Chapter Text
Sirius heard the lad come downstairs before he saw him. "You're supposed to be resting," he remarked, without looking up from the book he was reading.
Harry plopped down on the sofa, tucking his knees up under his chin. "What are you doing?"
"Just a bit of light reading."
Harry looked at the thousand-page hardback in Sirius' hands, then at his godfather, then back at the book. "What language is that anyway?"
"Romanian."
"Do you always read thousand-page Romanian hardcovers for fun?"
"Don't be ridiculous, not always. Sometimes I favour Latin, French and Italian classics, even the rare Russian philosophies every now and then."
"Hermione will probably want to start a fan club."
So the sass was intact.
Sirius rolled his eyes and set the book aside, tugging the boy close into a gentle headlock. "You still haven't answered my question."
"You never asked one," Harry replied, eyes alight with mischief as he made no attempt to escape.
More out of instinct than anything else, Sirius felt Harry's forehead and was pleased to note the lack of fever. He flicked the boy's ear. "Why aren't you resting?"
"I wasn't tired. You said I could have chocolate milkshake after lunch." Harry shot the man his most innocent smile.
Sirius narrowed his eyes at the little rascal. "Unfortunately for you, I remember precisely what I said."
"Milkshake."
"Hot chocolate after you've rested."
Harry pouted, appearing considerably younger than twelve at the moment. "You know, there was a time when there was honour, a time when you believed in the importance of upholding promises."
It was official. Sirius Black had well and truly lost the title of most dramatic resident to have ever resided at Black Manor to none other than his five foot something menace.
Of course, the words didn't have their desired effect considering they were uttered by a red-nosed preteen wearing pajamas and trapped in a headlock.
Sirius tousled the boy's hair for good measure before releasing him. "Brat."
Harry wasn't offended in the slightest. He grabbed one of the cushions and plonked it down on Sirius and rearranged himself such that he was lying down with his head pillowed in Sirius' lap.
It was heartwarming to see the boy so at ease after everything he'd been through at his Aunt's house. Along with a ridiculous number of gifts, Dudley had always been smothered with hugs and kisses from his parents. Harry had been deliberately deprived of all that and more.
It had taken Harry a surprisingly short amount of time to turn into an absolute cuddle monster with Sirius once he discovered that his godfather didn't mind at all and in fact, welcomed it.
Sirius looked down at his godson with an amused grin. "Comfortable?"
"Very. What's the book about?"
"It's called Mystical Legacies. It is a curated anthology of significant milestones in Romanian history, chronicling the political developments from the twelfth to the eighteenth centuries."
"Sounds awfully boring." A beat. "Can you... can you tell me some of it?"
Sirius raised a surprised eyebrow. "You want me to read to you?"
Most kids wanted nothing more than grow up as fast as they could. But then again, Harry hadn't gotten to be a child until very, very recently .
"You don't have to. I'm sorry, it was a stupid idea."
Harry was embarrassed and that clearly wouldn't do. Sirius squeezed his godson's shoulder reassuringly.
"Did you know your favourite story as a baby was The Adventures of Paddington Bear and not Rabbity-Babbity? James declared that I was absolute shit at doing voices but considering it got you and your parents to fall asleep within the first ten minutes, I refused to take his word for it. You ask me, he was jealous of my supreme talent."
"Obviously." Harry drank in every detail, green eyes alight with curiosity.
With a swish of his free hand, he brought the book up and levitated it open to the correct page. "How about I read a bit, and you can serve as a fair and impartial judge?"
Harry blinked fiercely several times before nodding. He scrubbed at his eyes quickly and tucked himself against the man's chest.
"A fost odată, în inima munților Carpați, o fermieră modestă pe nume Silv—"
"In English please. I can't make a decision if I don't understand what you're saying. Not all of us are posh enough to speak half a dozen languages. I'm also a little cold," Harry mumbled, face half buried into Sirius' shirt.
To the rest of the world, Sirius Black, was no longer the laid back, impulsive, careless Gryffindor. He was Lord Black: formidable, unyielding, calculating, his every action deliberate, every decision weighed against the backdrop of a dark and unforgiving past.
But for Harry, he wasn't any of that.
He was godfather, protector, prankster, cuddle-extraordinaire, supreme hot chocolate maker, storyteller and... something else.
And so, when his godson asked, Sirius obliged. He crooked a finger and summoned the thick fluffy throw from the other armchair and draped it over the boy's shoulders, curling his arm protectively around him.
"A long time ago, in the heart of the Carpathian Mountains..."
Remus Lupin was having a rather mundane morning in Diagon Alley. He'd run a couple of errands, picked up supplies for his Wolfsbane potion and was headed back to his little flat.
In fact, most of his days were terribly boring, save for the four days every month which were pure torment.
Not quite in the mood to cook, he decided to stop by at the Leaky Cauldron and grab some lunch. He knew it wasn't a wise decision, and that he should be trying better to conserve what meagre savings he had remaining.
But after the third failed interview that month, he couldn't bring himself to care.
After the war, the Order of the Phoenix had disbanded, and its surviving members had gone back to their regular jobs and lives... except Remus.
It was hard to go back to a job when you never had one in the first place. And it was even harder to find employment when you required five consecutive days off every month without sufficient reason.
Every trip through Diagon Alley reminded him of some of the odd jobs he's tried and failed to hold down over the years: a server at the Three Broomsticks, bookkeeper at Flourish and Blotts, store assistant at the Apothecary (he's really hoped that one would have worked out).
As he'd recently discovered the hard way, he was definitely not suited for the white-collar positions at the Ministry as they would never hire a wizard in his thirties with no concrete work experience, courtesy of his furry little problem.
There was an easy, quick fix to his financial predicament, but he was too ashamed to even consider it.
He was guilty enough as it was. A werewolf weighed down by guilt and regret. A man with almost nothing to his name.
He got to the Leaky Cauldron, ordered himself shepherd's pie and a butterbeer and found an empty booth.
If he was being completely honest, he was here sitting by himself in a pub because the thought of going back to his cottage, to the lonely stillness was almost too much to bear at times.
An idle mind was a lonely, desolate, guilty place.
There was only so much he could blame on his unfavourable circumstances. He glanced sideways, mildly annoyed at a group of friends at another table that were laughing obnoxiously over something.
Rationally, he knew he was only annoyed because he missed when he had been one of those boys, laughing with his friends without a care in the world.
James was gone, Peter was dead to him and Sirius... well. Things between them had been strained for months now.
It certainly didn't help that he had done his utmost to keep his distance from the duo during the summer.
Guilt had gnawed at him the handful of times he had visited Sirius and Harry. Guilt which had only multiplied exponentially after he had discovered what the poor child had endured at the Dursleys' residence.
Although Sirius had said otherwise, Remus knew that the other man hadn't forgiven him, at least not completely.
How could he expect true forgiveness when Remus himself had committed the unforgivable?
Once upon a time, they had been close as brothers. But their friendship, once strong, had frayed under the crushing strain of betrayal and misunderstanding.
They still met once or twice every month, traded the mandatory insults and ribbing that was customary between old friends and Remus even went to occasional dinners at Black Manor with the Weasleys and Tonks.
But it wasn't the same anymore.
It was plain and simple: Remus should have believed that Sirius was innocent. Even if the entire world had been convinced otherwise.
Sirius Orion Black would've died a thousand times over before betraying Lily and James.
With one catastrophic blunder, he had failed Lily, James, Sirius and Harry.
Remus Lupin was many things. But he wasn't a fool.
He knew that he had fucked up.
"I know the shepherd's pie here is below average but there's really no need to look so miserable about it."
He startled out of his pity party and glanced up at the newcomer.
Nymphadora Tonks.
Pink-haired, vibrant, absolutely too young, too bright, too... everything. A disarmingly charming complication he was determined to avoid... for vastly different reasons.
She stood there, vibrant and unbothered by the gloom that clung to him, her ever-changing hair a riot of colour against the dim surroundings. That afternoon, she seemed to have favoured her usual vivid shade of pink that shouldn't have suited anyone—yet somehow, on her, it was perfect. A delicate necklace rested just above her collarbone, catching the light with every small movement, an unintentional contrast to the rebellious energy she exuded. She was energy personified—bright, unpredictable, and entirely too easy to get lost in.
A very dangerous thought.
Don't you bloody go there, Lupin! One, she is twenty-two and two, she is far too good for you.
The young woman grinned at him. "Care to share my sandwich instead?"
He should refuse.
"Hello, Nymphadora. That is very kind, thank you."
He couldn't.
She slid into the other side of the booth. "Normally, I'd give anyone who calls me that utter hell, but I'll let you off. You may have my sandwich, but the chips are off limits."
"Understood."
Tonks took a bite of her sandwich, the faint hum of conversation around them mixing with the clink of mugs and plates. Remus sat across from her, nursing his butterbeer, but his thoughts were miles away—lost in the familiar pull of his own self-recrimination.
"So what's a nice man like you doing in a place like this on a Tuesday afternoon?"
"I was running a few errands. Thought I'd stop for lunch before heading home. What about you?"
"Madam Wolfe was merciful enough to allow us a longer lunch break this afternoon. She's wicked good, but sometimes I think she's just wicked."
Remus hadn't heard much about the trainer who had taken over after Alastor Moody had retired, but from what little he knew, she was truly a force to be reckoned with. "I'm sure you find a way to keep things interesting at the Auror Academy."
She offered him the most innocent of smiles and winked. "Oh I assure you; I know how to keep things interesting... everywhere I go."
Remus sputtered, choking on his butterbeer.
Behave yourself, Lupin!
He coughed, spilling some of the drink down the front of his robes.
Remus Lupin: the embodiment of grace and sophistication.
It was an innocent statement, there was absolutely no reason for his mind to... wander. He dabbed at his shirt with a napkin to get the stain out, conveniently forgetting that he was in fact a fully qualified wizard.
He needed to say something... anything.
"I'm... uh... sure you do. How's um... how are your parents?"
Nymphadora gave him one tiny smirk before answering. "Mum and dad are great. Dad has gone to Chicago to visit my great-aunt and her family. I've got a distant niece who's starting at Ilvermony next year. He'll be back soon.
Mum's a total boss lady, per usual, at work and at home. She's been taking time off work to check on Harry since the last two days. She adores the lad utterly. I mean, he is a total cinnamon roll to be fair."
The mention of Harry's name sliced through Remus like a knife. He winced involuntarily and set his glass down. He had totally forgotten about the flu outbreak at Hogwarts.
But then again, that was only one of the numerous things he was guilty of.
Remus had visited a handful of times since Harry had come to live with Sirius, but the visits were always awkward. Harry had never seemed to warm up to him. There hadn't been any outward displays of animosity as such, but he was convinced that the lad wasn't particularly fond of him.
Throughout all of their brief interactions, Harry had been polite but withdrawn.
Once again, Remus had no one to blame but himself.
He hadn't made enough effort to visit, to check in. He'd told himself it was because he didn't want to intrude on the bond between Sirius and Harry, but the truth was, he felt like Harry didn't want to see him anyway.
"How is Harry?"
"He's a fighter. Flu's pretty much gone now. His throat is better too. Mum says if he's strong enough to sass Sirius, he'll be back on his feet— or broom— in no time."
"That's um... that's good." He paused. "I should've stopped by to visit him."
That's what he'd told himself all these years.
"You still can. I might stop by Black Manor this evening for dinner. You should come too. That is if you aren't doing anything else of course."
Ah yes because Remus Lupin always had a thrilling social calendar.
"I want to. I'm just not sure if I'll be welcome," he admitted, voice drawn tight.
"Are you daft? You're Sirius' best friend, why on earth wouldn't you be welcome?"
He glanced at her, debating whether he should tell her the truth or not. "Things haven't exactly been... fantastic."
"What do you mean?"
Remus hesitated, then found himself blurting out everything. He spoke of his guilt, the not-quite rift with Sirius, and Harry's distant attitude. The words came spilling out, heavy and unfiltered. He talked about how he'd failed his friends, how he'd kept his distance, and how the tension between them all seemed to stretch further with each passing day. He even spoke of the nagging sense of inadequacy.
Tonks listened quietly, her expression soft but firm, taking in every word. When he finished, there was a long pause.
"Remus, can I be brutally honest with you?"
He nodded, more than a little nervous.
Tonks fixed him with a hard, determined look, setting her sandwich down on the table. "You've been wallowing in this for far too long, and it's not doing you any good." She leaned forward, her voice clear and steady. "Remus, you've been through a lot, and yeah, you've made mistakes. We all have. But you don't get to keep punishing yourself forever. You've got to stop acting like this is the end of the world. It's not. You're not a lost cause."
She took a breath, her eyes not leaving his. "You're not a martyr. You're not some tragic figure who has to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders. You're a bloody man who's still here—who still has a chance to fix things. With Sirius, with Harry, with yourself."
Remus opened his mouth to protest, but Tonks raised a hand to silence him. "I get it. You're scared of making things worse. But shutting everyone out isn't going to fix a damn thing. You're letting guilt define you, and that's not fair to you or anyone who cares about you."
She leaned back in the booth, her tone softening slightly. "You want to make things right? Then show up. Stop hiding, stop second-guessing yourself."
Tonks gave him a pointed look, her voice dropping to something closer to a challenge. "But that means you've got to get over yourself first. No more self-pity." She gave him a very deliberate once over. "It's not a very attractive look on you."
Remus stared at Tonks, his mind swirling in a mix of gratitude and guilt. Her words hit him harder than he expected, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he felt a weight lift off his shoulders.
"You're right," he said quietly, rubbing his temples as the tension in his body started to ease. "I've been stuck in this loop of guilt, and it's—" He paused, catching her gaze. "It's not helping anyone."
Tonks softened her expression, a glimmer of sincerity in her eyes. "You've got to stop punishing yourself, Remus."
"I know," he said softly, barely above a whisper. "But I... I turned away when I should've stayed. They've been through so much, and I wasn't there."
Tonks' gaze softened further; the teasing edges of her smile gone. "Okay, well, you can't change the past." Her voice was steady. He appreciated her no-nonsense attitude and her refusal to sugarcoat things. "What you can do is take away its power to control your present and future."
"Thank you," he said quietly, almost overwhelmed by her kindness. "You don't know how much I needed to hear that."
Tonks shrugged, a hint of playfulness creeping back into her expression. "It's just the truth. Someone's got to give you a kick in the arse every now and then." She paused, her eyes gleaming with mischief. "And I'm happy to volunteer."
He couldn't help but smile, the tension in his chest easing a bit more. "Well, you certainly have a knack for it, Nymphadora."
"I think I like my name a little better now," she confessed conspiratorially.
"I'll go to see Sirius and Harry this evening. I won't hide anymore." The words were both an admission and a promise to himself. He wasn't sure he could make everything right, but for the first time in months, he was ready to try.
"Good. I better see you there this evening." Her eyes dropped to his tie. "If I don't, I swear to Merlin I'll drag you there myself."
Remus chuckled, his smile growing, the familiar sense of her energy lifting his spirits. "You'd do that, wouldn't you?"
"Absolutely," she replied with a wink. "I'm very persuasive when I need to be. Violently so."
"You're impossible."
"You have no idea."
The late autumn air was sharp, biting through Remus' threadbare robes as he stood before the looming façade of Black Manor. The sky above was a deep pink, clouds hanging low and heavy, veiling the stars.
The cold settled deep into his bones, but it was nothing compared to the weight in his chest.
He raised a hesitant hand and knocked. A few moments later, the door creaked open, revealing the familiar face of the house-elf Becky.
"Master Black is in the sitting room," the elf intoned, stepping aside. "You is to come in, sir."
Remus stepped into the dimly lit corridor, the warmth of the house pressing against the chill that clung to his skin. The scent of firewood and aged parchment wrapped around him, familiar yet foreign all the same. The elf led him through the halls in silence, the sound of their footsteps muffled against the thick rugs.
When they reached the sitting room, the sight before him made Remus halt in his tracks.
Harry lay curled up on the sofa, his face half-buried in Sirius' robes, his breath slow and even in deep sleep. One of his hands clutched at Sirius' sleeve, his grip loose but firm, as though holding on even in unconsciousness. A thick blanket was draped over his small frame.
Sirius had always been reckless, untamed—a storm in human form. But here, in this quiet moment, there was something else entirely. Not unguarded, never that. He was watchful, protective, a sentinel standing between Harry and the world that had wronged him.
A protector. A guardian.
A father.
The realization struck Remus with an aching certainty. This wasn't just a godfather looking after his charge. This was a boy who had been starved of love, and a man who had endured years of torment with only the thought of this child keeping him tethered to sanity.
Sirius looked up, his silver eyes unreadable in the flickering firelight.
"Long time, Remus. You used the door," Sirius observed, his voice low and measured, careful not to disturb the sleeping boy.
Remus attempted a weak smile. "Seemed... appropriate."
Sirius arched an eyebrow. "Now, that's interesting."
He studied Remus for a moment before gesturing toward the armchair beside the sofa. "Drink?"
"I think I'm going to need one," Remus admitted, sinking into the chair with a sigh. He would certainly need some liquid courage for the conversation that was about to follow.
*****