Chapter 1: The breaking point
Chapter Text
The map of Azkaban lay spread across Remus's kitchen table, its edges curling from the dampness that seemed to seep into everything in his cramped London flat. He'd drawn it himself, piecing together fragments of information gathered over months of careful research—guard rotations whispered by former prisoners, architectural details gleaned from Ministry records he had no business accessing, tidal patterns around the island fortress that he'd cross-referenced with nautical charts stolen from the Restricted Section.
Five years. Five years Sirius had been rotting in that godforsaken place, and Remus had done nothing.
The guilt sat heavy in his chest, a constant ache that had only grown sharper with time. Every night he'd stared at this map, tracing possible routes with his finger until the paths were burned into his memory. Every morning he'd told himself he needed more information, more preparation, more certainty. But the truth was simpler and more shameful—he'd been afraid. Afraid of failing, afraid of making things worse, afraid of admitting that he'd believed, even for a moment, that Sirius could have betrayed James and Lily.
He pressed his palms against the table, forcing himself to focus. Methodical, he reminded himself. Think like a professor, not like a heartbroken fool.
The small glass vial caught the lamplight as he picked it up, the explosive potion inside glowing a sickly green. Severus would have a field day knowing Remus had brewed something so volatile in his kitchen, but Severus wasn't here. None of them were here. It was just Remus and his guilt and this impossible plan.
But it wasn't impossible, was it? That was the thing about being a werewolf that most people never considered—he could carry things internally that would never make it past the prison's detection charms. The wolf's digestive system could carry the explosive internally, hidden from any detection charms the prison might employ. The plan was transform, swallow the potion, swim to Azkaban in wolf form, infiltrate the prison, find Sirius's cell, and regurgitate the explosive at precisely the right moment to blow the lock.
Simple. Completely insane, suicidal, and likely to end with both of them dead or worse than dead, but simple.
Remus traced the path he'd memorized path on the map with one trembling finger, following the route he'd visualized hundreds of times. Guard tower, outer wall, cell block D, level three, cell forty-seven. Sirius would be there. Had to be there. The Ministry's records had been frustratingly vague about prisoner locations, but Remus had cross-referenced guard schedules, meal delivery routes, and even the patterns of Dementor patrols to narrow down the possibilities.
He didn't betray them. The thought burned in his chest like acid, the same realization that had been eating at him for months now. The evidence had never made sense—not really. Sirius, who would have died for James Potter, who had loved him like a brother, who had risked everything to become an illegal Animagus just to keep Remus company during his transformations. That Sirius would never have sold out his friends to Voldemort. But Remus had been so lost in grief, so desperate for someone to blame, that he'd accepted the Ministry's version of events without question.
The night was moonless, which was both blessing and curse. The darkness would hide his approach, but it also meant flying blind across miles of open ocean with only the stars for guidance. He'd practiced this route dozens of times in his mind, memorized every landmark along the Scottish coast, studied weather patterns and current flows until he could recite them in his sleep.
As he mounted his broom—a battered old Cleansweep that had seen better decades but was still reliable enough for long-distance flight—Remus allowed himself one last look at the map that had consumed his life for the past year. The parchment was covered in his careful notations: guard shift changes at 2 AM and 6 AM, Dementor patrol routes that followed a predictable pattern, weak points in the fortress's ancient walls where centuries of North Sea storms had worn the stone thin.
After tonight, there would be no going back. They'd both be fugitives, hunted by the Ministry and probably half the wizarding world.
His fingers found the chain around his neck—a simple silver necklace that had cost him every Galleon he owned, plus the small loan he'd swallowed his pride to ask Dumbledore for. The old man had asked no questions, simply handed over the gold with that knowing look that suggested he understood far more than he was letting on. The portkey would activate on command, taking them both to New York. Far from Britain, far from the Ministry, far from the memories and failures that haunted every street corner of London.
It has to work, he told himself as he kicked off from his tiny balcony, London's lights beginning to fall away beneath him. It has to, because I can't live with myself if it doesn't.
The wind cut through his traveling robes like knives, carrying the scent of rain and the promise of a storm building over the North Sea. Eight hours. Eight hours of fighting headwinds and ocean spray, of cramped muscles and aching joints, of pushing his aging broom to its limits across some of the most dangerous waters in the British Isles. The North Sea stretched endlessly ahead, black and churning with whitecaps that caught the faint starlight.
By the second hour, his hands were already cramping on the broom handle, his knuckles white with the effort of maintaining his grip against the buffeting wind. By the fourth, they were completely numb, and he could only trust that muscle memory would keep him airborne. The portkey's weight was a constant reminder against his chest of everything riding on this mad plan—not just Sirius's freedom, but Remus's own chance at redemption, at finally doing something right after five years of cowardice and inaction. By the sixth hour, he was flying more on determination than skill, his body running on nothing but adrenaline and stubborn Gryffindor refusal to give up. The storm had caught up with him somewhere over the Orkney Islands, lashing him with rain that felt like ice needles against his exposed skin. Lightning illuminated the churning waters below in stark, terrifying detail—waves tall enough to swallow a small ship, foam-capped and violent.
But he pressed on, following the mental map he'd burned into his memory through months of obsessive study, trusting that somewhere in that void of storm and darkness sat Azkaban, and somewhere in Azkaban sat Sirius, probably believing that the world had forgotten him entirely.
When the fortress finally came into view—a jagged silhouette against the storm-dark sky—relief flooded through him despite the exhaustion weighing down his bones. Remus pulled the invisibility potion from his robes with trembling fingers. The liquid burned going down, tasting of bitter herbs and desperation. His body shimmered and vanished.
He angled his broom downward, diving toward the churning waters below. The cold hit him like a physical blow as he plunged beneath the surface, his lungs burning as he fought against the current. A year of training in the Thames had prepared him for this—stroke by stroke, he cut through the icy water toward the prison's foundation.
The rocky shore scraped his palms as he hauled himself from the waves, shivering and invisible. Quickly, he found shelter behind a cluster of barnacle-crusted stones and began to transform. Bones shifted, muscles stretched, and within moments a lean wolf stood where Remus had been.
The explosive vial felt foreign in his wolf's mouth, but he forced it down, trusting his altered digestive system to keep it safe. Then he began to move.
The fortress loomed above him, all black stone and iron bars. Dementors glided between the towers like living shadows, but they were fewer than he'd expected. The human guards looked half-asleep at their posts—clearly, they'd grown complacent with their spectral wardens doing most of the work.
Remus kept to the shadows, his wolf form allowing him to slip between patrols unnoticed. His enhanced senses guided him through the maze of corridors, past cells filled with broken prisoners who barely stirred at his passage. His thin frame made it easy to squeeze between bars that would have stopped a larger animal.
Cell block D, level three. The numbers matched his map.
And there, behind bars green with age and moisture, sat a figure that made Remus's heart clench.
Sirius looked up as the wolf approached, his gray eyes dull but still unmistakably alive. He was thinner than Remus remembered—painfully thin, his black hair hanging lank around a face that had aged decades in five years. But when those eyes focused on the wolf slipping between the bars, something flickered there—confusion, then disbelief.
"Bloody hell," Sirius whispered, his voice hoarse from disuse. "Either I've finally snapped, or..."
Remus began to retch, his wolf form expelling the carefully swallowed vial. It clinked against the stone floor, glowing faintly green in the darkness. Then, with a painful shifting of bones and muscle, he transformed back into his human form.
Sirius stared at him for a long moment, then let out a laugh—broken, but genuinely amused.
"Oh, I'm definitely hallucinating now," he said, shaking his head. "Moony breaking into Azkaban? My mind's finally gone and made up something properly mad."
Remus didn't have time for Sirius's disbelief. He snatched up the vial, his hands shaking as he positioned it against the cell door's ancient lock. "This is going to be loud," he whispered urgently. "The moment it goes off, you transform and we run. Do you understand me?"
Sirius was still staring at him with that hollow, confused expression. "Moony, you can't be—"
The explosion cut him off. The vial erupted in a burst of sickly green light, the ancient metal shrieking as it bent and twisted. The cell door hung at a grotesque angle, smoke curling from the destroyed lock.
In that moment, watching the impossible become real, something shifted in Sirius's eyes. The dullness cracked, just slightly.
"Bloody fucking hell," he breathed, scrambling to his feet on unsteady legs. "You actually—Remus, you mad bastard, you actually—"
"Transform. Now." Remus was already shifting, bones cracking and reforming. Through the wolf's enhanced hearing, he could hear shouts echoing from deeper in the prison, heavy boots pounding against stone.
A moment later, a large black dog stood beside him—thinner than Remus remembered, ribs visible beneath matted fur, but unmistakably Padfoot. The dog's movements were stiff, uncertain, five years of confinement having stolen the fluid grace Remus once knew.
They ran.
Padfoot was slower than Remus needed him to be, stumbling over paws that seemed too big after so long in human form. Remus circled back, nudging against Sirius's shoulder, trying to urge more speed without being too rough. The sounds of pursuit were growing louder behind them—guards shouting, spells crackling through the air.
Then the temperature dropped.
The familiar chill of dread crept along Remus's spine as a Dementor glided around the corner ahead of them, its hooded form blocking their path. Padfoot froze, a whimper escaping his throat—the sound of pure terror.
Remus didn't think. He lunged forward and nipped sharply at Sirius's hind legs, the bite hard enough to jolt him from his paralysis. Padfoot yelped and bolted forward, adrenaline finally overriding five years of conditioned fear.
They scrambled along the rocky shore, the Dementor's presence growing stronger behind them. Just when Remus thought they'd be caught, he spotted it—a narrow crack in the cliff face, barely wide enough for their animal forms. He shoved Padfoot toward it, both of them squeezing into the cramped space just as the Dementor swept past, its searching presence sliding over their hiding spot without finding them.
In the darkness of the tiny cave, two wolves pressed against each other, hearts hammering.In the cramped darkness of the cave, pressed against cold stone and each other, they finally dared to transform back. The shift left them both naked and shivering, their bodies a tangle of limbs in the narrow space.
Sirius let out a breathless laugh, his voice still hoarse from years of disuse and the bitter cold that had seeped into his bones. "Well, Moony," he whispered, his breath warm against Remus's ear, sending an involuntary shiver down the werewolf's spine, "I have to say, this isn't how I imagined our reunion going. Though I can't complain about the view." His grey eyes sparkled with that familiar mischievous glint that had gotten them both into trouble countless times during their Hogwarts days.
Heat flooded Remus's cheeks despite the biting Scottish cold that had turned their skin pale and goose-bumped. "Sirius," he hissed, mortified by his friend's complete lack of propriety even in their current predicament. "This is hardly the time—"
"When is it ever the time with you?" Sirius's grin was weak but unmistakably fond, the same expression he'd worn when teasing Remus about his careful, methodical nature back when they were teenagers. "Five years in that godforsaken place, and you're still the same prudish—"
A distant shout echoed from outside their cramped hiding spot, followed by the sound of heavy boots on stone and the sharp bark of orders being given. Dementors were closing in. Remus's hand flew to the portkey around his neck, his fingers finding the simple silver chain that had taken him months to acquire and enchant properly. This was it—no going back now. No second chances if this didn't work.
"Hold onto me," he whispered urgently, his heart hammering against his ribs as the voices grew closer. "Whatever happens next, don't let go. The coordinates might be off, and if we get separated—"
Sirius's arm wrapped around him with surprising strength despite his emaciated state, pulling their bodies flush together. "Ready when you are, Moony. Just like old times."
Remus activated the portkey with a whispered incantation.
The world spun away in a nauseating blur of color and sensation, the damp cave and the towering prison walls and the cold Scottish shore disappearing entirely as they were pulled through space and time. The familiar hook-behind-the-navel sensation of portkey travel seemed to last forever, their naked bodies pressed together as they tumbled through the magical transportation.
When they finally materialized again, stumbling and gasping for breath, they found themselves surrounded by the towering glass and steel buildings and blazing neon lights of New York City. Car horns blared, people shouted, and the overwhelming sensory assault of the Muggle metropolis hit them like a physical blow.
And they were still completely naked.
And completely wandless.
And standing in the middle of what appeared to be Times Square during rush hour.
"Fuck," Sirius breathed, looking around at the bustling street with wide, incredulous eyes as pedestrians began to point and stare. "Moony, please tell me you have a plan for this part too."
Chapter Text
"Stay here," Remus whispered, pressing himself against the cold brick wall of an alley between two towering buildings. The sounds of New York City—car horns, shouting, the constant hum of traffic—felt overwhelming after the eerie silence of Azkaban. "I'll find us something to wear."
Sirius nodded, his arms wrapped around himself as he shivered in the October air. Even thin as he was, he still cut an impressive figure, but Remus could see the way his hands shook from more than just cold.
Transforming back into his wolf form, Remus padded through the maze of streets until he found a small park. His enhanced senses led him to a cluster of benches where someone had left behind a pile of clothing—two thick winter jackets that smelled of cigarettes and coffee, a pair of jeans with holes in the knees, and gray sweatpants that had seen better days. Not ideal, but they couldn't afford to be picky.
When he returned to the alley, human again and carrying their makeshift wardrobe, Sirius raised an eyebrow. "Resourceful as always, Moony."
Remus cast a quick cleaning spell over the clothes, removing the worst of the grime and smell.
They dressed quickly, the clothes hanging loose on both their frames. Sirius had to roll up the sleeves of his jacket, and the jeans were too long, but it was better than naked.
"My wand," Remus said, checking the address he'd memorized. "I shipped it to a PO box before I left. It should be waiting for us."
The post office was a few blocks away, and Remus left Sirius lingering near a hot dog cart while he went inside. The clerk barely looked up as Remus provided the fake ID he'd created months ago, handing over a small package with practiced indifference.
When he emerged, wand safely tucked into his jacket pocket, Sirius was holding a crumpled handful of bills.
"Forty-five dollars," Sirius said with a wry smile. "Apparently I look homeless enough that New Yorkers took pity on me. Wasn't going to turn down cash when we need it."
Remus stared at him. "You were panhandling?"
"I was sitting there looking pathetic. People started throwing money at me. I adapted." Sirius shrugged, but there was something brittle in his expression. "Beggars can't be choosers, right?"
The hotel Remus found was cheap and didn't ask too many questions when he used a subtle Confundus Charm to convince the desk clerk they'd already paid. The room was small, dingy, and contained exactly one bed.
"Good thing I've lost about forty pounds," Sirius said, eyeing the narrow mattress. "We might actually both fit."
Remus rolled his eyes, but his chest tightened at how casually Sirius mentioned his weight loss. "Take a shower," he said instead. "A long one. You need it."
Sirius's face fell slightly. "Right." He ran a hand through his matted hair, wincing when his fingers caught in the tangles. "I don't think there's any saving this mess. Might as well just shave it all off."
"Don't." The word came out sharper than Remus intended. He cleared his throat, softening his tone. "Just... wash your body first. Get dressed. Then come sit in front of me and I'll work on your hair."
While the shower ran, Remus pointed his wand at the tiny bottles of hotel shampoo and conditioner, tripling their contents with a flick of his wrist. Then he Accio'd a wide-toothed comb from a nearby drugstore, leaving exact change on the counter with another subtle charm to avoid any awkward questions about the floating money.
When Sirius emerged from the bathroom twenty minutes later, wearing the too-large sweatpants and nothing else, steam still clinging to his skin, he looked more like himself than he had in years. Still too thin, still marked by the hollow look of someone who'd endured unspeakable things, but clean. Human.
"Sit," Remus said gently, patting the space between his legs on the bed.
Sirius hesitated for just a moment before settling cross-legged on the floor, his back to Remus. "This is going to hurt, isn't it?"
"Probably." Remus's fingers found the first tangle, working it gently with the comb. When Sirius emerged from the bathroom twenty minutes later, steam billowing behind him, he looked marginally more human. The borrowed sweatpants hung loose on his frame, and the oversized jacket made him look even smaller than he was. His hair was still a disaster—dark, wet tangles that reached past his shoulders—but at least it was clean.
"Christ," he muttered, catching sight of himself in the mirror above the dresser. "I look like a drowned rat."
"Sit." Remus patted the space on the floor between his legs where he'd positioned himself on the edge of the bed. The enhanced conditioner he'd summoned sat on the nightstand beside an array of combs and brushes he'd conjured.
Sirius hesitated. "Moony, it's hopeless. I've been thinking I should just—"
"Sit down, Sirius." There was something gentle but firm in Remus's voice that made Sirius comply without further argument.
The first touch of Remus's fingers in his hair made Sirius tense, a sharp intake of breath that he tried to muffle. Five years of guards yanking his head back, of rough hands and casual violence—gentle touch felt foreign, almost painful in its unfamiliarity.
"Easy," Remus murmured, his voice soft as his fingers stilled. "I'm not going to hurt you."
"I know," Sirius said quickly, but his shoulders remained rigid. "It's just... been a while since anyone touched me who didn't want to cause pain."
Remus's hands trembled slightly as he worked a generous amount of conditioner through a small section near Sirius's ear, starting with the very ends of the tangled mass. Each knot required patience—a gentle working back and forth, never pulling, never forcing.
"Why?" Sirius asked after several minutes of comfortable silence, his voice barely above a whisper. "Why did you come for me?"
Remus's fingers paused in their careful work. "Because I know you didn't do it."
"The Ministry seemed pretty convinced—"
"The Ministry is full of idiots." The vehemence in Remus's voice surprised them both. "You loved James like a brother. You would have died for him, for Lily, for Harry. The idea that you would betray them..." He shook his head, working through another stubborn tangle. "I should have known better. Should have questioned it from the beginning."
"You were grieving," Sirius said quietly. "We all were. It was easier to have someone to blame."
"That's no excuse." Remus's voice was tight with self-loathing. "I abandoned you. For five years, I left you in that place while I... while I wallowed in my guilt and did nothing useful with my life." His hands stilled completely. "I should have done this years ago. Should have fought for you, should have demanded a trial—"
"Remus." Sirius twisted slightly to look back at him, and Remus could see tears gathering in those grey eyes that had lost so much of their spark. "You came for me. That's what matters. You risked everything—your life, your freedom—to get me out of there." His voice cracked slightly. "No one else did. No one else even tried."
Remus resumed his careful detangling, blinking back his own tears. "I couldn't stand another year passing. Couldn't look at myself in the mirror knowing you were suffering while I did nothing."
"Well," Sirius said with a watery attempt at his old humor, "your timing could have been better. Another few months and there wouldn't have been enough of my sanity left to save."
The casual way he said it—like commenting on the weather—made Remus's chest tighten painfully. "Don't," he whispered. "Don't joke about that."
"Sorry." Sirius leaned back slightly, letting more of his weight rest against Remus's legs. "Old habit. Joke or go mad, you know?"
They fell back into silence, broken only by the distant sounds of the city through their thin hotel room walls. Remus worked methodically, section by section, until nearly an two hours later he was running the comb smoothly through Sirius's now-detangled hair.
"There," he said softly, his fingers combing through the dark strands one final time. "Good as new."
Sirius reached up to touch his hair, wonder in his expression. "I can't believe you saved it."
"I couldn't let you lose another piece of yourself," Remus said simply. "You've lost enough."
"I'll be back," Remus said quietly, slipping his wand into his jacket pocket. "Give your hair a good wash to get the conditioner out and get some rest. I'm going to find us some clothing." Remus slipped out of the room careful to take the key to return.
The hotel lobby was dimly lit, the night desk clerk looking half-asleep behind her computer. Remus wandered the halls until he found what he was looking for—someone had left a suitcase by the lost and found, looking forgotten and dusty. A quick Accio brought it to him, and when he approached the front desk, the woman barely glanced up.
"Found this in the hallway," he said casually. "Should I turn it in?"
She shrugged without looking away from her screen. "If it's been there more than a week, it's probably abandoned. You can take it if you want."
Back in their room, Remus set the suitcase on the small table and opened it just as the bathroom door creaked open. Steam poured out, and Sirius emerged looking infinitely better—clean, his hair falling in damp waves around his shoulders, the borrowed hotel towel wrapped around his waist.
"Perfect timing," Remus said, rifling through the contents. He pulled out a bright red shirt with "I ♥ NEW YORK" emblazoned across the front in white letters and tossed it to Sirius, followed by a pair of gray sweatpants that would definitely be too big. "Not exactly haute couture, but it'll do."
Sirius held up the shirt, a genuine smile tugging at his lips for the first time since the cave. "Subtle. I love it." He pulled it on, the fabric hanging loose on his diminished frame. "Very incognito."
Remus grabbed an AC/DC shirt and a pair of black sweats that looked like they might actually fit him. "My turn," he said, heading for the still-steamy bathroom. "Try to get some sleep."
When he emerged twenty minutes later, clean and dressed in clothes that didn't smell like ocean and desperation, he found Sirius curled on his side on top of the covers, fast asleep. His breathing was deep and even, one hand tucked under his cheek like a child. The harsh lines of exhaustion and trauma were still etched in his face, but sleep had softened them slightly.
Remus stood there for a moment, just watching. Five years. Five years of wondering if he'd ever see this again—Sirius at peace, safe, breathing freely.
He found a spare blanket in the closet and draped it carefully over Sirius's sleeping form, tucking it gently around his shoulders. Then he settled into the uncomfortable chair by the window, pulling his knees up and wrapping his arms around them.
Outside, New York hummed with life even at this late hour. Inside their tiny refuge, for the first time in five years, they were both free.
Remus closed his eyes and let exhaustion finally claim him.
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Remus woke before dawn, his internal clock still attuned to years of careful routine. The chair had left a crick in his neck, but seeing Sirius still curled under the blanket, looking more peaceful than he had any right to after five years in hell, made the discomfort worth it.
Moving quietly, he slipped out of the room and made his way to the hotel's complimentary breakfast area. It was early enough that only a few business travelers were grabbing coffee and pastries before rushing off to meetings. The spread was modest but sufficient—bagels, fruit, cereal, those little containers of yogurt.
Remus filled two paper plates, then thought better of it and grabbed a third. He wrapped bagels in napkins, stuffed fruit into his pockets, and carefully balanced yogurt cups in his palms. The desk clerk barely glanced up from her magazine as he made multiple trips, clearly used to guests taking advantage of the free offerings.
By the time he returned to their room, arms laden with enough food for both breakfast and lunch, Sirius was stirring. His clean hair caught the morning light streaming through the thin curtains, and for a moment Remus could almost pretend they were just on holiday somewhere, that the last five years had been a nightmare they'd both woken up from.
"Breakfast in bed?" Sirius murmured, voice still rough with sleep but carrying a hint of his old humor. "Moony, you spoil me."
Remus felt heat flood his cheeks, but he set the makeshift breakfast spread on the small table by the window. "Just eat," he said, trying to sound stern but failing to hide his fondness. "We might be able to stay here one more night, but after that we need to keep moving."
Sirius's expression grew more serious as he picked at a muffin, his movements still careful and deliberate. "Where exactly are we going, Moony? I mean, I'm grateful—more than grateful—but we can't run forever."
"We don't have to run forever," Remus said quietly, settling into the chair across from him. "Just long enough for things to die down. Maybe find somewhere we can lay low, figure out our next move."
"Our next move," Sirius repeated softly, like he was testing the words. "I keep expecting to wake up back in that cell."
Remus reached across the small table, covering Sirius's hand with his own. "You're not going back there. Ever. I promise you that."
For a moment, neither of them spoke, the weight of their situation settling around them like morning fog. Then Sirius managed a weak smile.
"Well then," he said, tearing off another piece of muffin, "I suppose we'd better make the most of room service while we have it."
Remus watched Sirius carefully, noting how he still ate in small, controlled bites—a habit learned from years of scarce and unpredictable meals.
Remus reached for the television remote, clicking it on to fill the silence. The screen flickered to life with a morning news program, the anchors discussing something about the Challenger disaster from earlier that year.
Sirius nearly choked on his coffee, staring at the moving pictures with wide eyes. "Bloody hell," he whispered, setting down his cup with shaking hands. "Is that—are those people actually in there?"
"It's television," Remus explained gently, remembering that Sirius had been locked away since 1981, before Muggle technology had become quite so prevalent. "Like moving photographs, but they broadcast from far away. Those people are in a studio somewhere else in the city."
"Incredible," Sirius breathed, leaning forward with genuine fascination. Despite everything—the trauma, the exhaustion, their desperate situation—there was still that spark of curiosity that had always made Sirius who he was. "And Muggles just... have these in their homes?"
"Most of them, yes." Remus felt a small smile tug at his lips. Even after five years in hell, Sirius was still the same person who'd been endlessly fascinated by how Muggle devices worked, who'd spent hours trying to figure out how to make his motorbike fly.
The news anchor was discussing President Reagan now, and Sirius's expression grew more serious. "1986," he murmured, as if the date was finally sinking in. Sirius stared at the television screen with the wide-eyed fascination of a child seeing magic for the first time.
"This is—Remus, there are so many channels," he breathed, watching as Remus clicked through station after station with the remote control. "And the colors are so vivid."
"Television's improved a lot since you've been away," Remus said quietly, settling back against the headboard. He'd positioned himself carefully on the far side of the bed, maintaining distance even as Sirius unconsciously leaned closer to get a better view.
They landed on MTV, and Sirius nearly fell off the bed when a music video started playing. "What in Merlin's name—they're putting music to moving pictures now? And that hair!" He pointed at the screen where a band with impossibly teased hair was performing. "Is that... is that normal now?"
Remus couldn't help but smile. "It's called a music video. They play them on this channel constantly. And yes, unfortunately, that hair is very normal right now."
"The eighties have been... interesting," Remus said diplomatically, watching Sirius take in everything from the fashion to the technology with an expression of pure wonder mixed with bewilderment.
A commercial came on for a new car, and Sirius shook his head in amazement. "Even the advertisements are like tiny films. Bloody hell, Moony, what else have I missed?"
Remus laughed, gesturing at the screen. "You haven't missed too much."
But Sirius's expression grew serious, his grey eyes studying Remus's face with an intensity that made him want to look away. "What has Remus been doing for five years?" he asked quietly. "Surely I've missed some important moments in my friend's life."
Remus gave him a self-deprecating smile, the kind that didn't quite reach his eyes. "You've missed nothing. I've done nothing. Can't really do much as a werewolf."
The words hung in the air between them, heavy with years of isolation and rejection. Sirius's jaw tightened, something fierce flashing across his features.
The smile faded completely from Sirius's face, his grey eyes darkening with something that looked dangerously close to guilt. "Remus..." he started, then stopped, seeming to struggle with the words. "You mean you've been alone all this time? No job, no—"
"Who's going to hire a werewolf?" Remus cut him off with a bitter laugh, but there was no real humor in it. "The Ministry made sure everyone knew what I was after... after everything fell apart. I've been getting by on odd jobs, cash work when I can find it. Nothing permanent."
Sirius leaned forward on the bed, his hands clenching in the oversized sweatpants. "But surely someone—Dumbledore, McGonagall—"
"They tried," Remus said quietly, staring at the TV screen without really seeing it. "But there's only so much they can do when half the wizarding world thinks I'm a monster. And after what happened... after I thought you'd..." He trailed off, shaking his head. "I wasn't exactly fit company for anyone."
The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken regret and five years of accumulated pain.
"Christ, Moony," Sirius whispered finally, his voice rough. "We've both been rotting away, haven't we?"
Remus's voice softened, some of the self-deprecation fading as he looked at Sirius. "Well, at least we're together now."
Something shifted in Sirius's expression—surprise, maybe, or hope he was afraid to acknowledge. His grey eyes searched Remus's face as if looking for confirmation that this was real, that after five years of hell, he wasn't alone anymore.
"Yeah," Sirius said quietly, his voice rough with emotion he was trying to hide. "Together." He cleared his throat and gestured at the television with forced lightness. "Though I have to say, if I'd known freedom involved watching grown men throw a ball around while wearing tight pants, I might have stayed in Azkaban."
Remus snorted, grateful for the deflection even as he recognized it for what it was—Sirius's way of stepping back from vulnerability when it became too much. "Wait until you see what they call 'music' these days. You'll be begging to go back."
Chapter Text
The morning sun streamed through the thin hotel curtains, casting harsh light across their small room. Remus had been watching Sirius pick at his breakfast for the past hour, noting the way his friend's hands still trembled slightly when he lifted his coffee cup, the way he seemed to favor his left side when he moved.
"Right," Remus said suddenly, standing up and brushing crumbs from his borrowed AC/DC shirt. "We need to get you moving."
Sirius looked up from where he'd been absently stirring his yogurt. "Moving?"
"Your muscles, Sirius. Five years of... of sitting in a cell." Remus's voice caught slightly on the words, but he pressed on. "We need to see what kind of shape you're actually in. If we're going to keep running, I need to know what you're capable of."
A shadow passed over Sirius's face—something that might have been shame or fear. "I'm fine, Moony. I got us to that cave, didn't I?"
"On pure adrenaline," Remus said gently. "That's different. Come on, just... walk around the room with me. We'll take it slow."
Sirius set down his spoon with deliberate care, the same controlled movements Remus had noticed since he'd found him in that cell. Everything Sirius did seemed measured now, as if he was conserving energy for some unknown emergency.
"Alright," Sirius said, pushing himself up from the bed. The movement wasn't smooth—there was a slight wince, a moment where he had to catch himself against the nightstand. "But if I collapse dramatically, promise you won't carry me to St. Mungo's."
"We're avoiding St. Mungo's for the foreseeable future," Remus reminded him with a weak smile. "Ministry connections and all that."
They started with a simple circuit around the small room. Bed to window, window to bathroom door, bathroom door to the small table, table back to the bed. It should have been easy—the room was tiny, maybe fifteen feet square.
Sirius managed the first lap without issue, his movements careful but steady. The second lap, Remus noticed him breathing slightly harder. By the third, there was a light sheen of sweat on his forehead despite the cool morning air.
"Doing alright?" Remus asked, trying to keep his voice casual even as concern twisted in his chest.
"'Course," Sirius replied, but his voice was already slightly breathless. "Just getting warmed up."
The fourth lap, Sirius's steps began to falter. His breathing was more labored now, and Remus could see the effort it was taking just to maintain their slow pace. When they reached the window, Sirius paused, one hand pressed against the glass for support.
"Just need a second," he muttered, his face flushed and damp with perspiration.
Remus felt his heart sink. They were barely walking—slower than an elderly person might stroll through a park—and Sirius was already struggling. Five laps around a hotel room shouldn't have been challenging for someone who'd once been able to sprint across the Hogwarts grounds in his Animagus form, who'd had the stamina to spend entire nights running through the Forbidden Forest.
"Maybe we should—" Remus began.
"No." Sirius straightened up, determination flashing in his grey eyes. "One more. I can do one more."
But halfway through the fifth lap, between the bathroom door and the small table, Sirius stopped entirely. His breathing was harsh and ragged, sweat beading on his forehead and upper lip. His hands shook as he reached out to steady himself against the wall.
"Fuck," he breathed, the word barely audible. "Fuck, I'm pathetic."
"You're not pathetic," Remus said firmly, moving to Sirius's side but not quite touching him. "You're recovering. There's a difference."
"Five laps, Moony." Sirius's voice cracked with frustration and something deeper—shame, maybe, or fear of his own limitations. "Five bloody laps around a room the size of a broom closet, and I'm ready to collapse. How are we supposed to run from Aurors like this? How am I supposed to protect myself, let alone be any help to you?"
"We'll work on it," Remus said quietly, watching as Sirius slumped against the wall, his chest still rising and falling rapidly. "A little at a time. Your body's been through hell—it's going to take time to rebuild your strength."
Sirius let out a bitter laugh, sliding down the wall until he was sitting on the worn carpet. "Time. Right. Because we have so much of that, with half the Ministry probably looking for us by now."
Remus crouched down beside him, finally allowing himself to rest a hand on Sirius's shoulder. The bones felt sharp under the thin fabric of the borrowed shirt, another reminder of how much his friend had lost—not just weight, but the easy strength that had once made him seem invincible.
"We have enough time," Remus said firmly. "We'll make sure of it."
For a moment, they sat there in silence, the reality of their situation settling around them like dust. The television continued its cheerful chatter in the background, a commercial promising that life could be better with the right breakfast cereal, that happiness was just a purchase away.
"I used to be strong," Sirius said suddenly, his voice small and lost in a way that made Remus's chest ache. "Remember? I could keep up with James during Quidditch practice, could carry both of you when you'd had too much to drink after our N.E.W.T.s..."
"You'll be strong again," Remus promised, meaning every word. "But right now, you're alive. You're free. That's what matters."
Sirius looked up at him then, something vulnerable and grateful flickering across his gaunt features. "When did you become the optimistic one?"
"Someone has to be," Remus replied with a small smile. "And you're too busy wallowing to do it properly."--
That earned him a weak but genuine laugh from Sirius, the first real sign of his old humor since they'd escaped. It wasn't much, but it was something.
Sirius took a moment to rest before slowly starting again. His feet shuffled against the carpet, each movement deliberate and measured. Remus watched, ready to catch him if needed, but knowing Sirius would hate any hint of pity. This was about rebuilding—not just physical strength, but dignity. Each shuffling step was a small rebellion against five years of imprisonment, a quiet declaration that Sirius Black was not broken, merely bent.
When Sirius was panting and leaning against Remus, his breath ragged and uneven, Remus wordlessly handed him a water bottle. Sirius took it with trembling fingers, grateful for the small kindness. He sipped the water before handing it back and resuming his slow circuit around the room.
"Enough," Remus said gently as Sirius bent over, hands braced on his knees, breathing hard after barely completing another lap around their tiny hotel room. "Rest now. Pushing yourself too hard will just be counterproductive."
Sirius straightened slowly, frustration etched across his pale features. "I used to be able to run for miles," he muttered, collapsing back onto the bed with less grace than he clearly intended. "Now I can barely make it around a bloody hotel room."
"It'll come back," Remus assured him, though privately he was more shaken than he wanted to admit by just how weak Sirius had become. Five years of minimal movement, of prison rations that were barely enough to keep a person alive, had taken their toll. "Your body just needs time to remember."
Sirius closed his eyes, his chest still rising and falling rapidly. "Time we might not have."
"Which is why I'm going to find us some income," Remus said, pulling on his jacket. "Stay here, rest, and don't answer the door for anyone."
"Where are you going?"
"To see what kind of work I can find." Remus paused at the door, taking in the sight of Sirius sprawled on the bed in his oversized "I ♥ NY" shirt, hair spread across the pillow like dark silk. Even weakened, even marked by trauma, he was still the most beautiful thing Remus had ever seen. "I'll be back before evening. Watch some T.V. and relax a little."
The streets of New York were overwhelming in daylight—a cacophony of car horns, construction noise, and a thousand different conversations in languages Remus didn't recognize. He walked for hours, following his nose and his instincts, looking for anything that might hint at magical presence.
He found it in a narrow shop squeezed between a pizza place and a laundromat, its windows filled with an eclectic mix of crystals, dreamcatchers, and handmade jewelry. To most people, it would look like any other New Age store catering to hippies and spiritual seekers. But Remus could smell the magic underneath the patchouli and sage—real magic, not just wishful thinking.
A bell chimed as he pushed open the door, and a heavily pregnant woman looked up from behind the counter with relief so profound it was almost palpable.
"Oh, thank God," she breathed, one hand pressed to her enormous belly. She was young, maybe mid-twenties, with wild curly hair and paint-stained fingers. "Are you here about the help wanted sign?"
Remus glanced around, noting the cluttered shelves, the general air of organized chaos, and the distinct scent of actual potions coming from somewhere in the back. "I didn't see a sign, but I am looking for work."
"Perfect timing then, because I think my water just—" She gasped, doubling over as a contraction hit. "Oh, shit. This is happening now."
"Are you—do you need me to call someone?" Remus asked, rushing around the counter to steady her.
"My husband," she panted, fumbling for a piece of paper with shaking hands. "Mark. His number's right there. But listen, I can't leave the store unattended, and the birth coach said first babies take forever, so..." She gripped his arm with surprising strength. "Please tell me you know something about retail?"
"I'm a fast learner," Remus said, already reaching for the phone.
The next six hours were a blur of controlled chaos. Mark, the husband, was stuck in traffic somewhere in Brooklyn and couldn't get there for hours. The woman—Sarah—labored in the small apartment above the shop while Remus found himself manning a business he was only beginning to understand.
The front of the store was exactly what it appeared to be: crystals, incense, tarot cards, and various New Age paraphernalia sold to customers who ranged from earnest spiritual seekers to tourists looking for novelty gifts. But twice, people came in asking for items "from the back," speaking in the kind of careful code that Remus recognized.
The first time, he nearly panicked. But when the customer—a tired-looking woman with calloused hands—asked for "something for exhaustion that won't show up in blood tests," Remus understood. He slipped into the back room and found exactly what he expected: a small but well-stocked potions laboratory, bottles lined up with careful precision.
He found a mild energy draught, one that would help with fatigue without any of the side effects of stimulant potions that might be detected by Muggle medical tests. The woman paid in cash and left without questions.
Between customers, Remus organized. He swept the floors, reorganized the crystals by type and color, restocked the incense display, and tried very hard not to think about the healing potions he could see on the back room shelves. Sirius needed them desperately, but Remus couldn't bring himself to steal from people who were clearly struggling financially and had just trusted him with their livelihood.
When Mark finally burst through the door hours later, wild-haired and frantic, he stopped short at the sight of his transformed shop.
"Holy shit," he breathed, taking in the organized displays, the swept floors, the carefully arranged inventory. "You did all this?"
"Your wife was having a baby," Remus said simply. "I couldn't exactly leave."
"Is she—"
"Upstairs. Everything went fine. You have a daughter."
Mark's face crumpled with relief and joy, but he paused before rushing upstairs. "I don't even know your name."
"Remus."
"Mark." He gestured around the shop. "This is—you've done more in one day than I usually manage in a week. The job is yours if you want it. I can pay fifteen an hour, cash."
Remus hesitated. "Actually, could I take payment in trade today? There are some things I need more than money."
Mark followed his gaze toward the back room and nodded slowly. "The healing potions? For yourself?"
"For a friend. He's been... unwell."
Something in Remus's tone must have conveyed the seriousness of the situation, because Mark disappeared into the back room and returned with a small bag. "Healing draught, two nutrition potions, and something for pain. Consider it payment for today, and a signing bonus if you come back tomorrow."
Remus clutched the bag like a lifeline. "Thank you."
"Thank you," Mark said firmly. "Sarah's been trying to manage this place alone for months, and the pregnancy... we needed help more than you know."
As Remus walked back toward the hotel, the precious potions secure in his jacket pocket, he allowed himself a moment of cautious optimism. A job that paid in cash and potions, employers who understood discretion, and for the first time in years, the feeling that he might actually be useful to someone.
Maybe, just maybe, they could make this work.
When Remus slipped the key into their hotel room door, he barely had time to step inside before arms wrapped around him with desperate strength. Sirius pulled him into a fierce hug, his whole body trembling against Remus's chest.
"Where were you?" Sirius's voice was muffled against his shoulder, tight with barely controlled panic. "You were gone for hours—I thought the Aurors had found you, I thought they'd taken you back and left me here alone—"
"Hey, breathe," Remus said softly, not pulling away even though the embrace was tight enough to make his ribs ache. After five years of isolation, Sirius clearly needed the contact, and honestly, so did he. "I'm fine. I'm here."
Sirius's grip loosened slightly, but he didn't let go. "You can't just disappear that long, I thought you'd be only gone for an hour. I've spent five years not knowing if the people I care about are alive or dead. I can't—I won't do that again."
"You're right," Remus said, one hand coming up to rest gently on Sirius's back. "I didn't mean to be that long. I went looking for work, and something... came up."
They stood like that for several moments, just holding each other in the dim light of their small room. Finally, Sirius pulled back enough to look at him, grey eyes still wide with residual fear.
"Where were you?"
"I got a job," Remus said, unable to keep the slight pride from his voice. "Sort of. There's a shop a few blocks from here—part crystal store, part apothecary. The owner went into labor right as I walked in, and I ended up running the place all day until her husband could get there."
Sirius blinked. "She went into labor and left you in charge of her shop?"
"Desperate times." Remus shrugged, then reached into his jacket pocket. "But it worked out for us." He pulled out the small collection of potion bottles, setting them carefully on the table. "Payment for services rendered."
Sirius stared at the bottles like they might be mirages. "Are those...?"
"Healing draughts and a nutrition potion," Remus confirmed. "Mark—that's the husband—was so grateful he practically threw them at me." He picked up the nutrition potion, its golden contents swirling gently. "This one first. It should help with the muscle deterioration and general weakness."
Sirius took the bottle with hands that shook slightly. "Remus, these must be worth—"
"They're worth keeping you alive and helping you get stronger," Remus said firmly. "Drink it."
The potion went down easily, and within moments some color returned to Sirius's pale cheeks. The deep shadows under his eyes didn't disappear, but they lessened slightly, and his breathing seemed easier.
"Better?" Remus asked.
"Much." Sirius's voice was steadier now. "I actually feel... human again. Sort of."
Remus handed him one of the healing draughts. "Mark said it's particularly good for... well, for damage caused by prolonged exposure to dark magic."
Sirius took it without question, downing the contents in one swallow. This time the effect was more subtle—a gradual easing of the tension that seemed permanently etched into his shoulders, a straightening of his spine that spoke of pain finally receding.
"I need a shower," Remus said, suddenly aware of how he must smell after a full day in the dusty shop. "Will you be alright for a few minutes?"
"Go," Sirius said, settling onto the bed with visible relief. "I'll try not to have a panic attack while you're gone."
"There's a spare blanket if you get cold," Remus said, already heading for the bathroom. "And the remote for the TV is on the nightstand."
When he emerged twenty minutes later, clean and wearing the spare clothes they'd found, he found Sirius propped against the headboard, remote in hand as he flipped through channels with the fascination of someone discovering fire.
"There's a channel that's nothing but music videos," Sirius announced without looking away from the screen. "And another one that seems to show the same film about a man who gets stuck in the same day over and over, except that can't be right because it's not the same scene..."
"That's just how movies work on television," Remus explained, settling onto the other side of the bed, careful to maintain some distance. "They show them in pieces, with advertisements in between."
"Bizarre," Sirius muttered, but he seemed more relaxed than he had since they'd escaped. The potions were clearly working—his color was better, his breathing easier, and some of the hollowed-out look had faded from his cheeks.
They settled into comfortable silence, watching whatever was on screen. Remus found himself sneaking glances at Sirius, cataloging the small improvements the potions had already made. It wasn't a cure—nothing could undo five years of systematic torture in a single day—but it was a start.
"Thank you," Sirius said quietly during a commercial break.
"For the potions? It's nothing—"
"For coming back," Sirius interrupted, his eyes still fixed on the television. "For not leaving me alone again."
Remus's chest tightened. "I won't," he said simply. "Leave you alone, I mean. Not again."
Sirius finally looked at him, something vulnerable and hopeful flickering in those grey eyes. "Promise?"
"I promise."
Chapter Text
Two weeks passed in a blur of routine and cautious hope. Each morning, Remus would slip out early to help Mark open the shop, leaving Sirius with the television remote and strict instructions to walk as much as he could but ultimately to rest. Each evening, he'd return with small bottles tucked into his jacket pockets—healing draughts, nutrition potions, sometimes pain relievers or tonics for energy.
"They were going to expire anyway," Mark would say with a shrug whenever Remus tried to protest the generosity. "Sarah's been on me for months about brewing too much. I'd rather see them go to good use than pour them down the drain."
The potions were working miracles. Not overnight transformations, but gradual, steady improvements that accumulated day by day. Color had returned to Sirius's cheeks, the hollow look in his eyes had begun to fade, and most importantly, he was getting stronger.
It started with small things. On his third day in the hotel, Sirius managed ten laps around the room without stopping. By the end of the first week, he could do twenty. But the real breakthrough came when he discovered something unexpected.
"Moony," Sirius called from the bathroom one morning, excitement clear in his voice. "You need to see this."
Remus looked up from where he was organizing their meager belongings to see Sirius emerge from the bathroom, but instead of his human form, a large black dog padded into the room. Padfoot's tail was wagging, his movements more fluid and energetic than Remus had seen from him in human form.
Padfoot barked once, then began trotting around the room in a steady circuit. One lap, two, five, ten. By the twentieth lap, Remus was staring in amazement. In dog form, Sirius showed none of the exhaustion that still plagued his human body.
When he finally transformed back, collapsing onto the bed with a grin that was pure Sirius Black mischief, he was breathing hard but not struggling.
"Brilliant, isn't it?" he gasped. "Something about the transformation—it's like my body remembers being strong when I'm Padfoot. The muscle memory or something."
"That's..." Remus paused, thinking. "Actually, that makes sense. Your Animagus form is tied to your magical core, not just your physical body. When you transform, magic compensates for some of the damage."
From that day forward, Sirius spent part of each morning doing laps around the room as Padfoot, slowly building up his endurance. By the end of the second week, he could maintain the pace for nearly an hour without stopping.
But even as they settled into their routine, Remus felt a familiar dread building in his chest. The calendar on their hotel nightstand seemed to mock him with its steady progression of dates. October was sliding toward November, and with it came the full moon.
Three days. He had three days to figure out what to do about a problem that had no good solution.
The wolfsbane potion was incredibly rare, requiring ingredients that cost more than Remus made in several months, most of his cash went to the hotel they were calling home this month, even if he could find them. And brewing it required expertise he simply didn't possess—the slightest mistake would render it useless at best, poison at worst.
He was staring at the calendar, anxiety gnawing at his stomach, when Sirius's voice broke through his spiral of worry.
"...and that's why the documentary said the Thain Family Forest is so remarkable. Are you listening, Moony?"
Remus looked up to find Sirius watching him with concern, the television still playing some nature program in the background. "Sorry, what?"
"I said I've been watching these nature documentaries while you're at work," Sirius repeated patiently. "Did you know there's an old-growth forest right here in New York City? The Thain Family Forest—it's 50 acres of original woodland in the Bronx, part of the New York Botanical Garden."
Remus felt something shift in his chest, a spark of desperate hope. "Tell me more."
"The trees pre-date the American Revolution by centuries," Sirius continued, his voice gaining enthusiasm as he shared his newfound knowledge. "There are Native American hunting trails, marks left by glaciers. And here's the really interesting part—it's the largest uncut expanse of New York's original wooded landscape."
"How far is it from here?" Remus asked quietly.
"The Bronx? Maybe an hour by train, probably less." Sirius tilted his head, studying Remus's expression.
Remus was quiet for a long moment, watching the nature documentary play out on the screen. Ancient trees swayed in the wind, sunlight filtering through a canopy that had stood for centuries. It looked wild, isolated, exactly what he needed.
"The full moon is in three days," he said finally.
Understanding dawned in Sirius's grey eyes. "Ah. And you don't have—"
"No wolfsbane. Can't afford it, can't brew it, can't get it." Remus ran a hand through his hair, frustration and fear making his voice tight. "I can't stay in the city, Sirius. I won't risk it. Too many people, too much chance of—"
"So we go to the forest," Sirius said simply, as if it were the most obvious solution in the world.
"We?"
"Did you think I was going to let you face this alone?" Sirius's voice was fierce, protective in a way that made Remus's chest tighten with emotion he wasn't ready to name. "I've gotten stronger, Moony. I can keep up with you now, at least as Padfoot. And you're going to need someone watching your back."
"Sirius, it's dangerous—"
"More dangerous than leaving you alone in an unfamiliar forest with no backup?" Sirius challenged. "I don't think so/." He reached for the remote, rewinding the documentary to a aerial shot of the forest. "Look at it. Fifty acres of protected woodland, managed by the botanical garden but wild enough for what you need. We find a spot deep in the trees, far from any hiking trails, and we wait it out together."
Remus stared at the screen, at the sweeping canopy and shadowed depths that promised both danger and salvation. "You really think you're strong enough?"
"Only one way to find out," Sirius said with a grin that was equal parts confidence and reckless courage. "Besides, Padfoot's been getting restless. He could use a proper run in the woods."
Despite everything—the fear, the uncertainty, the approaching moon that would transform him into something monstrous—Remus felt a smile tug at his lips. This was the Sirius he remembered, the one who'd followed him into the Whomping Willow on their first transformation, who'd never hesitated to throw himself into danger if it meant protecting someone he cared about.
"We'll need supplies," Remus said, already mentally cataloging what they'd need. "Food, water, warm clothes. Somewhere to set up camp that's far enough from the trails but accessible enough that we can get there before sundown."
"I've been thinking about that too," Sirius said, leaning forward with the focused intensity that meant he was shifting into planning mode. "We scout it out tomorrow, find the perfect spot. Somewhere with good sight lines so Padfoot can keep watch, but hidden enough that no late-night joggers stumble across us."
"And if something goes wrong? If I—if the wolf—"
"Then Padfoot runs," Sirius said matter-of-factly. "Fast dog, remember? Besides, I've dealt with Moony before. He's not that scary."
Remus wanted to argue, to point out that Sirius had never seen him without the wolfsbane, that this version of the wolf would be different—wilder, more dangerous. But looking at the determination in those grey eyes, the set of Sirius's jaw that said he'd already made up his mind, Remus found himself nodding instead.
"Tomorrow then," he said quietly. "We scout the forest."
"Tomorrow," Sirius agreed, then grinned. "Though I have to say, Moony, your idea of a romantic getaway needs work. Most people go to the beach."
Despite everything, Remus laughed. For the first time in days, the knot of anxiety in his chest loosened slightly. Maybe—just maybe—they could actually pull this off.
Outside their hotel window, New York City hummed with its eternal energy, oblivious to the two fugitives planning their retreat into the wilderness. But somewhere in the Bronx, an ancient forest waited with trees that had weathered centuries, ready to shelter them through one more long night.
The next morning dawned crisp and clear, with the kind of autumn light that made even New York's concrete and steel look almost beautiful. Remus had called in sick to work—the first time since he'd started at the shop—and Mark had been understanding when Remus mentioned needing to handle some "personal business."
"Take care of yourself," Mark had said, pressing a small bottle into Remus's hand. "And take this. Calming draught. Sarah swears by it for anxiety."
Now, as they stood on the subway platform heading toward the Bronx, Remus was grateful for Mark's thoughtfulness. The small bottle sat reassuringly in his jacket pocket, though he hadn't needed to use it yet. Having Sirius beside him—alert, mobile, looking almost healthy in the morning light—was calming enough.
"Nervous?" Sirius asked quietly, noting how Remus kept checking the map they'd printed at the hotel's business center.
"A little," Remus admitted. "It's been years since I've transformed anywhere but... well, locked places. Secure places. The idea of being out in the open..." He trailed off, not wanting to voice his deeper fear—that without the wolfsbane, he might not remember to stay away from populated areas, might hurt someone.
"Hey." Sirius bumped his shoulder gently. "We're going to find the perfect spot. Somewhere safe, somewhere private. And I'll be there the whole time, keeping watch."
The train pulled into their station with a screech of brakes and a hiss of doors opening. As they emerged into daylight, following signs toward the New York Botanical Garden, Remus felt his anxiety begin to shift into something else—anticipation, maybe, or hope.
The contrast between the city streets and the garden's entrance was striking. One moment they were walking past apartment buildings and bus stops, the next they were standing before wrought-iron gates and carefully manicured landscapes that promised wilderness beyond.
"Admission's fifteen dollars," Sirius read from the sign. "Each."
Remus winced. Thirty dollars was a significant chunk of their carefully hoarded cash, but they needed to scout the location properly. "It's necessary," he said, more to convince himself than Sirius.
Inside the gardens, they followed the map toward the Thain Family Forest, passing through sections of cultivated beauty—rose gardens preparing for winter, greenhouse conservatories, and educational displays about plant conservation. But when they finally reached the entrance to the forest proper, the change was immediate and dramatic.
Ancient trees towered overhead, their branches forming a canopy so thick that the autumn sunlight filtered through in dappled patches. The path beneath their feet changed from paved walkway to packed earth, lined with fallen leaves in brilliant shades of gold and crimson. The air smelled different here—rich with decomposing organic matter, cool and clean in a way that made Remus's werewolf senses sing with recognition.
"Bloody hell," Sirius breathed, stopping in the middle of the main trail to stare up at a massive oak that had to be centuries old. "You can feel it, can't you? How old this place is?"
Remus nodded, understanding exactly what Sirius meant. There was a weight to this forest, a sense of deep time and enduring patience that spoke to something primal in both of them. This wasn't just any patch of woods—this was a place that remembered what New York had been before the city, a living link to a wilder past.
They followed the main trail for about ten minutes, noting the placement of interpretive signs and the gentle flow of other visitors—mostly older couples and a few families with children. The foot traffic was light, which was encouraging, but Remus needed to see how far into the forest they could get.
"There," he said quietly, pointing to what looked like a smaller path branching off from the main trail. It was less maintained, more overgrown, with a small sign that read "Research Area - Authorized Personnel Only."
"Perfect," Sirius murmured. "Follow me."
They slipped off the main path when no other visitors were in sight, following the narrower trail deeper into the forest. Here, the sense of wildness was even stronger. The trees grew closer together, their branches intertwining overhead to block out most of the sky. Fallen logs created natural barriers, and the undergrowth was thick enough to provide excellent cover.
After about fifteen minutes of careful walking, they found exactly what they were looking for.
A small clearing opened up before them, roughly circular and perhaps thirty feet across. Ancient trees formed a natural barrier on all sides, their trunks so massive that it would take several people to circle them with outstretched arms. A fallen log provided seating, and better yet, there was a small depression in the earth—not quite a cave, but a sheltered spot where someone could take refuge if needed.
"This is it," Remus said with certainty. "This is perfect."
Sirius was already exploring the perimeter, his movements more energetic than they'd been since the escape. "Good sight lines in all directions," he reported. "I could post up behind that cluster of trees and see anyone coming from the main trail. And look—" He pointed to what appeared to be the remains of an old stone foundation, nearly hidden by moss and decades of leaf litter. "Looks like someone built something here once upon a time. Probably abandoned for decades."
"Which means it's not likely to be on any official maps or patrol routes," Remus finished, feeling the tight knot of anxiety in his chest loosen slightly. "And it's far enough from the main trail that casual hikers won't wander through."
They spent the next hour exploring every inch of their chosen clearing, noting wind patterns, testing sight lines, and identifying the best escape routes if they needed to leave quickly. Sirius, energized by having a mission, scrambled over fallen logs and through thick undergrowth with enthusiasm that would have been impossible just weeks ago.
"The botanical garden closes at six," Remus said, consulting the pamphlet they'd picked up at the entrance. "But that doesn't mean the forest itself is completely deserted. There might be security patrols, maintenance staff—"
"Or researchers," Sirius added, remembering the "authorized personnel" sign. "Though honestly, how often do you think someone comes out to check on trees? It's not like they're going anywhere."
They were making their way back toward the main trail when Sirius suddenly froze, one hand shooting out to grip Remus's arm.
"Someone's coming," he whispered urgently.
Remus strained his enhanced hearing and caught it—the sound of footsteps on the path ahead, accompanied by voices. Without hesitation, they both ducked behind a massive oak, pressing themselves against its ancient bark.
Two people passed by on the main trail, their conversation carrying clearly in the still forest air. A man and a woman, both carrying clipboards and wearing the kind of practical clothes that suggested they worked outdoors.
"—need to check the invasive species markers in section twelve," the woman was saying. "And make sure those new plantings near the river are settling in properly."
"What time do you want to head back?" the man replied. "I promised Karen I'd be home for dinner."
"Another hour should do it. The phenology volunteers aren't scheduled until next week, so we've got the forest to ourselves."
Their voices faded as they continued deeper into the forest, following what appeared to be a different research trail.
"Staff," Sirius breathed once they were well out of earshot. "Probably doing some kind of botanical survey."
"Which means they have legitimate reasons to be here after hours," Remus said grimly. "And they know these trails better than we do."
"But they're following established routes, doing predictable work," Sirius countered. "As long as we stay off the marked research trails and stick to our clearing, we should be fine."
They made it back to the main entrance without encountering anyone else, though Remus's enhanced senses picked up traces of recent human activity throughout their journey—the lingering scent of different visitors, the soft sound of voices from other areas of the forest.
As they settled onto a bench outside the garden's entrance to plan their next steps, Sirius turned to study Remus's profile.
"You're still worried," he observed.
"Of course I'm worried," Remus replied quietly. "This isn't like the Shrieking Shack, Sirius. There are no wards, no magical protections, no way to guarantee that someone won't stumble across us at exactly the wrong moment. And without wolfsbane—" He shook his head. "The wolf won't recognize you. Won't remember that you're Pack. If something goes wrong—"
"Then something goes wrong," Sirius said firmly. "But we'll deal with it together, like we always have." He reached over and covered Remus's hand with his own, the contact warm and steadying. "You're not doing this alone anymore, Moony. I won't let you."
The simple certainty in his voice, the solid warmth of his hand, made something tight in Remus's chest finally ease. For the first time in five years, he wouldn't be facing the transformation alone. It was terrifying and comforting in equal measure.
"We'll need to get there before sunset tomorrow," Remus said, already planning. "Set up camp, make sure everything's secure. I'll transform just as the moon rises, which means—"
"Which means we have one more day to prepare," Sirius finished. "And then we do what we've always done—we face it together and trust each other to make it through."
As they headed back toward the subway, autumn leaves crunching beneath their feet and the ancient forest receding behind them, Remus allowed himself to believe that maybe, just maybe, they really could pull this off.
The forest would keep their secrets. It had been keeping secrets for centuries.
Chapter Text
The sun had set hours ago by the time they reached the forest entrance. The botanical garden was officially closed, but the perimeter fence had gaps that Sirius had scouted during their reconnaissance—places where the old iron bars had rusted through or bent outward just enough for two desperate men to slip through.
"This way," Sirius whispered, adjusting the heavy backpack on his shoulders. Inside, carefully packed, were spare clothes for both of them, two bottles of water, and—most precious of all—a small vial of pain relief potion that he'd been hoarding for weeks, saved from Mark's generosity for exactly this moment.
The forest at night was a different creature entirely than the one they'd explored in daylight. Ancient trees loomed overhead like cathedral spires, their branches blocking out most of the moonlight and leaving only scattered patches of silver on the forest floor. Every footstep seemed to echo in the stillness, every broken twig underfoot a gunshot in the silence.
Remus moved ahead, his enhanced senses guiding them through the darkness, but his gait was stiff and awkward. The transformation was still hours away, but his body was already beginning to rebel—joints aching, muscles cramping, that familiar electric tension building under his skin like a storm about to break.
"How much further?" Sirius asked quietly, trying to keep the worry out of his voice as he watched Remus stumble slightly over a fallen branch.
"Not far," Remus replied through gritted teeth, one hand pressed against his side where a particularly vicious cramp had just seized him. "Maybe ten more minutes."
Those ten minutes stretched into twenty, then thirty, as they made their painstaking way deeper into the forest. Sirius had to catch Remus's arm twice when his legs buckled, the wolf already stirring restlessly beneath his human skin. The backpack grew heavier with each step, but Sirius didn't complain—he could see how much effort it was taking Remus just to keep moving forward.
The ancient trees seemed to press closer around them, their gnarled branches reaching down like grasping fingers. More than once, Sirius had to duck to avoid getting his hair caught in low-hanging twigs, and the uneven forest floor made every step treacherous in the near-total darkness.
"Here," Remus finally gasped, stopping so abruptly that Sirius nearly walked into him. "This is it."
They had reached their clearing, though it looked entirely different in the moonlight—smaller, more enclosed, almost claustrophobic with shadows. The fallen log they'd noted during their daylight visit was barely visible, and the sheltered depression looked like a black mouth in the earth.
"Perfect," Sirius said, trying to inject some confidence into his voice as he lowered the backpack to the ground. "Just like we planned."
Remus said nothing, already pulling off his jacket with sharp, jerky movements. His breathing was becoming labored, and even in the dim light, Sirius could see the sheen of sweat on his forehead.
"The potion," Sirius said urgently, digging through the backpack. "Take it now, before—"
"Before it's too late," Remus finished, accepting the small vial with trembling fingers. He downed it in one swallow, then immediately doubled over as another cramp seized him. "God, Sirius, I can feel it starting. You need to get away from me. You need to—"
But his words were cut off as the first wave of transformation hit him hard, and the forest filled with the sound of his anguished scream.
The pain was unlike anything Remus had experienced in years. Without the wolfsbane to ease the transition, his body was tearing itself apart and rebuilding from the inside out. His bones snapped and reformed with sickening cracks, each one driving a scream from deep in his throat. Her skin stretched and tore as fur erupted, the pain blinding as her body twisted into its monstrous shape. Every muscle burned, rippling beneath his skin as his body contorted in agony, reshaping into something feral.
His jaw dislocated with a grotesque pop, elongating as his teeth sharpened into fangs, blood filling his mouth. The metallic taste only added to the horror as Remus felt his humanity slipping away with each nauseating crack of reforming bone.
Each bone seemed to break in slow motion, his body twisting and reshaping inch by agonizing inch. She could feel every tendon stretch and snap as her transformation dragged on, the pain excruciating and unending.
"Remus!" Sirius called out, but his voice seemed to come from very far away. The human part of Remus's mind was drowning in agony and animal instinct, and when he looked up at Sirius through eyes that were rapidly changing from amber to yellow, there was no recognition—only fear and wild panic.
The half-transformed creature that had been Remus scrambled backward on hands and knees, then broke into a desperate, shambling run deeper into the forest. His partially elongated limbs made his gait awkward and wrong, but terror gave him speed as he crashed through the undergrowth, branches tearing at his clothes and skin.
"Moony, wait!" Sirius shouted, but the wolf was already gone, disappeared into the black maze of trees with inhuman speed.
Without hesitation, Sirius shifted into Padfoot and gave chase.
The forest became a blur of sensation as the black dog raced through the darkness, following the scent trail and sounds of destruction left by the fleeing werewolf. Padfoot's enhanced night vision caught glimpses of movement ahead—a flash of fur, a gleam of yellow eyes, the crash of a body hurtling through dense undergrowth.
The werewolf—for the transformation was complete now—ran with the desperate energy of a creature in mortal terror. But he was unfamiliar with this territory, and eventually he miscalculated. A low-hanging branch caught him across the chest, sending him tumbling into a small clearing where moonlight streamed down in silver shafts.
Padfoot burst into the clearing moments later, panting hard, and the werewolf spun to face him with a snarl that raised every hair on the dog's body.
This was not the wolf Padfoot remembered from their school days. Without wolfsbane, Remus was purely animal—wild, dangerous, and utterly without recognition. His yellow eyes held no trace of human intelligence, only the instinct to fight or flee. His lips pulled back from fangs that gleamed wet in the moonlight, and a low, continuous growl rumbled from his throat.
Padfoot knew he had one chance. Moving slowly, deliberately, he lowered himself to the ground and rolled onto his back, exposing his belly to the snarling wolf. This lower-ranking wolf shows submission by rolling over and showing his belly, the most vulnerable part of his body, to the dominant wolf.
The werewolf's snarl faltered. Something about the gesture triggered ancient instincts deeper than fear. He approached cautiously, still growling but no longer showing his teeth, and began to scent the submissive dog.
Wolves have a very good sense of smell—about 100 times greater than humans. They use this sense for communication in a variety of ways. As the werewolf's sensitive nose traced along Padfoot's fur, he caught something familiar—pack scent, but more than that. Under the dog smell was something else, something hurt and healing, the lingering traces of illness and slow recovery.
The werewolf whined, a soft, questioning sound. The scent spoke to him of vulnerability, of someone who needed protection rather than posed a threat. His aggressive posture melted away, replaced by something almost gentle as he nuzzled at Padfoot's neck and shoulder.
Padfoot remained still until the werewolf stepped back, then slowly rolled upright. The wolf watched him with alert but no longer threatening eyes, and when Padfoot began to move toward the edge of the clearing, the werewolf followed.
Together, they made their way back toward their original campsite, the werewolf's superior senses guiding them through the darkness. But it was the wolf who led them to an even better shelter—a massive tree that had fallen years ago, its roots pulling up a wall of earth and stone. The hollow beneath formed a natural cave, dry and well-hidden, large enough for both of them but small enough to feel secure.
The werewolf circled the space once, then settled down in the deepest part of the hollow with a soft huff. When Padfoot approached, the wolf lifted one massive arm in clear invitation.
Padfoot curled up against the werewolf's side, feeling the steady rise and fall of breathing, the warmth of fur, and the gradually slowing heartbeat as the wolf finally relaxed. Outside their shelter, the forest continued its ancient vigil, but here in this small pocket of safety, pack mates could rest.
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Consciousness returned slowly, filtering through layers of exhaustion and residual aches. Remus became aware first of warmth—unexpected, encompassing warmth that spoke of another body pressed against his. Then came the realization that he was naked, that they both were, skin against skin in the dim light of early dawn.
His eyes opened to find Sirius's face mere inches from his own, still deeply asleep. They were tangled together in the hollow beneath the fallen tree, Sirius's arm thrown protectively across Remus's chest, their legs intertwined. Dried leaves clung to both their hair, and there were scratches on their arms and faces from their flight through the forest.
But they were alive. They were whole. And most importantly, they were together.
Remus carefully shifted closer, not wanting to wake Sirius but needing the reassurance of contact. The memory of the transformation was hazy, fragmented, but he remembered the terror—and then, like a blessing, he remembered recognition. The wolf had known Padfoot, had chosen to protect rather than hunt.
Sirius stirred, his arm tightening around Remus's waist, and amber eyes met grey in the gentle morning light.
"Hello, Moony," Sirius whispered, voice rough with sleep and relief.
"Hello, Padfoot," Remus whispered back his voice rough and then, impossibly, Remus began to laugh—a raw, ragged sound that was half-sob, half-genuine mirth.
Even though they were as close as possible Sirius wrapped his arms around him, pressing their foreheads together. The laughter dissolved into something quieter, more fragile. Sirius's hand moved, tracing the line of a half-healed scratch on Remus's cheek, his touch so gentle it was almost reverent. They had survived another night. Another transformation. Another impossible moment that could have ended in tragedy but instead found them here—battered, bruised, but unbroken.
"Moony," Sirius said quietly, his voice rough with sleep. "We should... we should get up."
Remus opened his eyes, careful to keep his gaze fixed on the canopy of leaves above them. "Yes. Yes, of course."
They separated carefully, Sirius rolling away first, and Remus felt the loss of that warmth immediately. The morning air was cool against his skin, raising goosebumps along his arms. He could hear Sirius moving, the rustle of leaves, the soft sound of him retrieving their scattered clothes.
"Here." Sirius's voice came from somewhere to his left, carefully neutral. A bundle of fabric landed near Remus's shoulder—his clothes from the night before. "I'll just... I'll get dressed over here."
"Right." Remus sat up slowly, his muscles protesting, and reached for his shirt. He could hear Sirius moving around the small clearing, the whisper of fabric against skin, and he kept his eyes determinedly fixed on the buttons of his shirt. But he was aware of every sound, every movement, hyperconscious of Sirius just meters away, equally naked, equally vulnerable.
It should have been awkward. It should have been mortifying, waking up like that, the evidence of what they'd shared written in the way they'd held each other through the night. Instead, Remus felt something warm and complicated settling in his chest, something that had nothing to do with the transformation and everything to do with the man currently pulling on his jeans with studied casualness.
When they were both dressed, they finally looked at each other. Sirius's cheeks were flushed, a healthy pink that had nothing to do with the cool morning air, and his hair was thoroughly mussed. He looked... alive. Vibrant in a way Remus hadn't seen since before Azkaban.
"You look better," Remus said without thinking, then felt heat rise in his own cheeks. "I mean, you've got more color. The rest did you good."
Sirius ducked his head, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "You don't look so bad yourself, all things considered. How do you feel?"
"Tired. Sore. But..." Remus paused, considering. "Better than usual, actually. The pain isn't as bad."
"Good." Sirius shouldered his backpack, checking to make sure they hadn't left anything behind. "We should head back. It's still early enough that we shouldn't run into too many people."
They made their way out of the forest slowly, both of them moving carefully in the morning light. The botanical garden was still closed, but they found a gap in the fence where maintenance crews had been working, slipping through like the fugitives they were. The city was just beginning to wake up—a few early commuters, the occasional jogger, the distant sound of traffic.
They didn't speak much during the walk back to the hotel, but the silence wasn't uncomfortable. If anything, it felt charged with possibility, with things neither of them was quite ready to say. Remus found himself hyperaware of Sirius beside him—the way he favored his left leg slightly, the way he kept glancing over as if to make sure Remus was really okay, the way his hair caught the early morning light.
By the time they reached their hotel, the lobby was still mostly empty except for the night clerk who barely looked up from his newspaper. They rode the elevator in silence, and it wasn't until they were back in their room, door closed and locked behind them, that either of them spoke.
"We'll need to move again soon," Remus said, sinking into one of the chairs by the window. The words felt heavy, final. "Staying in one place too long..."
"I know." Sirius dropped his backpack by the bed and ran a hand through his hair, trying to tame it. "How long do you think we have?"
"A few more days, maybe a week if we're lucky." Remus rubbed his temples, suddenly feeling the weight of their situation. "I'm sorry, Sirius. I know you were starting to feel settled here, with the routine and—"
"Hey." Sirius crossed the room and knelt beside Remus's chair, his grey eyes serious. "Don't apologize for keeping us safe. Besides," he added with a small smile, "I've gotten good at packing light."
They looked at each other for a moment, and Remus felt that same warm, complicated feeling from the morning rising in his chest. There were things he wanted to say, questions he wanted to ask about the night, about what it had meant to have Sirius there, to not be alone. But the words felt too big, too dangerous.
"You should take the bed," Sirius said suddenly, standing. "Get some proper rest. I'm going to shower, try to get the forest out of my hair." He paused, studying Remus's face with concern. "Actually, you've got half the woods in yours too. Come here."
Before Remus could protest, Sirius was back beside him, gentle fingers threading through his hair. His touch was careful, methodical, picking out leaves and twigs with the same focused attention he'd once given to Quidditch strategy or particularly complex pranks.
"There," Sirius murmured, his fingers lingering at the back of Remus's neck for just a moment. "Can't have you looking like you spent the night wrestling with trees."
"Thank you," Remus said quietly, the words carrying more weight than they should have.
Sirius's hand stilled, and for a heartbeat, Remus thought he might say something more, might acknowledge the undercurrent running between them. Instead, he stepped back, that careful distance reasserting itself.
"Get some sleep, Moony. You've earned it."
As Sirius disappeared into the bathroom, Remus remained in the chair, one hand unconsciously rising to touch the back of his neck where Sirius's fingers had been. The sound of running water filled the room, and Remus closed his eyes, letting himself remember the feeling of waking up safe, warm, not alone.
Chapter Text
The bed and breakfast was tucked away on a quiet street in Queens, the kind of place that catered to tourists who wanted "authentic New York charm" without the Manhattan prices. It was perfect for their purposes—small enough that the staff wouldn't pay much attention to guests, but busy enough that two more faces wouldn't stand out.
The woman behind the desk was middle-aged and cheerful, with reading glasses perched on her nose and a tendency to chat about her grandchildren. Remus smiled, asked polite questions about the neighborhood, and subtly woven a suggestion into the conversation that their names and faces were completely unmemorable. By the time they'd checked in, paid in cash, and received their key, the woman had already forgotten they existed beyond a vague sense that someone pleasant had rented room 3B.
"I'll be right back," Remus murmured to Sirius as they passed through the lobby. "I saw something we might need."
The lost and found closet was tucked beside the front desk, and it took only a moment to charm the lock open when the proprietor disappeared into the back office. Inside was the usual detritus of forgetful travelers—umbrellas, paperback books, a single sneaker. But there, hanging on hooks, were several coats that had clearly been abandoned for months.
Remus selected two of the best—a heavy wool peacoat that would fit Sirius and a slightly worn but serviceable canvas jacket lined with fleece. Winter was coming, and their current clothes wouldn't be enough. He also grabbed a thick scarf and a knit hat, then carefully closed the closet and slipped back out before anyone noticed.
Room 3B was at the far end of the third floor, as distant from the other rooms as they could manage. When Remus opened the door, arms laden with coats, he found Sirius sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at his hands with an expression that made Remus's chest tighten.
"Look what I found," Remus said with forced cheer, holding up the coats. "Winter's coming, and I don't know about you, but I'm not keen on freezing."
Sirius glanced up, but the smile he managed was weak and didn't reach his eyes. "Good thinking."
Remus set the coats on the dresser and crossed to sit beside Sirius on the bed. The room was small but clean—a double bed, a dresser, a window overlooking the street, a small television mounted on the wall. Their few belongings were already unpacked, which meant Sirius had been sitting there, idle, with nothing to do but think.
"What's wrong?" Remus asked quietly.
"Nothing. Everything." Sirius let out a harsh laugh that held no humor. "I'm useless, Moony. Completely bloody useless. You're out there charming people, picking locks, keeping us safe, and I'm just... sitting here. Like dead weight."
"You're not—"
"I don't have a wand," Sirius interrupted, his voice raw with frustration. He held up his empty hands as if they were evidence of his inadequacy. "Do you understand what that means? I'm a wizard who can't do magic. I can't protect you. I can't protect myself. If the Dementors found us right now, or Aurors, or anyone—what could I do? Run? Turn into a dog and hope for the best?"
Remus was quiet for a moment, choosing his words carefully. "What type of wand did you have? Before?"
Sirius looked at him, confused by the question. "What?"
"Your wand. What was it made of?"
"I... I don't..." Sirius frowned, dredging up a memory from what felt like another lifetime. "Ebony. Dragon heartstring core. Twelve and a half inches. Why?"
"Because I can look for one," Remus said simply. "There are wandmakers in the city, probably. Or shops that sell secondhand wands. I could—"
"The wand chooses the wizard, Moony," Sirius said, his voice heavy with resignation. "You know that. I can't just pick one off a shelf and expect it to work. And even if I could find one that might respond to me, how would I test it? I doubt any wandmaker would let a suspected mass murderer try out their inventory."
"You're not a mass murderer," Remus said firmly.
"Tell that to the Ministry." Sirius ran a hand through his hair, and Remus noticed it was shaking slightly. "I just... I feel so helpless. Like half of myself is missing."
"I know," Remus said softly. "But we will get you a wand, Sirius. I promise. It might take time, and we'll have to be careful, but we'll find a way." He paused, then added, "Though it might be too dangerous for you to go out in public just yet. Your face is still on wanted posters, and—"
"Yeah, I know," Sirius cut him off with a sigh, slumping forward. "I'm trapped. A prisoner again, just in a slightly nicer cell."
Remus reached out and took Sirius's trembling hand in his own, holding it steady. "You're not as powerless as you think."
"Really? Because it feels pretty damn powerless from where I'm sitting."
"You're recovering," Remus said, his thumb tracing gentle circles on the back of Sirius's hand. "You're getting stronger every day. And you know what that means?"
Sirius looked at him, a flicker of hope fighting through the frustration. "What?"
"It means you might be strong enough to start practicing wandless magic. Not fully recovered, no—but recovering enough to try."
The hope wavered, replaced by skepticism. "Wandless magic? Moony, I'm not—that's advanced magic. Really advanced. I'm not fully recovered, I'm barely—"
"I know you're not fully recovered," Remus interrupted gently. "But you're recovering. And wandless magic isn't about power, it's about control and will. You've always had a strong will, Sirius. Even Azkaban couldn't break that."
Sirius stared at him, something shifting in his expression. "You really think I could?"
"I think it's worth trying. Start small—Lumos, maybe. Just to see."
"I don't know..." But Sirius was already straightening, a hint of his old determination sparking in his grey eyes. He pulled his hand free from Remus's and held it out, palm up, fingers splayed.
"Don't force it," Remus advised, moving to sit cross-legged on the bed so he could watch. "Just... breathe. Focus on what you want. Remember what it felt like when you had your wand, that connection, that flow of magic."
Sirius closed his eyes, his brow furrowing in concentration. For a long moment, nothing happened. His hand remained dark, empty. Remus could see the frustration building again, the tension in Sirius's shoulders.
"It's not working," Sirius muttered.
"Give it time. You haven't tried to do magic in years, and your magical core's been untapped for so long. It's like... like a muscle that hasn't been used. It needs to remember what to do."
Sirius took a deep breath and tried again. This time, Remus saw something—a faint shimmer in the air around Sirius's hand, barely visible, like heat waves on a summer road.
"There," Remus said softly. "I saw something. Try again."
Sirius's eyes opened, surprised. "You saw it?"
"Just a flicker. But it was there. Your magic is there, Sirius. You just need to reach for it."
With renewed determination, Sirius focused again. The air around his hand shimmered more noticeably this time, and then—
A tiny point of light sparked to life above his palm. It was weak, barely brighter than a firefly, and it flickered uncertainly like a candle in the wind. But it was there. Light where there had been none, magic where Sirius had feared there was only emptiness.
"Lumos," Sirius whispered, and the light grew slightly stronger, holding steady for three full seconds before it guttered out.
The silence that followed was profound. Sirius stared at his hand like he'd never seen it before, wonder and disbelief warring on his face. Then he looked up at Remus, and there were tears in his eyes.
"I did it," he said, his voice breaking. "Moony, I actually did it."
"You did," Remus confirmed, and he couldn't keep the pride out of his voice.
Sirius tried again immediately, and this time the light came easier, lasting a full five seconds before fading. Then again, and again, each attempt slightly stronger than the last, until finally he had to stop, breathing hard, his hand trembling with exhaustion.
"That's enough for now," Remus said gently. "You don't want to drain yourself."
"I don't care," Sirius said, but he was smiling—really smiling, for the first time since they'd arrived at the new hotel. "Did you see that? I thought—I thought maybe Azkaban had broken something fundamental, that I'd never be able to..." He trailed off, but the relief in his voice was palpable.
"You're not broken," Remus said firmly. "Wounded, yes. Recovering, yes. But not broken."
Sirius looked at him for a long moment, something soft and grateful in his expression. "Thank you, Moony. For believing in me when I couldn't believe in myself."
"Always," Remus said simply, the word carrying more weight than he intended.
Later that evening, after they'd eaten takeout Chinese food from cartons and Sirius had practiced Lumos a few more times with increasing success, they settled in to watch television. It was a mindless sitcom, dealing with absurd romantic complications, but it was a welcome distraction from the weight of their reality.
Remus found himself relaxing into the worn cushions of the small couch, the exhaustion from the full moon still pulling at his bones. Sirius sat beside him, close enough that their shoulders touched, both of them pretending not to notice the contact.
The television flickered with canned laughter and bright colors, but Remus found his attention drifting. His eyelids grew heavy, and without quite meaning to, he let his head tip sideways, coming to rest on Sirius's shoulder.
Sirius went very still for a moment, and Remus was suddenly aware that he should probably sit up, should put that careful distance back between them. But Sirius's shoulder was warm and solid, and Remus was so tired, and before he could second-guess himself, he felt Sirius shift slightly—not pulling away, but settling more comfortably, making space for Remus's weight.
"Sleep, Moony," Sirius murmured, so quietly it was almost lost under the sound of the television. "I've got you."
And with those words wrapping around him like a blanket, Remus let himself drift off, safe in the knowledge that for tonight, at least, he wasn't alone.
Sirius sat very still, afraid that any movement might wake the man sleeping against his shoulder. The television continued its parade of manufactured humor, but Sirius wasn't watching anymore. His attention was entirely focused on the warm weight of Remus against his side, the soft sound of his breathing, the trust implicit in the gesture.
In the dim light from the screen, Sirius could see the shadows under Remus's eyes, the lingering pallor from the transformation, the small scars that marked a life spent fighting his own nature. And yet, even exhausted and battered, Remus had spent the evening encouraging him, believing in him, refusing to let him sink into despair.
Sirius's hand, still tingling faintly from the successful Lumos, came to rest carefully on Remus's arm. Just a light touch, nothing presumptuous, but a connection nonetheless.
The morning light filtered through the thin curtains of their hotel room, painting everything in shades of gold and amber. Remus became aware of warmth first—the steady rise and fall of breathing beneath his cheek, the solid presence of another body. Then came the realization of where exactly he was sleeping.
His eyes opened at the same moment Sirius's did, and they stared at each other for a heartbeat—Remus's head pillowed on Sirius's chest, their legs tangled together on the narrow couch, one of Sirius's arms wrapped loosely around Remus's back.
Remus felt heat flood his cheeks. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"
But before he could finish the apology, before he could pull away and restore that careful distance they'd been maintaining, Sirius's free hand came up to card gently through Remus's sleep-mussed hair. His fingers moved slowly, deliberately, smoothing down the worst of the tangles with a tenderness that made Remus's breath catch.
Sirius smiled—not his usual cocky grin or the bitter twist his mouth had taken on since Azkaban, but something soft and genuine that reached his grey eyes and made them warm.
"Good morning, Moony," he said quietly, his voice rough with sleep.
Remus couldn't speak. Couldn't move. Could only lie there feeling the gentle touch of Sirius's fingers in his hair, the steady thump of his heartbeat beneath Remus's ear, and the weight of all the things they weren't saying pressing down on them both.
The moment stretched, fragile and perfect, until the harsh buzz of Remus's watch alarm shattered it.
"Damn," Remus muttered, finally pulling away and sitting up. His face was burning now, and he couldn't quite meet Sirius's eyes. "I need to—Mark's expecting me at the shop."
"Right. Of course." Sirius sat up too, running a hand through his own disheveled hair. His cheeks were flushed pink, and there was something vulnerable in his expression that made Remus want to lean back in, to say something about what was happening between them.
But the alarm was still buzzing, and the morning was calling, and it was easier to stand up and head for the bathroom than to face whatever this was becoming.
"I'll make coffee," Sirius said, his voice carefully casual. "And probably burn toast. My culinary skills haven't improved much since Hogwarts."
Remus laughed, some of the tension easing. "As long as you don't try anything more ambitious than toast, I think we'll survive."
By the time Remus emerged from the bathroom, showered and dressed for work, Sirius had indeed managed to burn the toast—only slightly—and had made surprisingly decent coffee. They ate breakfast in companionable silence, both of them still blushing every time their eyes met, both of them clearly thinking about waking up tangled together but neither brave enough to mention it.
"I'll be back this evening," Remus said as he shrugged into his jacket—one of the coats he'd liberated from the last hotel's lost and found. "Try not to drive yourself mad with boredom."
"I'll practice more wandless magic," Sirius said. "See if I can manage anything more impressive than a glorified nightlight."
"That glorified nightlight is progress," Remus reminded him firmly. "Don't push yourself too hard."
The look Sirius gave him was warm and complicated, full of gratitude and something else that made Remus's heart skip. "I won't. Be safe, Moony."
"Always am."
The bell above the door of Mark's apothecary chimed cheerfully as Remus entered, and he found the shop owner already at work organizing shipments of dried herbs.
"Morning, Remus," Mark called out, glancing up with a smile.
"Good morning!" Remus said, unwrapping his scarf. "I wanted to ask you something. Where would someone go to buy a wand in the city? Secondhand, preferably."
Mark's eyebrows rose with interest. "A wand? That's a tricky business. Most of the reputable wandmakers are overseas or on the West Coast." He paused, considering. "But there is one place. Wand-E.R.s, over in Brooklyn. It's run by a man named Emilio Rodriguez—brilliant wandmaker, does repairs mostly, but he also deals in secondhand wands. Gets them from estate sales, that sort of thing."
"Is it... discreet?" Remus asked carefully.
Mark's expression grew knowing. "Ah. For your friend who can't exactly walk into Ollivander's, I take it?" When Remus nodded, Mark continued, "Emilio's good people. Doesn't ask too many questions, and he's got a knack for matching wizards with wands even when the circumstances are... unusual. Just tell him Mark sent you. He'll take care of you."
Relief flooded through Remus. "Thank you. Really, Mark, I can't tell you how much—"
"Hey, we look out for our own," Mark said with a dismissive wave. "Besides, Sarah would have my head if she knew I wasn't helping however I could. Now come on, these shipments aren't going to sort themselves, and Mrs. Halberstadt is coming by at noon for her arthritis remedy."
As Remus settled into the familiar rhythm of work, weighing ingredients and bottling potions, his mind was already planning. A wand for Sirius. A way for him to feel whole again, to not be helpless. It wouldn't solve everything—wouldn't clear his name or make it safe for him to walk freely through the city—but it would be something.
And right now, something felt like everything.
Chapter Text
The address Mark had given them led to a narrow storefront in Brooklyn, wedged between a laundromat and a bodega that sold suspiciously cheap electronics. The window display was cluttered with what appeared to be broken wands in various states of repair, along with a faded sign that read "Wand-E.R.s: Emergency Repairs & Restoration."
"This is it?" Sirius asked dubiously, adjusting the knit cap Remus had insisted he wear to hide his distinctive hair.
"This is it," Remus confirmed, pushing open the door. A bell chimed—not the cheerful tinkle of Mark's shop, but a low, resonant tone that seemed to vibrate in their bones.
Inside, the shop was a study in organized chaos. Every available surface was covered with wands—some whole, some in pieces, some that appeared to be held together with what looked suspiciously like duct tape. Shelves lined the walls from floor to ceiling, each crammed with boxes, tools, and mysterious components that glowed faintly in the dim light. The air smelled of wood shavings, magic, and something sharp and metallic.
Behind a cluttered workbench sat a man in his fifties, his salt-and-pepper hair pulled back in a ponytail, wearing what appeared to be magnifying goggles as he examined a wand core under a bright lamp. His hands were steady and sure, moving with the precision of a surgeon as he made minute adjustments to the delicate work.
"Be with you in a moment," he said without looking up, his accent carrying the musical lilt of someone who'd grown up speaking Spanish. "This phoenix feather is being particularly temperamental today."
Remus and Sirius exchanged glances and waited in silence, both of them watching as the man—presumably Emilio Rodriguez—completed whatever intricate procedure he was performing. Finally, he set down his tools, removed the goggles, and looked up with dark eyes that were sharp and assessing.
"Now then," he said, standing and wiping his hands on a cloth. "What can I do for you gentlemen?" His gaze flickered between them, lingering on Sirius for just a moment longer than casual. "Let me guess—repair work? Or are you looking for something more... specific?"
"Mark Winters sent us," Remus said carefully. "He said you might be able to help with a... unusual situation."
"Ah, Mark." Emilio's expression softened slightly. "Good man. Excellent potioneer, terrible poker player." He gestured for them to approach the counter. "And by 'unusual situation,' I assume you mean your friend here needs a wand but can't exactly walk into a regular shop and browse?"
Sirius stiffened, but Emilio held up a hand.
"Relax, I'm not interested in your story. I see a lot of people in this shop who have reasons for needing discretion. All I care about is matching wizard to wand." He turned his full attention to Sirius now, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "You had a wand before, yes? Tell me about it."
"Ebony," Sirius said quietly. "Twelve and a half inches. Dragon heartstring core."
"Ebony," Emilio repeated, nodding. "Strong wood. Unyielding. Suited to those with the courage of their convictions." He moved to one of the shelves and began pulling down boxes with practiced efficiency. "But dragon heartstring... that's a powerful core. Temperamental. Prone to accidents in the wrong hands, but capable of spectacular magic in the right ones."
He set three boxes on the counter and opened them, revealing wands of various woods—none of them ebony.
"I don't have anything with dragon heartstring at the moment," Emilio said apologetically. "But let's see what might suit you now. Sometimes a wizard changes, and the wand that chose them once wouldn't choose them again. Sometimes they need something different."
Sirius reached for the first wand—a sleek piece of maple—and the moment his fingers closed around it, Emilio shook his head.
"No. I can see it from here—no connection." He pulled that wand away and offered another. "Try this. Ash, unicorn hair."
This one felt slightly better, Sirius said, giving it a tentative wave. A few weak sparks sputtered from the tip before dying out.
"Closer, but not right," Emilio murmured, already reaching for more boxes. "The wood might be wrong, or the core, or the length. Wand matching is as much art as science."
They went through a dozen wands—cherry and phoenix feather, vine and dragon heartstring, rowan and unicorn hair. Some felt completely dead in Sirius's hand, others sparked with weak magic that fizzled almost immediately. With each failure, Sirius's expression grew more discouraged, and Remus felt his own hope beginning to waver.
"Wait," Emilio said suddenly, pausing in his search. He was staring at Sirius with an intensity that made both of them uncomfortable. "You've seen death. Real death. Not from a distance—up close. Personal."
Sirius went very still. "Yes."
"And you've accepted it. Integrated it. It's part of you now."
"I... yes. I suppose it is."
Emilio disappeared into the back room, and they could hear him rummaging through what sounded like older stock. When he returned, he was carrying a single box, aged and worn, with no label.
"I've had this one for three years," he said, opening the box with careful reverence. "Estate sale from a witch in Connecticut. She died at ninety-seven, and her family didn't want it. No one who's come through here has been able to use it." He lifted the wand from its velvet lining. "Ebony, thirteen inches, Thestral hair core."
The wand was beautiful—dark as midnight, with a subtle grain that caught the light, and a handle carved with intricate patterns that suggested movement, like wings in flight.
"Thestral hair," Emilio continued softly, "is one of the rarest cores. Unstable in inexperienced hands, but in the hands of someone who understands death—who has looked into the darkness and come out the other side—it can be extraordinary. Powerful but difficult. Not for everyone."
He held the wand out, and Sirius reached for it with trembling fingers.
The moment his hand closed around the ebony wood, the shop seemed to hold its breath. Then—
A rush of warmth flooded up Sirius's arm, spreading through his chest like sunlight breaking through storm clouds. The wand tip blazed with silver light, and the air around them shimmered with magic so pure and strong that Remus took an involuntary step back. Papers on Emilio's workbench fluttered, boxes rattled on shelves, and for one perfect moment, every wand in the shop seemed to hum in harmony.
Then the light faded, leaving only Sirius standing there with tears streaming down his face, clutching the ebony wand like a lifeline.
"That's the one," Emilio said unnecessarily, his voice warm with satisfaction. "I knew the moment I saw you. Changed, but not broken. Stronger for what you've survived."
"How much?" Remus asked, already reaching for his wallet. His voice was rough with emotion, seeing Sirius's expression—joy and relief and something like wonder all mixed together.
"Three hundred fifty," Emilio said, and Remus tried not to wince. That was most of what he'd saved from his work at Mark's shop, money he'd been carefully hoarding for emergencies.
But looking at Sirius, at the way he held the wand with such careful reverence, at the light that had returned to his grey eyes—it was worth every penny.
"Done," Remus said, counting out the cash.
As they left the shop, Sirius still hadn't let go of the wand. He kept turning it in his hands, running his fingers over the carved handle, occasionally giving it a small flick just to see the silver sparks that responded to his command.
"Moony," he said quietly as they walked down the street, "I don't know how to thank you. That money—"
"Was meant to be spent on something important," Remus interrupted firmly. "And this is important. You're important."
Sirius stopped walking and turned to look at him, and there was something in his expression that made Remus's breath catch. "I'll pay you back. Somehow. I don't know how yet, but I will."
"I don't want you to pay me back," Remus said. "I just want you to be safe. And whole. And..." He trailed off, not quite sure how to finish that sentence.
"And?" Sirius prompted, a small smile playing at his lips.
"And not helpless," Remus finished, though they both knew that wasn't what he'd been about to say.
"Well," Sirius said, his smile widening as he pocketed the wand with obvious reluctance, "mission accomplished. I feel decidedly un-helpless at the moment. In fact, I feel like celebrating. What do you say to lunch? My treat—metaphorically speaking, since you're still the only one with actual money."
Remus laughed. "Lunch sounds perfect."
They found a small diner a few blocks away, the kind of place with checkered tablecloths and a menu that promised "Home Cooking Just Like Mama's." It was warm inside, crowded with the lunch rush, and they managed to snag a booth in the back corner.
The waitress who came to take their order was young and cheerful, with her hair pulled back in a ponytail and a smile that seemed genuine. "What can I get you boys today?"
They ordered—burgers for both of them, coffee, a side of fries to share—and as the waitress was about to leave, she paused, her smile turning knowing.
"You two are so cute together," she said warmly. "How long have you been dating?"
Remus froze, his coffee cup halfway to his lips. Sirius's eyes went wide. The waitress was looking at them expectantly, clearly waiting for an answer, and for one long moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Sirius's foot nudged Remus's under the table—gentle, questioning. Remus looked at him, saw the slight flush in Sirius's cheeks, the nervous hope in his eyes, and made a decision.
He didn't correct her.
"Not long," Sirius said, his voice only slightly unsteady, his eyes never leaving Remus's face. His hand crept across the table, palm up, an invitation.
The waitress beamed. "Well, you make a lovely couple. I'll get your order in right away."
As she walked away, Remus slowly reached out and took Sirius's offered hand. Their fingers intertwined, and Sirius's palm was warm against his own. The contact sent electricity up Remus's arm, and he could see Sirius was blushing—really blushing, a deep pink that spread from his cheeks down his neck.
"So," Sirius said, his voice playful but with an undercurrent of nervousness that betrayed how much this moment meant. "Not long, huh? When should we say our anniversary is?"
"Sirius—" Remus started, not sure what he wanted to say.
"It's okay, Moony," Sirius said quickly, but he didn't let go of Remus's hand. "We don't have to... I mean, if you want to tell her it was a mistake, that we're not—"
"I don't want to," Remus interrupted. "Tell her it was a mistake, I mean."
Sirius's breath caught. "No?"
"No."
They sat there, hands clasped across the checkered tablecloth, both of them blushing like teenagers, both of them grinning like idiots. Around them, the diner continued its lunchtime chaos, but in their corner booth, the world had narrowed to just the two of them and the warmth of their joined hands.
"This is insane," Sirius said, but he was smiling. "We're fugitives. I'm a wanted man. You're harboring a criminal. This is possibly the worst time in the history of the world to be starting... whatever this is."
"Probably," Remus agreed. "But when has timing ever been on our side?"
"Fair point." Sirius's thumb traced small circles on the back of Remus's hand, a gesture so tender it made Remus's chest tight. "So what do we do now?"
"We eat lunch," Remus said. "And then... I don't know. Figure it out as we go?"
"I can work with that."
Their food arrived, and they had to let go of each other's hands to eat, but their feet remained tangled under the table, that point of contact a constant reminder of the boundary they'd just crossed. The burgers were good, the fries were crispy, and they caught each other's eyes and smiled more times than either of them could count.
When they finally left the diner, Sirius reached for Remus's hand again as if it were the most natural thing in the world, and Remus let him, lacing their fingers together as they walked down the Brooklyn streets.
"There's a park nearby," Remus said. "Prospect Park. Want to walk for a bit?"
"I want to walk everywhere," Sirius said with feeling. "Do you know how long it's been since I could just... walk? Without exhaustion hitting after ten minutes? Without feeling like my legs might give out?"
"You've come a long way," Remus said softly.
"We've come a long way," Sirius corrected, squeezing his hand.
Prospect Park was beautiful in the late afternoon light, the trees showing their autumn colors in brilliant displays of red and gold. They walked the paths slowly, in no particular hurry, just enjoying the freedom of movement and each other's company.
Sirius kept pulling out his wand every few minutes, casting small spells just for the joy of it—making leaves swirl in miniature whirlwinds, conjuring small lights that danced between the trees, even successfully levitating a fallen branch for a few seconds before his concentration broke and it clattered back to the ground.
"Show off," Remus teased, watching Sirius practice with the wand like a kid with a new toy.
"Damn right I'm showing off," Sirius said cheerfully. "I have a wand again, Moony. A wand that chose me, even after everything. Do you understand how amazing that feels?"
"I think I'm starting to," Remus said, watching the joy on Sirius's face, the way he moved with a confidence that had been missing since his escape. This wasn't just about the wand—it was about reclaiming a piece of himself that Azkaban had tried to take.
They found a bench overlooking a pond where ducks glided across the water in the golden afternoon light. Sirius finally pocketed his wand and settled onto the bench with a contented sigh, and Remus sat beside him, close enough that their shoulders touched.
"Thank you," Sirius said again, his voice quiet and serious now. "Not just for the wand. For everything. For believing I was innocent when no one else did. For taking me in, for keeping me safe, for..." He gestured vaguely between them. "For this. Whatever this is."
"Whatever this is," Remus echoed, and then, because he was feeling brave and they'd already crossed so many lines today, he added, "I'm glad we're figuring it out."
Sirius turned to look at him, and the expression on his face was soft and open in a way Remus hadn't seen since before Azkaban—maybe since before the war. "Me too, Moony. Me too."
They sat there as the sun began to set, painting the sky in shades of pink and orange, just two men on a bench watching the ducks, holding hands like it was the most natural thing in the world. And for that moment, despite everything—despite being fugitives, despite the danger, despite all the uncertainty of their future—they were happy.
"Moony," Sirius said suddenly, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm going to do something completely reckless."
Before Remus could ask what, Sirius was leaning in, closing the distance between them with a mixture of determination and terror in his eyes. His free hand came up to cup Remus's jaw, and then his lips were on Remus's, soft and hesitant and absolutely perfect.
For a heartbeat, Remus froze, his mind going completely blank. Then—
He kissed back.
It was fumbling at first, awkward with nerves and years of wanting and not quite knowing where to put their hands or how to tilt their heads. Their noses bumped, and Sirius made a small sound that might have been a laugh or a sob, and Remus's free hand found its way to the back of Sirius's neck, fingers tangling in his dark hair.
Then something shifted. The kiss deepened, grew more certain, as all the careful restraint they'd been maintaining for weeks—for years, if Remus was honest with himself—finally shattered. Sirius's hand tightened on Remus's jaw, angling his head for better access, and Remus responded in kind, pulling him closer until there was no space left between them.
When they finally broke apart, both breathing hard, Sirius pressed his forehead against Remus's, his eyes still closed.
"Tell me that was okay," Sirius whispered, sounding more vulnerable than Remus had ever heard him. "Tell me I didn't just ruin everything."
"Sirius," Remus said, his voice rough and warm, "you didn't ruin anything."
"No?"
"No." Remus pulled back just enough to meet Sirius's eyes, and what he saw there—hope and fear and want all tangled together—made his heart ache. "In fact, I think you might have just made everything make sense."
Sirius let out a shaky laugh, his thumb stroking along Remus's cheekbone. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." And then, because words suddenly felt inadequate, Remus leaned in and kissed him again.
This time there was no fumbling, no hesitation. This time they knew what they wanted, and they took it—soft and fierce and full of all the things they'd been too afraid to say out loud. Around them, the park continued its evening ritual, joggers passing by, ducks settling in for the night, the sun painting the world in golds and purples. But on their bench, Sirius and Remus were lost in each other, finally brave enough to reach for what they'd been circling for so long.
When they finally pulled apart again, both of them were smiling, a little dazed, a lot happy.
"We should probably head back," Remus said eventually, though he made no move to stand.
"Probably," Sirius agreed, also not moving. His hand was still tangled in Remus's hair, and he seemed reluctant to let go. "Though I'm quite comfortable right here."
"Sirius, it's getting dark. And cold."
The walk back to the hotel felt both endless and far too short. They kept stealing glances at each other, fingers intertwined, and every time their eyes met, one of them would smile like they were sharing the world's best secret.
When they finally reached their room, Remus had barely closed the door behind them before Sirius was on him, pressing him back against the wall with a kiss that was all heat and hunger and relief. Remus made a surprised sound that quickly turned into a moan as Sirius's hands found his hips, his waist, sliding up to frame his face.
"Wanted to do this the whole walk back," Sirius breathed against his lips. "Couldn't stop thinking about—"
Remus cut him off with another kiss, deeper this time, pouring weeks of longing and fear and hope into it. Sirius responded immediately, one hand tangling in Remus's hair while the other gripped his shoulder, holding him close like he might disappear if Sirius let go.
They kissed until they were both breathless, until Remus's legs felt weak and his heart was pounding so hard he could hear it in his ears. When they finally broke apart, Sirius rested his forehead against Remus's, both of them panting.
"Bloody hell, Moony," Sirius whispered, his voice rough and wrecked in a way that sent heat pooling low in Remus's stomach.
"Yeah," Remus managed, because coherent thought was beyond him at the moment.
Sirius pulled back slightly, and his eyes were dark, pupils blown wide, cheeks flushed. He looked thoroughly kissed and absolutely beautiful, and Remus had to resist the urge to pull him back in.
"I should—" Remus started, then had to clear his throat. "I should shower. Still have half the park in my hair from earlier."
"Right. Yeah." Sirius stepped back, running a hand through his own disheveled hair, and Remus noticed his hand was shaking slightly. "Good idea. I'll just... I'll be out here. Not going anywhere."
Remus nodded, not trusting himself to say anything else, and practically fled to the bathroom.
The moment the door closed behind him, he leaned against it and let out a shaky breath. His lips still tingled from Sirius's kisses, and his whole body felt electric, alive in a way it hadn't in years. Maybe ever.
He turned on the shower, letting the water heat up while he undressed with trembling fingers. When he finally stepped under the spray, the hot water was a relief and a torment all at once. He couldn't stop thinking about Sirius—the taste of him, the solid warmth of his body pressed against Remus's, the little sounds he'd made when they kissed.
Remus closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against the cool tile, trying to calm his racing thoughts and the insistent heat pooling in his belly. Thank god they had two beds in this room. If they'd been sharing... he didn't know what he would do. They'd only just kissed for the first time a few hours ago. This was all so new, so fragile, and Remus didn't want to rush it, didn't want to push for more than Sirius was ready to give.
But god, he wanted. Wanted in a way that was almost frightening in its intensity.
He took his time in the shower, letting the water cool his heated skin, trying to think about practical things—their dwindling funds, the need to move again soon, whether Mark had any shifts available next week. Anything but the way Sirius had looked at him against that wall, anything but the memory of those kisses.
By the time he finally emerged, dressed in clean clothes with his hair still damp, he felt more in control of himself. Calmer. Ready to face Sirius without immediately jumping him.
Sirius was sitting on his bed, the new wand in his hands, practicing small charms—making a pen levitate, conjuring tiny sparks of light. He looked up when Remus entered, and the soft smile that spread across his face made Remus's careful composure wobble dangerously.
"Feel better?" Sirius asked.
"Much," Remus said, settling onto his own bed—his separate, safe, appropriately distant bed. "How's the wand practice going?"
"Brilliant," Sirius said, and the joy in his voice was unmistakable. "It's like... I don't know, like finding a part of myself I thought was gone forever." He paused, then added more quietly, "Today's been... it's been a good day, Moony. Maybe the best I've had in years."
"Yeah," Remus agreed, his heart swelling with affection. "It really has been."
They looked at each other across the space between their beds—a space that suddenly felt both too large and absolutely necessary—and smiled like the fools in love they were apparently becoming.
"You know," Sirius said after a moment, his voice taking on that familiar mischievous tone, "this is rather tragic, isn't it? Finally get the guy, and we're sleeping in separate beds like a couple of Victorian gentlemen preserving their virtue." His grey eyes sparkled with amusement.
Remus felt heat flood his face, his cheeks going absolutely crimson. "Sirius—"
"What? I'm just saying, it's very romantic. Very proper." Sirius was grinning now, clearly delighted by Remus's reaction. "Though I have to admit, Moony, you've never looked more like a Gryffindor than you do right now. Very bold of you, that blush."
"I hate you," Remus muttered, burying his burning face in his hands.
"No you don't," Sirius said confidently, and when Remus peeked through his fingers, Sirius was still smiling at him with such warmth and affection that Remus's embarrassment melted into something softer.
"No," Remus admitted quietly. "I really don't."
"Good," Sirius said, settling back against his pillows. "Because I'm rather fond of you too. Even if you do insist on this whole 'separate beds' nonsense."
"It's not nonsense, it's—it's just how the room came," Remus protested weakly.
"If you say so." But Sirius was still grinning, and the look he gave Remus was full of promise. "For now."
Those two words hung in the air between them, heavy with implication, and Remus had to remind himself very firmly that sensible was good, that taking things slow was the right choice, that they had all the time in the world.
Even if every fiber of his being was currently arguing otherwise.
Remus watched as Sirius settled more comfortably into bed, dressed in his sleeping clothes, that he must have changed into while Remus was showering, clearly getting ready to sleep. The new wand was still in his hand, and he kept casting small charms—making the pen dance in lazy circles, conjuring sparks that fizzled into nothing, clearly just enjoying the simple act of having magic at his fingertips again.
Then, with a casual flick of his wrist and a murmured spell, Sirius's bed began to expand. It stretched wider, longer, transforming from a narrow single into something easily large enough for two people. The sheets adjusted themselves accordingly, smoothing out across the enlarged mattress.
"Oops," Sirius said, his tone far too innocent to be genuine. "Look at that. My bed seems to have gotten bigger." He glanced over at Remus, grey eyes sparkling with mischief and something warmer. "Plenty of room now, if you wanted to... you know. Join me."
Remus stared at him, his heart doing complicated things in his chest. Every rational thought was telling him to stay where he was, to maintain that safe distance, to take things slowly. But Sirius was looking at him with such open invitation, such hope mixed with playful challenge, and Remus's resolve was crumbling like sand.
"I should—" Remus started, but the words died in his throat.
He stood up, moving almost on autopilot, and dipped into the bathroom quickly changing into his pajamas—a pair of worn sweatpants and another shirt from the lost and found, soft with age and washing. His hands were trembling slightly as he crossed the small space between their beds.
Sirius's eyes widened, surprise flickering across his features as Remus actually climbed under the sheets beside him. For a moment they just lay there, side by side, both suddenly uncertain now that the joke had become reality.
Then Remus, feeling a surge of boldness he didn't know he possessed, reached out and pulled Sirius close. He wrapped his arms around him, tucking Sirius's head under his chin, one hand coming up to cradle the back of his head while the other settled at the small of his back.
Sirius went very still in his arms, clearly shocked by Remus's unexpected confidence.
"You know," Remus whispered into Sirius's hair, his voice low and warm and tinged with amusement, "if you wanted me to hold you, all you had to do was ask."
He felt rather than heard Sirius's breath catch, and then Sirius melted into the embrace, his own arms coming up to wrap around Remus's waist. His face pressed into the crook of Remus's neck, and Remus could feel the smile against his skin.
"Noted," Sirius murmured, his voice muffled and content. "For future reference."
"For future reference," Remus agreed softly.
They lay there in the quiet darkness, holding each other as the sounds of the city filtered in through the window. Sirius was warm and solid in his arms, his breathing gradually evening out as he relaxed completely. Remus felt something tight in his chest finally ease—a tension he'd been carrying for so long he'd forgotten it was there.
"Moony?" Sirius whispered after a long moment.
"Mm?"
"Thank you. For everything. For this."
Remus pressed a kiss to the top of Sirius's head, gentle and tender. "Always, Padfoot. Always."
And as they drifted toward sleep, tangled together in Sirius's enlarged bed, both of them felt something they hadn't felt in years: safe, wanted, and completely, perfectly home.
Chapter Text
Remus woke slowly, consciousness returning in gentle waves. The first thing he became aware of was warmth—the solid, comforting presence of another body pressed against his. Sirius was still tucked into his arms, his head resting on Remus's chest, one arm draped across Remus's waist, their legs tangled together under the sheets.
For a long moment, Remus just lay there, not moving, not wanting to disturb the peaceful quiet of the early morning. Pale sunlight filtered through the curtains, painting everything in soft greys and golds, and he could hear the distant sounds of the city waking up outside their window.
He looked down at Sirius, really looked at him, and felt something warm and tender unfurl in his chest. In sleep, Sirius looked younger somehow, the lines of worry and pain that Azkaban had carved into his face smoothed away. His dark hair was mussed, falling across his forehead in careless waves, and there was color in his cheeks—real, healthy color, not the feverish flush of illness or the grey pallor of starvation.
He'd come so far. They both had. From that desperate night when Sirius had collapsed in Remus's hotel room, barely able to stand, to this—waking up in each other's arms, safe and warm and together.
Remus's hand came up almost without conscious thought, gently brushing a strand of hair away from Sirius's face. The touch was feather-light, but it was enough to make Sirius stir.
Sirius's eyes fluttered open, unfocused and hazy with sleep. For a moment he just blinked up at Remus, clearly trying to orient himself, his expression adorably confused—brow furrowed slightly, lips parted, grey eyes soft and unguarded in a way they never were when he was fully awake.
"Moony?" he mumbled, his voice rough and scratchy with sleep.
"Morning," Remus said softly, and he couldn't help the smile that spread across his face. Sirius looked absolutely adorable like this—rumpled and confused and so impossibly cute that Remus's heart did something complicated in his chest.
Before he could second-guess himself, before the rational part of his brain could remind him of all the reasons to go slow, to be careful, Remus leaned down and kissed him.
It was soft at first, gentle—just a press of lips, sweet and tender, a morning greeting that tasted like possibility. Sirius made a small surprised sound against his mouth, but he didn't pull away. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, kissing back with sleepy enthusiasm.
Then something shifted. Sirius's hand came up to cup the back of Remus's neck, fingers threading through his hair, and the kiss deepened. What had started gentle and unhurried became more intense, more urgent, as the sleepy haze gave way to full awareness and want.
Remus rolled them slightly, giving himself better leverage, one hand sliding down to Sirius's hip while the other cradled his jaw. Sirius responded immediately, his body arching into Remus's touch, a soft sound escaping him that went straight to Remus's core.
They kissed like they were making up for lost time, like they'd been starving for this and could finally, finally have it. Sirius's fingers tightened in Remus's hair, holding him close, and Remus could feel Sirius's heartbeat racing beneath his palm where it rested against his chest.
When they finally broke apart, both breathing hard, Sirius's eyes were dark and dilated, his lips kiss-swollen and red. He looked thoroughly debauched and absolutely beautiful.
"Good morning indeed," Sirius managed, his voice still rough but for entirely different reasons now.
Remus laughed breathlessly, pressing his forehead against Sirius's. "Sorry. You just looked so—"
"So what?" Sirius prompted, a smile tugging at his lips.
"Adorable. Confused. Cute." Remus felt heat creep into his cheeks. "I couldn't help myself."
"Well," Sirius said, his smile widening into a grin, "feel free to not help yourself any time you like. I'm certainly not complaining." He pulled Remus back down for another kiss, slower this time but no less passionate. "In fact, I think I could get very used to waking up like this."
"Yeah?" Remus murmured against his lips.
"Yeah," Sirius confirmed, and there was something in his voice—something warm and certain and real—that made Remus's chest tight with emotion.
Then Sirius's stomach let out a loud, protesting growl that broke the peaceful quiet.
Sirius pulled back from their kiss with a sheepish expression. "Sorry. Apparently my body has opinions about priorities."
Remus laughed, pressing one more quick kiss to Sirius's lips before reluctantly disentangling himself from their embrace. "Come on, let's get you fed before your stomach stages a full rebellion."
They got up slowly, both of them still a bit dazed and smiling like idiots. Remus padded over to the small counter where he'd set their meager supplies—a bunch of bananas he'd picked up from a street vendor yesterday and half a loaf of bread that was still good, if a bit stale.
"Gourmet breakfast," Sirius said dryly, eyeing their options, but there was no real complaint in his voice. After Azkaban, after weeks of rebuilding his strength, he'd learned not to take any meal for granted.
"Only the finest for you," Remus replied with mock solemnity, handing Sirius a banana and tearing off a piece of bread for himself.
They ate standing in the small kitchenette area, close enough that their shoulders kept brushing, stealing glances at each other between bites. It was ridiculously domestic, ridiculously normal, and somehow that made it even more precious. Just two men having breakfast together, no different from thousands of other couples across the city.
Except they were different. They were fugitives playing house, stealing moments of normalcy between the constant fear of discovery. But for now, eating slightly stale bread and bananas in a cramped hotel room, they were happy.
"What time do you need to be at Mark's?" Sirius asked, finishing his banana and reaching for another piece of bread.
Remus glanced at his watch and winced. "About twenty minutes ago, actually. I got... distracted."
Sirius's grin was absolutely wicked. "I'm an excellent distraction."
"The best," Remus agreed, then sighed. "But I really do need to go. We need the money, and Mark's been so good to us—I don't want to take advantage."
"I know." Sirius's expression softened. "Go. I'll be fine here. I've got my wand now, remember? I can practice more spells. Maybe see if I can manage something more ambitious than levitating pens."
"Just don't burn down the hotel," Remus said, only half-joking as he headed to the bathroom to quickly wash up and make himself presentable.
"No promises," Sirius called after him cheerfully.
Ten minutes later, Remus emerged dressed and ready for work, his hair still slightly damp from splashing water on his face. He grabbed his jacket—one of the coats from the lost and found—and was reaching for the door when Sirius caught him.
"Wait," Sirius said, crossing the room in quick strides. Before Remus could ask what was wrong, Sirius wrapped his arms around him, pulling him into a warm embrace.
Remus melted into it automatically, his own arms coming up to hold Sirius close for just a moment. Then Sirius pulled back slightly and pressed a quick, sweet kiss to Remus's lips—just a peck, really, but it was so casual, so domestic, so much like something a couple would do that Remus felt his heart stutter.
"Have fun at work," Sirius said with a soft smile, his hands still resting on Remus's shoulders.
Remus stared at him for a moment, completely undone by the simple tenderness of the gesture. "I—yeah. I will. You too. Have fun with your wand practice."
"Oh, I intend to." Sirius's smile turned mischievous, but there was warmth in his grey eyes that had nothing to do with teasing. "Be safe, Moony."
"Always am," Remus said, echoing their familiar refrain. He pressed one more quick kiss to Sirius's lips because he could, because Sirius was here and alive and his, and then he reluctantly pulled away and headed out the door.
As he made his way down the stairs and out onto the street, Remus couldn't stop smiling. His lips still tingled from Sirius's goodbye kiss, and he felt lighter somehow, like he was walking on air.
He was harboring a fugitive. They were running for their lives. Everything about their situation was dangerous and complicated and uncertain.
But Sirius had kissed him goodbye and told him to have fun at work, and somehow that simple, domestic gesture made everything feel possible.
The door clicked shut behind Remus, and Sirius stood there for a moment, fingers touching his lips where Remus had kissed him goodbye. A stupid, giddy smile spread across his face—the kind of smile he hadn't worn in over a decade.
He had a wand. He had Remus. For the first time since Azkaban, he had hope.
But he also had restless energy thrumming through his veins and an entire day stretching ahead of him with nothing to do. The old Sirius would have gone stir-crazy within an hour. The new Sirius—the one who'd survived Azkaban and was slowly, painstakingly rebuilding himself—knew he needed purpose.
He needed to contribute. Remus had spent nearly all his savings on that wand yesterday, and while Sirius would be grateful for that for the rest of his life, he also hated feeling like dead weight. Like Remus had to carry him.
First things first, though. He caught his reflection in the small mirror over the dresser and winced. His hair had grown wild and uneven during his time in Azkaban and the weeks since, hanging past his shoulders in tangled waves with split ends everywhere. His face was covered in patchy stubble that was more scraggly than intentional. He looked like exactly what he was—a man who'd spent twelve years in prison and was still putting himself back together.
"Right," he muttered to himself. "Let's fix that."
He headed to the bathroom, stripping off his shirt and studying himself more critically in the better light. The shower helped, washing away the morning and leaving him feeling more awake, more present. When he emerged, wrapped in a towel, he reached for his new wand.
The ebony wood was warm in his palm, thrumming with potential. He'd practiced small spells last night, but this would be different. More precise. More personal.
He started with the beard, carefully vanishing the scraggly growth until his face was smooth and clean-shaven for the first time in years. The spell came easily, the wand responding to his intent like an extension of his own will. Next came the hair—trickier, requiring more finesse. He couldn't just vanish it; he needed to shape it, trim it, make it look intentional rather than like he'd been living rough.
He worked slowly, carefully, using the mirror and small cutting charms to take off the damaged ends and bring the length to something more manageable. He kept it long—it had been long before Azkaban, part of his identity as a Black who'd rejected his family—but now it was clean, even, falling in dark waves that actually looked styled rather than neglected.
When he was done, he stared at his reflection and barely recognized himself. Not the gaunt, hollow-eyed prisoner he'd been. Not quite the arrogant young man he'd been before the war. Something in between—older, harder, but alive. Unmistakably himself.
"Not bad, Black," he told his reflection, then grinned. "Moony's going to lose his mind."
An hour later, dressed in the better of his two outfits—jeans and a button-down shirt Remus had picked up from a thrift store—Sirius stood on the street corner and realized he had absolutely no idea what he was doing.
He wanted a job. Needed one, really. But he was a wanted fugitive, and he had no identification, no references, and no idea which establishments in New York were magical and which were Muggle.
The city was overwhelming in the daylight. People rushed past him in constant motion, everyone with somewhere to be, and he had to resist the urge to transform into Padfoot just to feel less exposed. But he'd promised Remus he'd be careful, and a large black dog wandering the streets might draw exactly the kind of attention they couldn't afford.
He walked for what felt like hours, his feet starting to ache in his worn shoes. Every coffee shop or restaurant he passed, he'd pause, trying to sense if there was magic there. Sometimes it was obvious—a shimmer in the air, a sign that seemed to shift when you weren't looking directly at it. Other times, he had no idea and didn't want to risk walking into a Muggle establishment and accidentally revealing himself.
He was about to give up and head back to the hotel when he turned a corner and felt it—that unmistakable tingle of protective wards, the subtle hum of magic concentrated in one place.
The storefront was narrow and easy to miss, wedged between a dry cleaner and a bookshop. The sign above the door read "Double Bubble" in cheerful letters that definitely shimmered with magic, and through the window he could see a cozy interior that reminded him achingly of the Three Broomsticks—warm lighting, wooden tables, the comfortable chaos of a well-loved establishment.
Before he could second-guess himself, Sirius pushed open the door.
The interior was even more welcoming than it had looked from outside. It was mid-afternoon, past the lunch rush but before the dinner crowd, and there were a handful of patrons scattered at tables—witches and wizards, he could tell immediately from the casual way one woman was levitating her coffee cup while reading the paper, from the way two men at the bar were speaking with their heads close together over what was clearly a magical contract of some kind.
"Welcome to Double Bubble!" A cheerful voice called out, and Sirius turned to see a waitress approaching—young, maybe mid-twenties, with her hair in a practical ponytail and an easy smile. Her name tag read "Samantha." "Sit anywhere you like, hon. Menu's on the tables."
"Actually," Sirius said, making a split-second decision, "I was wondering if you were hiring?"
Samantha's eyebrows rose, but her smile didn't fade. "Maybe? We're always looking for good people, and Tony's been complaining about being short-staffed since Marcus left last month." She looked him up and down, assessing. "You got experience?"
"Some," Sirius lied smoothly. He'd never worked a day in his life before Azkaban—pure-blood heir, trust fund, the whole package—but how hard could serving food be? "Nothing recent, but I'm a fast learner and I need the work."
Something in his tone must have convinced her, because Samantha's expression softened. "Yeah, I get that. Hold on, let me grab Mr. Henderson. He's the owner."
She disappeared through a door marked "Staff Only," and Sirius waited, his heart pounding. He was really doing this. Going by a fake name, applying for a job, acting like a normal person instead of a wanted criminal.
It felt terrifying and exhilarating in equal measure.
Mr. Henderson turned out to be a stocky man in his fifties with salt-and-pepper hair and the kind of face that suggested he smiled often. He emerged from the back wiping his hands on a towel, looking Sirius over with sharp but not unkind eyes.
"Samantha says you're looking for work," he said without preamble. "What's your name?"
"Romulus," Sirius said, using the fake name he'd decided on during the walk. Close enough to Remus's name to remember easily, Roman enough to fit with his Black family's naming conventions, but not so distinctive as to draw attention. "Romulus... Grant." The surname came to him on the spot—common, forgettable, American.
"Experience?"
"Bar work, mostly. Some kitchen. Like I told Samantha, it's been a while, but I'm good with people and I need the work."
Henderson studied him for a long moment, and Sirius forced himself not to fidget under the scrutiny. Then the older man nodded.
"Alright, Romulus Grant. Tell you what—we're heading into the dinner rush in a few hours. You stick around, help Samantha and me get through the evening, and we'll see how you do. Consider it a trial shift. If you're not a disaster, we can talk about regular hours."
"When do I start?" Sirius asked, relief flooding through him.
"Right now," Henderson said with a grin. "Sam, get him an apron and show him the ropes. And Romulus? Don't make me regret this."
"I won't, sir. Thank you."
The next few hours were a blur of organized chaos. Samantha proved to be an excellent teacher, patient but efficient as she showed him how to take orders, how to carry multiple plates at once without magic (harder than it looked), how to work the espresso machine that apparently had both magical and non-magical settings, and how to navigate the cramped space behind the counter without running into anyone.
The dinner rush hit hard and fast—witches and wizards streaming in after work, filling the small establishment with conversation and laughter and the comfortable hum of magical people relaxing in a safe space. Sirius took orders, delivered food, cleared tables, and discovered that he actually liked it. Liked the rhythm of it, the constant motion, the brief interactions with customers who saw him as just another server, not a prisoner or a Black or a murderer.
Just Romulus, the new guy.
By the time the rush died down, his feet were killing him and his face hurt from smiling so much, but he felt more alive than he had in years. When customers left tips on their tables, Samantha showed him how to collect and split them, and by the end of the shift, he had a surprising amount of cash crumpled in his pocket.
"You did good," Henderson said, clapping him on the shoulder as they cleaned up. "Really good, especially for being rusty. You want to come back tomorrow? Same time?"
"Absolutely," Sirius said, trying not to sound too eager. "Thank you, Mr. Henderson. Really."
"Call me Tony," the older man said. "And go on, get out of here. Sam can finish closing up."
Sirius said his goodbyes and stepped out into the cool evening air, his pockets heavier with tips and his heart lighter than it had been in years. He had a job. A real job, under a fake name, in a magical establishment where he could be useful and earn money and contribute.
Wait until Moony heard about this.
The thought spurred him into motion. He stopped at a small market he'd noticed on his way to Double Bubble—one that catered to the magical community—and used some of his tip money to buy actual groceries. Fresh pasta, sauce, bread that wasn't stale, even a bottle of cheap wine. Not extravagant, but miles better than the bananas and bread that had been their breakfast.
He made it back to the hotel just minutes before Remus, barely having time to set the food on the small counter and catch his breath before he heard the key in the lock.
The door opened and Remus stepped inside, looking tired but content, and then he froze, his eyes going wide as he took in Sirius's appearance.
"Sirius? You—your hair—did you—" Remus seemed unable to finish a coherent sentence, his gaze traveling from Sirius's clean-shaven face to his trimmed hair to the bags of groceries on the counter.
"Surprise?" Sirius said with a grin. "I got a job."
"You what?"
"A job. At a wizard café called Double Bubble. I'm going by Romulus Grant, and I start again tomorrow, and I brought dinner." He gestured to the groceries, practically bouncing with excitement. "Moony, I made tips. Actual money. I can help pay for things now, I can contribute, I'm not just—"
He didn't get to finish because Remus crossed the room in three strides and kissed him—hard and sudden and tasting like relief and pride and something deeper.
When they broke apart, Remus kept his hands on Sirius's face, studying him with an expression that was equal parts amazed and concerned. "You went out. Into the city. Alone."
"I was careful," Sirius promised. "The café is warded, it's all magical folk, and no one looked at me twice. Tony—Mr. Henderson, the owner—he hired me on the spot after a trial shift. Moony, I did it. I actually did it."
"I can see that." Remus's thumb traced along Sirius's newly clean-shaven jawline, his touch gentle. "You look... you look like yourself again."
"I feel like myself again," Sirius admitted quietly. "Or at least, I'm starting to."
Remus pulled him into a hug, tight and fierce, and Sirius wrapped his arms around him just as tightly. When Remus spoke, his voice was muffled against Sirius's shoulder. "I'm proud of you. And terrified because you went out there where anything could have happened, but mostly proud. We could use the money."
"Exactly what I thought," Sirius said, pulling back with a grin. "So how about we celebrate with pasta that isn't from a can and wine that probably isn't good but at least exists?"
Remus laughed, and the sound filled the small hotel room with warmth. "That sounds perfect."
As they moved around the tiny kitchenette, Remus took over the actual cooking—Sirius's culinary skills hadn't magically improved despite getting his wand back—while Sirius leaned against the counter and told him about his day.
"You should have seen Samantha's face when I nearly dropped an entire tray of butterbeers," Sirius said, grinning at the memory. "She managed to catch them wandlessly before they hit the ground, and then just looked at me like 'really?'"
"And they still hired you?" Remus asked, stirring the pasta sauce with an amused smile.
"What can I say? I have charm." Sirius moved behind him, wrapping his arms around Remus's waist and hooking his chin over his shoulder to watch him cook. "Besides, I got better. By the end of the shift, I only almost dropped things twice."
"High praise," Remus said dryly, but he was smiling, leaning back into Sirius's embrace.
They stayed like that for a moment, swaying slightly, and Sirius pressed a kiss to the side of Remus's neck just because he could. "I missed you today."
"I was only gone a few hours."
"Still missed you." Another kiss, this one behind Remus's ear, and he felt rather than saw Remus's shiver. "Is that allowed? Am I being too clingy?"
"You're being perfect," Remus said softly, turning his head to catch Sirius's lips in a quick, sweet kiss. "And I missed you too."
Remus turned in his arms, the wooden spoon still in his hand, and studied Sirius's face with that intense focus that always made Sirius feel seen in a way that was both terrifying and wonderful. "You really do look different. Good different. Healthy."
"That's all you, Moony. You got me here." Sirius kissed him again, deeper this time, until Remus made a soft sound and pulled back with a breathless laugh.
"The sauce is going to burn."
"Let it burn."
"Sirius Black, if you think I'm letting perfectly good food go to waste after the week we've had—" But Remus was smiling, turning back to the stove and finishing the dinner while Sirius stayed close, stealing kisses and touches whenever he could reach.
By the time they sat down to eat at the small table by the window, both of them were flushed and grinning like teenagers. The pasta was simple but delicious, and the wine was exactly as mediocre as Sirius had predicted, but neither of them cared.
"To your first day of work," Remus said, raising his glass.
"To not being dead weight anymore," Sirius countered, clinking his glass against Remus's.
"You were never—"
"I was, and that's okay. But now I'm not, and that feels good." Sirius took a sip of wine and made a face. "This tastes like something died in a barrel and was left to ferment."
"It was three dollars," Remus pointed out checking the tag.
"And worth every penny," Sirius said solemnly, which made Remus laugh—that full, genuine laugh that Sirius was quickly becoming addicted to.
They ate and talked, Remus telling him about his day at the apothecary, about Mrs. Halberstadt's arthritis potion and how Mark had asked after Sirius's "friend situation" with careful tact. Sirius told him more about Double Bubble, about the regular customers Samantha had pointed out, about how Tony had a policy of hiring people who needed second chances without asking too many questions.
"Sounds like he's good people," Remus said.
"Yeah," Sirius agreed. "He is. It's... nice. Having somewhere to go. Something to do that isn't just waiting around and feeling useless."
When they finished eating, Sirius waved away Remus's attempt to help clean up. "Go shower. You've been on your feet all day, and I can handle dishes. I'm not completely hopeless."
"Are you sure?"
"Moony, I served food to probably forty people tonight without poisoning anyone or setting anything on fire. I think I can handle washing three plates and two forks."
Remus stood, pressing a kiss to the top of Sirius's head. "Don't stay up too late."
"Wouldn't dream of it."
But by the time Sirius had finished the dishes and changed into his pajamas—proper ones this time, that Remus had picked up from a thrift store—he was already fighting to keep his eyes open. The exhaustion from his first shift was catching up with him, his feet aching and his whole body heavy with the pleasant tiredness of a day well spent.
He pulled out his wand and cast the enlarging charm on his bed—their bed, really, it had been their bed last night and he had no intention of changing that—and crawled under the covers. He'd just rest his eyes for a moment while waiting for Remus.
Just for a moment...
He must have started to drift off because the next thing he knew, he was blinking awake at the sound of the bathroom door opening. Remus emerged in a cloud of steam, his hair damp and curling slightly, wearing sweatpants and an old t-shirt, and Sirius felt his heart do something complicated in his chest at the simple domesticity of it all.
"Bed, Moony?" Sirius mumbled, his voice slurred with exhaustion. He fumbled with the covers, pulling them back in invitation, his movements clumsy with sleep. "C'mere."
Remus's expression softened into something so tender it made Sirius's chest ache even through the haze of tiredness. "I'm coming, I'm coming."
The bed dipped as Remus slid in beside him, and Sirius immediately rolled into him, tucking himself against Remus's side with a contented sigh. Remus's arm came around him automatically, pulling him close, and Sirius felt the last of the day's tension drain away.
"Tired?" Remus asked softly, his free hand coming up to card through Sirius's hair—longer now, but clean and soft instead of tangled.
"Mmm," Sirius hummed, already more than half asleep. "Good tired though. Earned tired."
"You did good today," Remus murmured, pressing a kiss to Sirius's forehead. "I'm so proud of you."
Sirius wanted to respond, wanted to say something meaningful about how none of this would be possible without Remus, about how loved he felt, about how this—lying in bed together after a long day of honest work—was more than he'd ever dreamed he'd have again.
But exhaustion was pulling him under, warm and heavy and irresistible. He managed to press a sleepy kiss to whatever part of Remus he could reach—his shoulder, maybe, or his chest—and mumbled something that might have been "love you" or might have just been an incoherent sound.
Remus's arms tightened around him, holding him safe and close, and Sirius let himself drift off completely, secure in the knowledge that he'd wake up the same way—warm, safe, and exactly where he belonged.
Remus lay awake a bit longer, watching Sirius sleep against him, still marveling at the changes a single day had brought. The clean-shaven face, the trimmed hair, but most of all the sense of purpose that had returned to Sirius's eyes. He'd taken a huge risk today, going out into the city alone, but he'd also taken back a piece of himself.
And if Remus's heart was still racing slightly at the thought of all the things that could have gone wrong, well, that was just something he'd have to get used to. Because this was Sirius—brave and reckless and determined to rebuild himself, no matter the risk.
Remus pressed another kiss to his forehead and let himself relax into sleep, his werewolf senses attuned to Sirius's steady breathing, his warmth, his presence.
They'd both earned this rest. Tomorrow would bring new challenges, new fears, new moments of stolen happiness. But for tonight, they had this—each other, safety, and the simple miracle of waking up together to face another day.
It was more than enough.