: mindabbles
Written for: A Gift for the Community
Rating: R
Prompt: Raising Harry AU, based on a prompt left by la_elefantina
Summary: Sirius had never accepted defeat, a quality that was as much as hindrance as a help, but this one time it just might work out for the best in the end.
Other notes, warnings, etc.: Thank you so much to elizassecret, midnitemaraud_r, and lesyeuxverts00 for their help with this. Particular thanks to elizassecret for her help coming up with the item for Sirius' gift; to midnitemaraud_r for pointing out time-space paradoxes and helping me to rewrite the thing; and to lesyeuxverts00 for her delicate touch with pretty words. Hmm, this really was a group effort.
There is little left to fear when you have already lived your worst nightmares.
Sirius ran through the village, away from the ruins of James and Lily's home, away from the horror. He ran until his lungs seized and spots of light burst before his eyes. He collapsed against a tree, sobs tearing from his chest.
Thoughts, chaotic and desperate, swam in his mind. He'd never accepted defeat and this seemed like a bloody poor time to start. Then again, he'd never fucked up this badly, either.
He began to catch his breath and searing pain-like nothing he'd ever known-swept through his chest. He closed his eyes and the images of Harry orphaned and injured, and soaring away from him with Hagrid, flashed across his mind.
He turned on the spot and Apparated, away from the last place he had seen James, and toward revenge. He should tell Dumbledore. He should find Remus. But Dumbledore would put the cause first and Sirius couldn't face Remus until he had fixed this. He couldn't afford delays.
Every moment counts when you are looking for a rat in a sewer.
*
Once, during seventh year, he had pushed Remus into this alley on a Hogsmeade weekend and kissed him until they were both panting and hard. He had kissed him and pressed against him until Remus had begged him to do something and pulled him off to the Shack-Sirius giddy with desire and drunk on the look in Remus' eyes.
The alley was dank and dark and smelled of rubbish. It looked the perfect place for a rat to skulk. Sirius hadn't remembered it this way.
James had been dead for nearly twenty-four hours and Sirius had to keep reminding himself that he couldn't ask Prongs to help him find Peter.
Three days ago, he'd placed all of their lives in the hands of a traitor. The back of his head connected satisfyingly with the rough stone wall. He had thought he knew Peter as well as he knew himself, and yet there had been an expression he'd mistaken for nerves when they'd cast the Fidelius charm. He hadn't recognized it, because it was something foreign to Peter, but now he couldn't get it out of his mind. He hadn't realised that what he was seeing was triumph.
Peter was nowhere to be found. His flat, his parents' home, any of their old haunts. Perhaps he'd be stupid enough to come to Hogsmeade. It was familiar. A rat could live quite well behind the shops and Peter always had been good at finding the best hiding spots.
Three days ago, Dumbledore had nodded and argued only slightly when they'd told him the plan-the first plan. Odds were good that Dumbledore would believe Sirius. He'd believe that Sirius was stupid enough to make a last-minute decision that ruined everything.
Remus might believe him. Remus would. But facing Remus would mean seeing the truth, seeing his own grief reflected in Remus' eyes.
"He'd never be stupid enough to come here." An unfamiliar man's voice drifted down the alley.
Two people, a man and a woman, Aurors by the looks of it, were silhouetted against the pale light of the afternoon sky.
"That's the thing about these types. So arrogant. They never think they'll be caught," the woman's voice answered.
Sirius took a deep breath and concentrated and his body shifted and Padfoot stood stock still, ears pricked to catch every sound.
"Well, come on then, we won't find him standing here," the man huffed. "How we drew this detail, I'll never know. Everyone I know is celebrating the end of You-Know-Who and here we are tracking Sirius bloody Black." The woman shrugged and the two walked off in the opposite direction from the Shrieking Shack.
Padfoot trotted out to the street. He walked along the kerb, sniffing the air, and trying to look like a much smaller dog. The door of the Three Broomsticks swung open and the sounds of laughter and celebration and the familiar smells of drink and Rosmerta's mutton pies wafted out. Padfoot stopped just by the newspaper stand at the door, halted in his tracks by the waves of memories.
There on the front page of the Daily Prophet was a photograph of James and Lily, younger and less harried, smiling back at him. He whined unconsciously. Underneath, his own happy face grinned at him with the caption, "Wanted for questioning," incongruous beneath it.
"Away with you. Go on," scolded the woman who sold the papers, brandishing a rolled up copy of the Prophet like a club. She was different from the woman who'd sat there when he'd been at school.
He took off toward the Shack, forcing his steps to slow to a trot so as not to call too much attention to the large black dog that looked remarkably like the Grim.
*
It had been more than three years since Padfoot had run this tunnel, but his memory of it was strong, as were the lingering scents of his pack. Everyone would be asleep, or more likely, gathered in the Great Hall under the watchful eyes of teachers and prefects until Dumbledore was certain he could guarantee their safety.
It was ridiculously easy to run through the corridors unseen-easy for Padfoot to duck behind a tapestry depicting a grisly Goblin battle. The small space could barely hide his bulk. He forced thoughts of four laughing boys who roamed these corridors from his head. It didn't matter anymore.
Coming here for help may have been his last choice, but after more than a day of searching, it was his only choice.
He froze at attention as he picked up the scent of someone he knew-someone who smelled of magic and lemon, with lingering traces of the horrifying scene he himself had left the day before.
*
"Come in, Sirius," Dumbledore called from the spiralling stairs.
Dumbledore's office looked as it always had and Sirius felt a moment of surprise that anything was as it had been.
Dumbledore's hand was resting on a travelling cloak. A small bag was on the desk. He looked as if he were merely pausing-not sitting, not granting Sirius a full audience.
"Going somewhere?" Sirius asked and he realised that he hadn't spoken since he'd told Hagrid to take the bike. Sirius remained in the corner of the office near the door, pacing two steps forward and two back.
"Yes, and like you, I haven't long. Given what I know of you, you are either here to convince me that rumours of your betrayal have been an exaggeration or to try and finish Voldemort's work on your own. You are not quite so foolhardy as some believe, so I am inclined to believe it is the former."
"Neither, Sir," Sirius said quietly. "I'm here to ask for your help."
"Well, I'll admit you've surprised me," said Dumbledore, pushing back his chair. "A feat that several have tried and few have succeeded."
Sirius told Dumbledore, haltingly and with as few words as possible, the events of the past few days. The Headmaster nodded and listened. He neither spoke nor interrupted and Sirius found himself saying things he never meant to admit even to himself.
"I need a Time Turner, sir," Sirius said, his fingers digging into his knees and his voice sounding desperate to his own ears. "I need to fix it."
"You're brighter than that," Dumbledore said. Sirius looked up at the harshness of the words, but the expression on Dumbledore's face was nothing if not kind. "You can't change the event that necessitates your going back. You know that, Sirius."
So that was it. James and Lily were dead. Harry was orphaned and scarred and there was not a blasted thing he could do about it. Sirius squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his hands into fists to stop the rage from overtaking him.
"Listen carefully." Sirius had no idea if Dumbledore had been speaking for several minutes or not, but his stern voice cut through Sirius' spinning thoughts. "You can do a great deal to change what may come next. Come, I have some things to show you." Dumbledore beckoned Sirius to his desk and Sirius stood and cleared his mind with great effort.
*
"Oh, and Sirius," Dumbledore said, as Sirius left his office, "Two more things. I'll need the cloak back in two days and you must bring him back alive."
Sirius froze for a split second. A vague plan of asking Peter for details of how he'd done it, forcing the cowardly rat to enumerate his acts of treachery, screaming and raging at him until he was a quivering mess, had been taking shape in Sirius' mind. It sort of ended there, and while he'd not yet admitted it, killing him for what he'd done to all of them seemed the logical end to the conversation. He might not be able to save James and Lily, but he could avenge them and then he could get Harry.
"Your word, Sirius?" Dumbledore asked quietly.
He nodded once before slipping James' Invisibility Cloak over his head.
*
He kept his word to Dumbledore, if barely.
Based on the information from Dumbledore, he was able to take Peter by surprise. The traitor had put up enough of a struggle to give him an excuse-but the answers to his shouted questions and the confessions, thrown at him out of fear and desperation, gave him no satisfaction.
Peter might need a few days of careful care at St. Mungo's first, but Dumbledore and the Aurors would get their crack at him as well.
*
The Dursleys put up no fight. They didn't even know Sirius and they'd handed their nephew over to him without a thought.
All he'd had to say was, "Dumbledore has changed his mind."
The beastly man had grunted and said, "Thank Christ."
Petunia was balancing her own squalling brat, twice Harry's size, on her hip while Harry sat on the floor, looking scared and confused. Sirius' heart twisted at the look in the baby's eyes. It wasn't one he'd ever seen there before.
She pursed her lips and critically appraised Sirius' boots on her rug, caked with ash and dirt and probably Pettigrew's blood, as if this were the most disturbing thing about the current situation. She stepped aside and nodded toward Harry.
"Come on, Harry," he said softly, bending down to scoop Harry off the floor. "Padfoot's got you."
Harry's weight felt comforting in his arms. The frightened look disappeared from his face, replaced by a tentative smile. He twined his chubby hand into Sirius' hair and yanked hard.
"Ow," Sirius said, and pulled his godson closer, the baby's warm, soft presence filling the chasm in his chest.
Now all he had to do was find Remus, explain everything, and beg for forgiveness.
And bury James and Lily.
*
Remus yanked his door open, his face hard and closed, and Sirius nearly staggered as he realised that he had been the one to put that look there.
He opened his mouth to speak, wanting to measure his words, say the right thing, but everything seemed to rush out in a torrent-long strings of words that may have meant nothing. He couldn't stop; he had to keep talking until he'd talked that look off Remus' face, until Remus understood, and they could figure out how to pick up the pieces of their lives together.
Remus wasn't answering, but he was listening. That was more than Sirius had hoped for on this first attempt.
"I'll make tea," Remus said, his voice strange and distant, after Sirius had talked himself hoarse.
Remus placed his worn, cracked tea things on the table, gentle clinking sounds so out of sync with the cacophony in Sirius' head.
Remus' teapot had wide bands of blue and cream. The divide between the colours had faded so that you couldn't tell where one colour was supposed to stop and the other begin. Strange birds took flight, moving from the cream to the blue, some of their wings chipped and eyes dulled with age. The cheap gold gilt had worn away on the spouts and handles of each piece and the lid for the sugar bowl was missing.
It had likely been a handsome wedding gift for Remus' grandparents. Sirius had never bothered to ask. He knew the origin of his own family’s five-hundred year old Goblin-wrought silver goblets that meant nothing to him, but had no idea where this homely tea set, one that Remus took care to bring along everywhere he went, came from. Remus doggedly treated the thing as if it were priceless despite that fact that they had all taken the mickey out of him for such sentimentality.
Remus slowly lifted his cup to his lips and drained it. Sirius wondered if he would ever speak.
"You should have come to tell me before you went after Peter," Remus said, his voice steely and firm.
*
Christmas was Sirius' favourite time of year. It was the holiday least haunted by pain-far enough past Halloween and a day when good memories filled his head. That first Christmas had not been easy by any means, the losses still raw and painful and so many things left to settle. But Remus and Harry had both been there with him. Having them near had made all the difference, and life gradually became bearable.
As the years passed, it became much better than bearable.
He smiled to himself, watching from where he leant against the door frame as Remus bent down to kiss Harry good night. Sirius shifted slightly so that Remus would have to brush against him on his way out of the room.
"I'll be out in a minute," Sirius said, returning Remus' gentle smile. "After Harry's had his story."
He slipped his hand into his pocket and fingered the roll of parchment within, tied with a sentimental red and gold ribbon. A smile spread involuntarily on his face.
Harry wiggled under his blankets, and refused to lay still, his eyes bright. Sirius sighed. It would likely be more than the promised minute before he could join Remus in front of the fire.
"You staying, Moony?" Harry asked hopefully to Remus' back.
"I rather think I need to," Remus answered gravely, turning to face Harry. "Father Christmas always fills my stocking here, so I must be here in the morning, mustn't I?"
"Have you brought your tea set?" Harry asked, blinking guilelessly at Remus. Sirius winced. It was possible he'd taken the piss one too many times in front of Harry.
"Right, well. Speaking of Father Christmas, no one's stocking's being filled if we don't get to sleep," Sirius said, avoiding Remus' glare. He was starting to feel a little desperate at the thought of being stuck in here with the hyperactive five-and-a-half year old, and trying to get him to sleep while visions of a stocking bursting with parcels danced in his head.
Harry frowned. "Roger says there is no Father Christmas and it's you who puts the orange and presents in my stocking and if that's true then I don't have to go to sleep and we could just have presents now and not wait until morning. Roger says he always opens a present on Christmas Eve, on account of there is no Father Christmas, so the presents are already there and his mum and dad give him one so he'll go to bed on time even though it's Christmas and they can have him out of their hair and have a drink."
Sirius sighed. Given what he knew of Roger, the need for a drink was a likely story. He sat down on the edge of the bed, considering how to answer this. He didn't want to outright lie to Harry, but five seemed a young age to have to lose Father Christmas.
"I, for one," said Remus, frowning and inclining his head thoughtfully, "am not keen on doing anything as rash as doubting the existence of Father Christmas on Christmas Eve. And who is Roger that he's so sure it's worth the consequences?"
"Lad from the play park," Sirius said.
"He's seven," Harry added, nodding seriously.
"Ah, I see," Remus said, exhaling loudly and nodding in return.
"And we do not want you out of our hair," Sirius said, as much to assuage his own guilt at his earlier thoughts as to comfort Harry. After a full day with Harry, he was always ready for some quiet-particularly when Remus was there-but the thought of life with Harry completely out of his hair, and how close he'd come to that made him shudder. "I do want you to have a good rest so that you can enjoy tomorrow."
"So, are we agreed that we will all go to sleep and take the practical approach when it comes to Father Christmas?" Remus asked. "And Harry, thank you for your concern, but I can make do with one of Padfoot's jam jars for my tea in the morning." He flashed Sirius a look.
"All right," Harry said, smiling with relief. "G'night, Moony."
Harry certainly seemed happiest when all three of them were together.
Remus grinned warmly at them both and turned to walk down the corridor where he would finish filling Harry's stocking, fill Sirius', pour he and Sirius healthy tumblers of Firewhisky, and sit listening to the Witching Hour on the Wizarding Wireless until Sirius joined him. Sirius loved Christmas Eve.
He cracked open the worn copy of The Tales of Beedle the Bard and began to read. All through the story, his mind was half on his gift for Remus.
*
The large, misshapen, red face looms over Harry. It's shouting horrible things, things about Harry's mum and dad, things about Harry being no good, things about magic and evil, and someone more frightening than him coming to get Harry and take him away. He can't imagine anyone more frightening than the big, red-faced man. Harry scuttles into a cupboard and turns into a mouse…
Harry was out of his bed before he was even awake.
"Padfoot?" he called quietly, always too quietly. He knew Sirius wouldn't hear him, but he still felt disappointed when Sirius didn't come.
He clutched Floppy Dog to him like a shield and padded out of his room, lifting and placing his feet carefully so that the feet of his pyjamas didn't slip on the polished floor.
Sirius' door was open and his bed empty. Harry took a deep breath. That meant he had the long walk down the dark corridor to the front room or the kitchen. Sirius said he didn't allow monsters in their house, but taking the practical approach, Harry pressed his back against the wall and, looking rapidly back and forth, slid along as quickly as he could.
The soft, golden glow from the candles and the bright star on the tree made Harry feel warm and safe. He could see Remus' point about Father Christmas. It certainly felt like a night when just that kind of magic would happen.
Sirius was sitting on the couch with Remus, their shoulders touching and heads leaning close as they spoke in low tones. Seeing them there made him feel protected. No monsters could possibly make it down the corridor and to his room while they were in the front room.
Harry started into the room, eyeing the slim gap between them and imagining how warm and comforting it would be to slip into that space. He took one step and the gap disappeared. Sirius put his face in Remus' and they kissed.
Harry waited a moment for them to stop kissing and say good night. But they kept kissing, and Harry pulled a face. Something that Roger had said came back to him.
"Are you going to kiss naked?" he asked abruptly.
Remus and Sirius sprang apart, and both turned pink. Remus almost never turned pink.
"What?" Sirius squawked.
He could tell he'd upset them or startled them, and rushed to explain. "Roger says that his mummy and daddy kiss naked because he saw them one time. He said all grown-ups do it when they live together and Moony is the only other grown-up who sort of lives here, but not really. Moony, why don't you live with us?"
"Uhm," Remus said, and Harry thought he looked as if he'd sat on something sharp.
Sirius coughed like he always did when Harry had asked something that wouldn't be answered until it was just the two of them.
"Come along, Harry. Back to bed," Sirius said, lifting him into his arms and carrying him back down the now completely monster-free corridor.
*
"Roger sounds like a right treasure," Remus said when Sirius returned.
Remus had refilled their glasses while Sirius settled Harry in, and he looked sleepy and inviting, reclining on the couch in front of the fire.
"He's a bloody menace. It's no wonder his mum and dad drink," Sirius answered, falling onto the couch next to Remus.
"What did you tell Harry?" Remus ran his hand through his hair, a strand or two of silver glinting in the firelight.
Sirius fumbled for Remus' hand. "I told him we'd definitely be kissing naked."
Remus laughed, low and sweet, and Sirius abandoned plans of giving Remus his gift now-and having the subsequent discussion-in favour of a kiss.
Remus' lips stayed curved in a contented smile, and he laughed again against Sirius' mouth. Sirius slung his leg over Remus, pulling himself into Remus' lap.
"What's funny?" Sirius asked, smoothing his hands down Remus' chest.
Remus shook his head. "Sirius," he said. His tone was almost scolding but his hands moved over Sirius' shoulders and arms and he shifted his hips, making Sirius gasp.
"Sirius, Harry's been asleep ten minutes. Don't you think we should move to a room with a door, or wait in case he's along with another bit of wisdom from Roger's storehouse?" Remus asked.
Sirius started to remark that it was an impressive sentence to manage while he was straddling Remus' lap, his lips on Remus' neck and hands on his chest, but he merely sighed and reluctantly pulled himself away from the soft spot on Remus' neck.
"He's dead away, Moony." He slipped a hand into Remus' robes, caressing the warm, sensitive skin.
"Besides, I like it here," Sirius whispered, and he lowered his mouth again to Remus' neck. "I like the fire," he murmured as he trailed one hand down Remus' belly.
"I like the lights and the tree." He pulled Remus' ear lobe into his mouth and lightly stroked his fingers across the taut fabric of Remus' trousers, tilting his head so he'd catch Remus' sigh against his cheek.
"It's festive," he added imploringly.
"I suppose the worst that can happen is he'll have a tale or two of his own for Roger," Remus said, laughter and desire making his voice rich.
"That's my Moony."
Remus chortled and shook his head, and Sirius thought he heard him mumble, "Idiot," just as he cupped the back of Sirius' head and pulled him down to his open mouth.
"Mm," Sirius hummed into the kiss. He tipped his head forward so Remus had to tip his back, and moved over him, deepening the kiss.
"Not naked," Sirius whispered, and he pushed Remus' robes open, smiling as Remus laughed again. Remus' skin was flushed and warm under his clothing, and Sirius caressed circles through the dusting of light brown hair.
Remus moaned softly and slid his hands up under Sirius' robes, until Sirius squirmed at the strong fingers moving up his thighs.
"Moony," Sirius groaned as those fingers began to stroke.
He pressed his forehead against Remus', and Remus opened his eyes. Every nerve ending in his body narrowed to the contact with Remus' hand, and every thought in his head focused on Remus' eyes.
"Closer, Padfoot," Remus said, his tongue darting to wet his lips. "I want to feel you."
"Yeah," Sirius breathed. He hitched forward on Remus' lap, and leant again to kiss Remus as they rubbed against each other. He brushed his fingers through Remus' hair, and trailed them along his jaw and under his chin.
Remus grinned wickedly. He grasped Sirius' wrist, pulling Sirius' hand to his mouth. He laved a long, wet lick across Sirius' palm that made him shiver. Sirius wrapped his hand around them both and they moved together, friction and a slick slide and, fuck, he wanted to wrap himself up in this man forever.
"Close," Remus gasped. He tilted his head back to bare the sensitive, strong column of throat, and threw his arms across the back of the couch, arching his hips into Sirius.
Sirius was torn between bending to kiss and lick and bite that gorgeous neck, and maintaining the vantage point from which he could see every flutter of eyelashes, every tensing of tendons, every pull of teeth on swollen lips as Remus came undone.
Remus pushed hard into his hand and Sirius' breath left his lungs. Remus' mouth worked around a string of incoherent pleas, and the flush deepened up his chest and throat as he arched once more, hot and fast, and Sirius gasped, biting his own lip to muffle any sound that might wake Harry.
He folded in onto Remus, cheeks pressed together, his arms around Remus' shoulders and Remus' hands rubbing soothing patterns into his back.
Remus held him tightly and swung his legs up onto the couch so they were lying next to each other, tangled up in the soft light of the tree and the fire that made everything else seem hushed and still.
"That was fantastic, Padfoot," Remus said, stretching so his warm skin slid along Sirius' relaxed body. "But that was not the question of Harry's I actually meant."
"Ah, his other question," Sirius said. "Before I go on, I do feel compelled to point out that we never did entirely kiss naked."
"I do love that you are so precise. And anyway, the night is young. What did you tell him about my living here? That's three times in as many weeks he's asked."
"I told him that you're a pack rat and we don't have room for all your bloody heirlooms," Sirius said with a poorly concealed smirk.
Remus huffed as he always did when Sirius teased him about this, and said indignantly, "I have one or two things of sentimental value, and you never shut up about them. Prat. Just because you have no soul."
Sirius laughed, and with great reluctance he rose from the couch and Remus' warm embrace, wrapping his robe back around him. He lifted a large box from next to the hearth. It made a soft clinking sound as he carried it toward Remus.
Remus eyed him suspiciously as he placed it on his lap. "If you think you'll get me to bed early because you've given me a present on Christmas Eve, you've another think coming."
"Open it."
"You haven't given me another new set of tea things," Remus said, narrowing his eyes at Sirius. He grabbed his wand and with a flick, the paper fell away completely unblemished and reusable. "I'm not putting mine in the bin."
"Why don't you tear it open like a normal person?"
Remus rolled his eyes and flipped open the large box. He sat in stunned silence for a moment before he spoke.
"You've given me my own tea set for my Christmas." He said it slowly, as if he were speaking to someone who'd sustained spell damage.
"Stand up, git," Sirius said.
"Oi, hang on," Remus said. "You kidnap my tea things and give them to me in a box, and call me a git?"
"Would you stand up and come here?"
Remus put the box aside and stood, facing Sirius, looking at him as if he expected something to leap at him from within the box.
Sirius stepped closer and embraced him, casually concealing the wand in his hand. He surreptitiously waved it toward the box behind Remus' back.
"What are you…?" Still frowning, Remus twisted to see what Sirius was doing. When he looked down into the box and saw that the pot and cups were gone, he squawked, "What-?"
Sirius quietly said, "Hush," and pressed a small scroll of parchment into Remus' hand. He watched as Remus undid the red and gold tie, a little smile on his face. Remus unrolled it, mouthing the words "Turn around," as he read.
Remus turned, and Sirius slipped his hands around Remus' waist, pulling him close as he rested his chin on his shoulder.
In the little nook where Sirius' book shelf had been-books he would never read again but refused to get rid of-was a small china hutch that had not been there a minute ago. Displayed behind a respectful glass front were Remus’ teapot, milk jug and sugar bowl, and the three remaining cups and saucers.
Sirius watched Remus stare at it until he felt him inhale sharply, a moment of dawning comprehension.
He said quietly, "Please, Remus."
They would have probably set up house together years ago if it hadn't been for Harry. But there had been so much to figure out, so much to get used to; and then time had just flown by, and suddenly Harry was five.
Remus leaned back against him and tilted his head to rub his cheek against Sirius' hair. "Padfoot?"
"Harry and I are both happier when you're here."
He felt the smile as Remus' cheek pressed more firmly against his face. "Where're your books?"
"Took 'em to the White Elephant Sale," Sirius said, wrapping his arms more tightly around Remus.
"Pfft, you did not."
"All right, then. They're in the bedroom, where your bedside table would be, if you must know."
"Maybe we can make room for them out here, add a few shelves to the hutch," Remus said, turning in Sirius' arms and brushing his lips against Sirius' cheek.
"We'll tell Harry in the morning. It'll be a brilliant present for him," Sirius said, smiling. "And I must have been very, very good to get you in my stocking."
Remus chuckled and shook his head. "Daft," he murmured, but he couldn't seem to hold back his grin.
The lights on the tree twinkled, and the fire crackled merrily in the grate, throwing dancing shadows upon the walls. Three stockings, bursting with carefully chosen gifts, hung from the mantelpiece, the biggest one waiting for Harry. Sirius' thoughts wandered to Harry, tucked safely in bed. Then Remus shifted in his arms, still grinning. Looking at him, Sirius was filled with a sense of wonder at this home they'd built together-out of the ruins of the family they had been, they had made something right and whole.
Sirius tightened the embrace, pulled Remus close and kissed him. Things were definitely looking up this year.