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Chapter Text

Remus Lupin figured that he ought to be too old by now to be waking up at five in the morning. Surely, after everything he’d faced in life, he must have earned the assurance that he would no longer be forced to wake up before seven. Granted, his own father had often woken up with the sun when he was around Remus’s current age, as many fathers are wont to do, but Lyall Lupin hadn’t been experiencing creaking bones and aching joints since his early teens.

In clear protest of the still-dark morning, a large yawn ripped out of Remus’s mouth, widely enough that he felt his jaw click. He laid still for several minutes, regaining his bearings, before slowly arranging his body into a sitting position on the large bed he and one other were currently occupying. The large, impressively lush bedcover had bunched somewhere towards the end of the bed throughout the night, and the bed’s occupants must have made do with the thin, satin sheets that were now wrapped like a cocoon around their legs. Remus blearily took in the form beside him. If he was too old to wake up before the sun, Remus mused, then he was certainly too old to be drinking until he passed out on the bed.

He and Sirius had spent the majority of the night speaking in whispered tones in front of the cracked fireplace of their sitting room, reminiscing of happier times, mostly. The dominating topics of conversation being James and Lily, of course. After Remus’s sharp hearing picked up signs of Harry finally settling into bed (creaky, restless springs turning into ruffling covers and soft breathing,) the two men had begun their yearly tradition of getting thoroughly drunk. However, this year, their usual schedule was pushed forward about two months to accommodate the start of Harry’s first term at Hogwarts.

“Sirius,” Remus whispered somewhat hoarsely, “we’ll need to be getting up, soon.” As he said this, he made sure to brush the hair off of the other man’s face. It had been dangerously close to getting into Sirius’s mouth, and heaven only knows that Sirius purchased the satin pillowcases for a reason, not to only be undone by drunken snoring and his own saliva.

“ Mm nn nff …’ gerroff, Moons...” came the stubborn mumbling as thanks. Though, despite his grumbling, Sirius slowly pushed himself onto his elbows, and with staggered movements, peered at the clock on the side table closest to him. He guffawed, exasperated, “It’s not yet five in the bloody morning! I’m pretty confident in remembering that we were awake not four hours ago?” Remus cleared his dry throat. He had been certain that last night he had thought to place water nearby in preparation for this exact scenario, but looking askance at his own bedside table, it would seem he was wrong.

“Visiting at Saint Mungos opens in three hours, and Harry’s not yet packed all his robes. I saw yesterday that half were still in his closet.”

“We could send them over later, couldn’t we?” 

Remus looked over at Sirius, unimpressed. Sirius held his stare for only a moment before rolling his eyes and sighing loudly. In tandem, both men slid out from the covers to prepare for the morning.

The first hours after leaving their bed oversaw breakfast, last-minute packing, and a general rush inside the respectable country home of the Black-Lupin-Potter household. Sirius had commandeered breakfast, only loosely assisted by Harry, who seemed to be offloading his nervous energy into whisking the dozen-or-so eggs that had been placed into a comically ornate mixing bowl. “Are you sure that I won’t get in trouble with Madam Hooch for bringing my own pair of flying gloves?” 

Two days previous, the three had set out to Diagon Alley for school materials, and Harry and Sirius had gotten a little too carried away in Quality Quidditch Supplies. Despite warnings that Harry wouldn’t even be able to use half of the equipment until his second year, Remus watched with a quiet sort of joy as his two favorite people buzzed around the aisles, gushing over different broom models and practice bludgers. They left that day with Harry’s study materials, an intriguing phoenix-feather wand (which Remus and Sirius had shared a concerned look over,) an elegant snowy owl, and about half of the quidditch store’s inventory. 

“‘Course not, Haz!” Sirius grinned, “Hooch has been sweet on me since my fourth year, she wouldn’t dare risk anything coming between us as small as a first-year bringing practice gloves.”

“If you’re referring to the time in fourth year that you turned the grass around the pitch into lockweed, which grabbed at anyone who crossed it, and Rolanda subsequently giving you six weeks detention as being ‘sweet’ on you, I think we need to get you examined at Mungos seeing as we’re already making the trip.”

“I know she did it only because she wanted to see more of me. Don’t take it personally Moony, you know you’ll always be my favorite mistress.”

Remus himself had been relegated to loading Harry’s trunk into their painstakingly maintained (and lovingly modified) Ford Cortina. It was parked just off the side of the walkway, with the boot having been charmed to be more spacious. The contents of the trunk were a topic of conversation between the two adults sometime that morning, with Remus’s keen eye having noticed a familiar piece of parchment tucked in between some rolls of socks.

“Minerva will be keeping enough of an eye on him as it is; the last thing he needs is a map dedicated to getting him into trouble! We should, at the very least, wait until Christmas to allow him to use it.”

“My dearest heart, my moonshine, you know he’s going to be stumbling across the wilder bits the bleeding castle has sooner or later, and if anything, this will just help him get to class on time sooner than it will take the other kids in his year! Chances are it’ll be until Christmas that he figures out how to use it, anyway.”

Remus had acquiesced under these points, always one to appreciate a good challenge of wit that the map would surely provide Harry, on the strict promise that Sirius wouldn’t send their young charge any hints for how to unlock the map prematurely. At the very least, James would have approved.

Ah, Remus was startled into remembering, right. He had known he’d forgotten something.

“Accio photograph!”

A small, fluttering picture came zipping towards him from inside the house, alongside sounds of clattering and an annoyed “Oi!” from the direction of the kitchen.

The picture was simple, just the small family of three smiling and wearing color-coordinated robes, standing in front of the orange-yellow brick wall of their front garden. The Harry in the picture was smiling shyly at the camera and adjusting his collar, and the Sirius in the picture was laughing uproariously at some unknown event, with the Remus beside him trying to surreptitiously jab him in the ribs with his elbow. Really, the only difference between this year’s and last year’s family portrait was the absence of the old Potter family cat, Ruby, who had passed away peacefully in late November.

Remus was quite fond of this picture. James would be, too.

Halloween, 1981 obviously hadn’t been the start of Sirius and Remus’s yearly tradition of visiting Saint Mungos. That would be the Halloween of ‘83. Halloween of 1982 had been filled with more drinking than not, and they hadn’t even visited the healing facility on October 31st of that year. Instead, that day was spent at the small cemetery near Godric’s Hollow, introducing a small, fussy Harry to his mum. Sirius and Remus had been feeling more than a bit fussy themselves that day, and consequently, it had taken them several years afterward to feel up to visiting their fallen friend again.

Technically, it was November 1st, 1983 that should have been the start of their Saint Mungos tradition, because it was on that day in 1981 amidst cold morning hours that healers had informed a pale, shaking Remus about James’s condition.

“Permanent,” they had said, “our condolences.” It was from there that Remus shared the news with Dumbledore, who had been permitted to visit a near-inconsolable Sirius Black, who was still in a ministry holding cell. Upon his release a week later, the animagus had rushed to see James in the hospital, not to leave (except to sleep in his own bed, when the attending healer put their foot down,) for several weeks more. To his greatest shame, it was only after those first few weeks that Sirius had been composed enough to collect the baby Harry from the wizarding state’s fostering office and sign him into his own legal care. Remus, the angel, had spent much of his time after Halloween gathering the appropriate documents from the ruins of James and Lily’s former home. He hadn’t been permitted by the state to claim custody, much to the outrage of his partner, and his grief had always been more detached than it was suffocating, like Sirius’s own.

Of course, Sirius of the present justified, moving his hand to the gear shift and glancing at Harry through the rearview mirror as he did so, it wasn’t as though they only visited his best friend in the entire world just the one time a year. He couldn’t do that to his Jamie, the very same Jamie who took him in when he had nowhere else to go, and the very one who had never given up on him (even when it probably would have been the sane thing to do.) Just, it felt especially like the thing they needed to do on the anniversary of that awful night. He, Remus, and Harry dropped by plenty throughout the year, but this was really the only day that they took the time to mourn what could have been. Over time, the tone of their visits had shifted from only mourning to include the celebration of everything that had been gained in their lives since. With James, they shared the celebration of each new milestone Harry passed, every bright change that took place, and privately, Sirius also celebrated the fact that with each new visit, he was no longer as bogged down by an overwhelming guilt whenever he looked James in the eyes. Yes, now, Sirius looked forward to the times that their small family could catch up with Jamie in the ways that they were able.

His train of thought was interrupted by Remus humming along mildly to Bowie’s “Starman,” and his fingers lightly tapping along to the rhythm. It was clear that he was trying not to disturb Harry, who was curled up in the backseat, conked out from the Cortina’s repetitious bumpings along the gravel road. His long legs were crossed ankle over calf, and his head tilted slightly towards the window, though his eyes never left the road in front of them. Merlin, he looked good in that jumper.

Truly, Sirius considered, he couldn’t have imagined what he might have done in a past life to deserve the still peace of this moment, but he would vigorously shake the withered hand of Merlin himself as thanks for letting him bypass the life of non-stop suffering that he surely had been originally assigned.

They were still 45 minutes or so from the city, so Sirius allowed his mind to continue to wander. Surely, he was allowed that much.

As the car whizzed past the country roads and slowed down through the traffic of London (one of the few things that Sirius stated would ever make him regret having gotten a muggle vehicle license,) Harry was finally roused from his sleep. The eleven-year-old rubbed at his eyes, blinking owlishly as they pulled the car over into a suitable location. Normally, they wouldn’t have bothered with the hour drive and would have simply done side-along apparition, but Sirius always leapt at the chance to gawk at muggle London, and Harry would be leaving from King’s Cross station directly after their visit. Remus opened the back passenger door for Harry, and Sirius began casting the appropriate disillusionment charms on the Cortina. 

The large, imposing outer walls of the Saint Mungos Establishment for Long-Term Treatment, or SMELT, filled Harry with a bit of trepidation. Under normal circumstances, the occasions on which they visited James – his dad – weren’t joined by any sort of pressure to, well, perform. Only, this time marked the beginning of his visits becoming increasingly infrequent, and that meant that there was a need for Harry to leave a good, final, pre-Hogwarts impression. Now that he would be staying at the school for most of the year, he wouldn’t be able to visit as often as he had become used to. Of course, his godparents had reassured him that they would include him in their own visits as often as possible, but it obviously wasn’t going to be quite the same.

Harry would say that he had a good relationship with his dad, as much as one could have under the circumstances. He’d told James about his darkest secrets, stuff that he hadn’t even told Remus and Sirius. He’d told James about the one time he’d lied to Sirius about knowing who the lead singer of Pink Floyd was (though he was pretty sure he hadn’t fooled anyone, seeing as Remus conveniently left open a Rolling Stone magazine featuring the band on the dining room table,) and he’d told James about the time that he pocketed a knut-sized sweet from Honeydukes (Harry actually had felt really bad about that, and had fessed up to the store owner before he’d even left, so in all honesty, Remus and Sirius didn’t really need to know about that one,) and he’d even told James about the time he’d spoken to a large grass snake in a field near his home (he probably should ask his godparents about that, honestly) so, yes, he would say that he has a good relationship with his dad.

But, still, Harry thought as Remus smiled at him, hand heavy on his shoulder as they walked through the large front doors of the facility, he couldn’t help but wonder what life would’ve been like had his father never landed himself in here. Would he still have a silvery lightning-shaped scar on his forehead? Would he still like Quidditch? Would he be able to wake up hearing Sirius belting along to songs on the radio, and the smell of Remus’s special french toast? Would he have had to cry into Remus’s side as they buried Ruby last November?

Would he even be a good person?

Harry didn’t always feel like a good person, even now. Sometimes, he even felt glad that James was a resident of SMELT. He felt especially like a bad person when he thought these things on nights like last night, when he knew that his godparents had fallen asleep with the assistance of alcohol, talking about how much they wished that his mom and dad were still around in the way they used to be. He knew that Sirius still cried thinking about them, and he knew that whenever Remus’s gaze turned distant and blank, he was probably feeling the same way as Sirius.

A year or two ago, he’d confided in his two guardians about these fears of his, and while it took a moment for them to process their shock at the revelation, they’d quickly recovered, gathering Harry into their arms and telling him that no, of course having these thoughts didn’t make him a bad person. It wasn’t selfish for him to be happy with his life, no matter the circumstances that had brought him here. It wasn’t wrong for him to appreciate the relationship that he did have with James, even if that relationship was a direct result of something that had taken James away from Sirius and Remus. A bad person wouldn’t feel bad about thinking these things in the first place. They were familiar with bad people, they had told him sternly, and Harry wasn’t like them at all.

Harry Potter was a kind boy, his godparents had told him.

He wanted to believe it, on days like this.

Chapter Text

Eight eggs, ¼th pint of whole milk, four decent shakes from the cinnamon shaker, and one teaspoon of vanilla extract didn’t make Remus’s French toast special. What made his French toast special was the fact that Remus used chocolate swirl bread from the muggle bakery that was only two kilometers from their home. Topped with homemade whipping cream and caramel syrup and fresh-cut strawberries, it had rightfully earned its place at the top of the list containing Harry’s favorite foods. It sounded especially appealing right now, as Harry caught a glimpse of what was on SMELT’s breakfast menu that day. Normally, there’s nothing wrong with beans on toast, but he doubted that any of the original taste would be detected among all of the vitamins, herbs, and potions that the meal would need to be taken with inside the memory ward. 

Saint Mungos Establishment for Long-Term Treatment wasn’t necessarily a dreary place. It was obvious that the healers took a lot of care to make each room feel homey and personal. Still, it couldn’t be helped that the feeling of “home” was eventually lost as one walked down its hallways, catching a glimpse of slowly shuffling patients, sterile-smelling closets, and healers rushing to and fro between assignments.

This didn’t seem to deter his godparents in the slightest. They strode through the halls as though they, too, lived there, Sirius waving and winking to staff he recognized, and Remus inquiring familiarly with the front desk worker whether or not James Potter had finished his first mobility rotation of the day.

Harry couldn’t exactly remember the first time that he entered SMELT with his godparents to visit James at the tender age of four and a half. It had been a very long time ago, after all.

But, Harry grimaced, he did remember the state of his godfathers during that visit.

At the time, he wasn’t certain if their false cheer had been for Harry’s sake, or for the person they had come to visit in the first place, but they really weren’t fooling anyone. Their faces had been ashen and lined with grief, and their voices hadn’t been anything more than hoarse whispers, no matter how hard they tried to disguise them. The two adults certainly hadn’t looked anything like they did at the present, confidently waltzing into the 12th residential room of the memory wing, their eyes bright and fond as they gazed around the room, looking for Harry’s father. Sirius barked out a greeting and strode forward a few paces, only stopping when a floating quill tapped his shoulder, urging him to sign in the three new people on the visitors log. There, at the end of the room full of curtains, patient-occupied beds, ramshackle drawers, and quiet beeping noises, they found one frail man, who was currently sitting on his bed with his arms tucked around his knees. His vacant eyes were tracking the movement of a brightly-colored paper bird that had been enchanted to lazily flutter around the room. Any remaining trace of the man’s once richly brown skin was washed away by the mint green patient robes he donned, and any attempt at taming his dark and wild hair had been foregone by his primary healers many years ago. The only thing to suggest that the man in the bed was, indeed, James Potter, were the familiar pair of glasses precariously perched on his nose. Everything else about the man’s appearance seemed… drained away.

Harry hadn’t known the man to be anything else.

“Prongs,” Remus called out pleasantly, “present for you.” From the folds of his bag, he pulled out a small photograph, waving it in the air as he approached, though not before handing the bag to Sirius. James didn’t do anything to acknowledge their arrival other than a nearly imperceptable tilt of his head in their direction, his eyes not leaving the paper bird. Harry observed that this didn’t seem to affect the werewolf in the slightest, as he continued walking towards the bed. “It’s from this past Christmas. You know how fussed Sirius can be about the cards.”

Sirius stopped what he was doing, rummaging through the bag that had just been handed to him by his partner, to look over at Remus with an offended pout.

“I resent that, you.”

Remus sniggered in response as he approached the wall behind James’s bed. “I’ll just put this with the others for you to look at later.”

The wall was filled with a large number of photographs, ranging in time from the older trio’s Hogwarts days, to Harry’s parents’ wedding, and on to the several family photographs that had been taken over the years. Harry didn’t remember James ever looking at the photographs while they were there to witness, but surely he must have glanced at them at some point. Harry himself looked at them a lot during their visits.

Harry, in contrast to the relaxed manner of his guardians, was stiffly standing at the door, mildly nervous. He stared at the man who, ever since Harry started wearing glasses, he had been told looked exactly like him. He had been here several times, and not once had he felt unwelcome or unwanted. This was a place that he felt, arguably, comfortable in. Why should this time be any different? He steeled himself and forced one of his legs to move, then the other, shuffling past the other occupied beds in the room until he was standing at the foot of the final hospital bed. Did he appear different to James this year, he wondered, older, now that he would be donning his Hogwarts robes? Could his father tell that his palms were sweaty, tightly clutching at his new wand that he wanted to show off to him so desperately?

Despite not looking in his direction, Harry knew that James was aware of his presence. It was instinct that he knew this, probably. After several minutes of Harry’s nervous, shallow breathing, James finally moved. Slowly, languidly, the man moved his arm in Harry’s general direction, almost as if he were pushing through water. His fingers lightly pressed against the paper-thin sheets nearest to Harry. Then, Harry saw James close his eyes. He took a slow, deep breath as though falling asleep.

Harry relaxed, the tension leaving his body, as he, too, sighed deeply.

He began to recount the past several months of his life to his dad.

After sticking the photograph to the wall, Remus stepped away from James and Harry to allow the boy some semblance of privacy. It was clear that Harry was still a bit fidgety, but he was rapidly losing the tension that he had been holding in his shoulders as he became more and more animated in his storytelling. Remus knew that ever since he was old enough to be aware of the full story of him losing his parents, Harry had carried a significant amount of guilt for the state James was in, despite him having no control over the circumstances that had led them here. Sirius was also doing his part, it seemed, in giving father and son some privacy, by having a rather one-sided conversation with the Longbottoms on the other side of the room.

“...up like you wouldn’t believe! Sprouting up like a weed, that one is…”

Remus remembered with a sudden jolt that the Longbottoms would also have a son entering Hogwarts this year. If memory served, he was being looked after by Frank’s mother. He’d met the woman twice, once at King’s Cross before their sixth year, and again a few years back when their visitation at SMELT had coincided.

It couldn’t be helped that they interacted with Frank and Alice more often than they had been after their arrival in the memory ward, once James took up residence alongside them. The marauders had known Frank well while at Hogwarts, despite being a year younger than him. They had only gotten to better know Alice after the couple joined the Order. But, despite their friendship, Sirius and Remus were only able to visit Frank and Alice one time after they were admitted. James hadn’t been able to visit at all, as by the time the Longbottoms were attacked, he and Lily had already gone into hiding. The fact that James would be forced into the same room as them not even a month later was something that still haunted Remus in the deep recesses of his mind.

He renewed the smile on his face and went to join Sirius at their corner of the room. Before he could slide his arms around Sirius’s waist, a small tug by the hem of his jumper stopped him. Alice had been the one to reach over to delicately grab at it and made no indication of releasing her hold any time soon. Sirius gaped at her action. “Merlin’s beard, Longbottom, control your wife! She’s putting the moves on my Moony and you’re just watching it happen?”

Remus made eye contact with the healer monitoring the room and grinned.

“I’m so dreadfully sorry you had to find out about us in this way, Pads.”

“Frank!”

The rest of their visit had been mostly uneventful. After having their own conversations with James, the three visitors watched with a detached sort of sadness as the healers served the residents their first meal of the day. Knowing that this was their cue to get ready to leave, Harry made to pack up the things he had pulled out to show James, and Sirius went to kneel by James’s bed. Harry joined Remus near the center of the room while Sirius desperately whispered a few things to his friend. Remus couldn’t help but overhear some of the hushed sentiments shared. (“I swear to you, we’re doing right by our boy, Jamie.”)

As he stood up, Remus saw his partner’s jaw was clenched, trying to contain the emotions he was feeling. The werewolf felt a rush of fondness for the man, knowing that for how wildly he felt his emotions, he didn’t want to impose any of these emotions secondhand onto their godson. That didn’t stop Sirius’s grip going very tight on Remus’s arm as they made to walk out the door, however. Before they could exit, a small noise of surprise left Harry.

James had stood up from his bed, though that wasn’t entirely unusual.

What was strange was that the frail man was making as though to approach them. The attending healer, a young man with the last name of Bedi, was also looking at James, wide-eyed. James had started vacantly walking towards the three visitors, only to stop right before Harry. Harry looked as though he had stopped breathing. James, in all the years he had lived at SMELT, had rarely acknowledged the presence of his friends with more than a twitch of his head or a vague movement of his limbs. So yes, this was highly unusual behavior from James Potter.

Still not quite looking at Harry, almost appearing as though he was looking through him, James stared down at his son.

Then, without uttering a single sound, he continued walking past them, following the paper bird that had flown behind them, and was going past another patient’s bed.

Remus and Sirius’s shoulders slumped from where they had subconsciously risen. Harry was still frozen, looking straight ahead at a fixed point.

Hope was a funny thing, Remus thought to himself. Soon after James walked past them, Sirius had taken the time to interrogate Healer Bedi for any non-communicated updates on James’s condition. There were none to be given. He was doing above average on his physical performance, but that had never been a problem for him. No, the hopes for improvement were directed solely at James’s charts for his cognition and general awareness. Unfortunately, as Head Healer Mead (who had been referred to them by Healer Bedi) told them, there just wasn’t enough knowledge on memory treatments. There were some primitive muggle remedies, to be sure, but of course, nothing could be compared to what was available in the magical community. “You’ll be the first to know if any significant changes occur,” they had been assured kindly.

Hope was a funny thing, because even if you weren’t aware there was any left to be had, the gaping feeling of its loss was still felt as intensely as it did when hope was found in abundance.

King’s Cross was just as busy as it had always been, though today it felt even more stifling than usual. Sirius shepherded his godson to the entrance of platform 9¾, not even remotely concerned about the time, despite Remus wringing his hands nervously. 

“For goodness’ sake moonshine, we’re still a quarter to the hour, I bet the first whistle hasn’t even sounded.”

Remus quietly grumbled what was certain to be a scathing retort.

No, Sirius narrowed his eyes, what he was rather more concerned about were...

“Is that Harry Potter?”

...busibodies.

The next several minutes after passing through the bricks of the platform were dedicated to shielding an increasingly bewildered Harry and his belongings from a swarm of rabidly curious onlookers.

“Surely that can’t be him!”

“Has it been ten years already?”

“Who’s that with him?”

“Mum! Can I get an owl like that one?”

“Is that Sirius Black with him? I thought he was-”

“I thought his dad survived? Why isn’t he here?”

“Make sure to invite that poor boy to sit with you at every meal, do you understand?”

“Can you see his scar from here?”

“His life must be so miserable, growing up without the love of his parents.”

That was certainly enough of that.

“Right!” Sirius barked to his partner amidst the excited shouts. “You get Harry’s trunk on board, I’ll see that he gets on the train.” Remus nodded in a steely affirmative as he knelt in front of Harry. Pushing the bangs out of his face, Remus smiled and pressed a gentle kiss to his godson’s forehead. “We’ll write every day,” He started, as he looked into Harry’s suddenly teary eyes, “and remember, we will be so proud of you no matter which house you’re sorted into. If you ever get lost, speak to Min- ah, Professor McGonagall, or your head of house, and they’ll point you in the right direction. You are a wonderful boy Harry Potter, and I trust that you will use your good judgment to find other wonderful people to be friends with. We’ve packed you lunch and have given you money for the trolley, they’re both in your rucksack. We’ll see you at Christmas.” And with a final squeeze of his shoulders, Remus was gone, his tall figure disappearing amongst the crowd, Harry’s trunk with him.

Sirius himself squared his shoulders and used his genetics - otherwise known as the Black family glare - to warn off anyone who might think of approaching them now that their third was gone. He placed his hand between Harry’s shoulder blades and gently began to push him in the direction of the closest carriage.

Harry had turned a bit pale with Remus’s departure, and was now tightly clutching his owl's cage as though it could apparate him straight home. Sirius eyed him worriedly. It wouldn't do well for him to vomit all over the platform. Really, he figured, what Harry needed right now was something to distract him.

Then, a flash of color amongst the turbulent sea of people.

“Molly, thank Merlin! Over here!”

Six heads of bright red hair rapidly turned towards them, almost having the effect of a large neon traffic sign flipping its lights on. Sirius grinned down at Harry before weaving his way towards the large family, holding fast to Harry's arm to ensure they weren't separated. Sirius pecked Molly Weasley’s cheek in greeting before firmly shaking the hands of the five children accompanying her. Molly touched a hand to her blushing face, a bit flustered. “Why, Sirius Black, it’s been an age! I almost didn’t recognize you in this crowd.” Her warm gaze turned to Harry. “And this must be the Harry I’ve heard so much about! Goodness, he truly does look like James, doesn’t he? Come over and say hello to Ron, Harry dear, he’s starting his first year, same as you.” The youngest of the boys threw a panicked look at his mum before awkwardly stepping around his siblings, expertly avoiding a foot stuck out by one of his older twin brothers. Sirius’s heart momentarily panged thinking of the Prewett brothers.

Ron was quite tall and wirey for his age, and his pale skin was completely covered in freckles. He contrasted widely with Harry, who was a bit shorter than the average eleven-year-old (Sirius and Remus frequently reassured their godson that James, too, was quite short during his first few years of Hogwarts, but sprouted up to a respectable height around the same time as everyone else) and whose dark skin had only deepened over a summer spent almost entirely outside. They certainly made quite the pair. Just behind Ron was the only girl of the Weasley bunch, who was currently half-hiding behind her mother while staring openly at Harry. Sirius caught her eye with a charming smile and a wave. The poor girl flushed bright red and fully hid behind Molly’s skirt. 

“Ginny,” Molly scolded, “enough playing around, you. Oh Harry, I do so hope you and Ron get placed in the same house! It would be so lovely for both of you to start the year off already knowing someone. Be sure to sit with each other on the train so you’ll have company. Fred, George, you’ve both got sandwiches in the-” “-the bags, we know, Mum!” the twins chorused, rolling their eyes and darting towards the train.

“Good luck, sweet Ronniekins!”

“We’ll see you after your fight with the sorting troll!”

With a final cackle, the two boys vanished onto the carriage.

Harry looked at Sirius desperately, not having heard a word about any sorting troll. Sirius smirked. “Just a joke, Haz. No trolls. Everyone knows that the real challenge is the sphinx.”

After saying goodbye to Harry, the Weasleys, and a kind muggle family whose daughter's belongings Remus had assisted in loading onto the train (Remus had found out that the father was a dentist whose practice wasn’t located too far from their village,) Remus and Sirius made their way back to the Cortina. Apart from Sirius’s grumbling about the swarm of nosy people who had crowded them on the platform (“Really, Rem, the kid’s got enough on his plate without being reminded of his tragic past, never mind the fact that he’s only eleven. This is why we even moved to the countryside in the first place, honestly…”) they were relatively quiet. Sirius wisely didn’t mention his little parting prank, though he couldn’t help but notice Remus’s face was a bit scrunched up, anyway.

He waited until they entered the car to bring it up.

“All right, Moony?”

Remus’s mouth only tightened as he glanced at Sirius. 

“It’s going to be different without him home, isn’t it?”

Thoughtfully, Sirius sat back in his seat.

Of course, it would be different, not having a third mouth to feed during the year, not needing to remind a young boy to clean up after himself, to not track mud onto the carpet. It would be different not having a go-to flying partner when craving a simple match of one-on-one Quidditch in the front garden. It would certainly be different not needing to use a plethora of silencing and locking charms every time they were feeling intimate. 

But he knew that’s not what Remus was referring to.

Over the past ten years, the two men had thrown their entire selves into raising Harry James Potter. They had begun their own relationship at the beginning of a war, and when the war was over, they were thrown right into parenthood in the most difficult way imaginable. Certainly, they’d been on their own before, just the two of them, but…

Sirius turned his head, locking eyes with Remus.

Remus John Lupin was an excellent father, a superb duelist, and nothing if not generous with his patience. He was full of snark and sarcasm, and could crack through solid granite with the weight of his stare. He was honest and fair, and forgiving to a fault. He was also staggeringly fit, and developing some rather fetching premature greys.

He would burn the world down for this man.

He held his gaze for a moment longer, before dropping it in favor of staring out the front window as he changed gear shifts.

“Yeah, I reckon it might be.”

If the two men cheated a little bit with magic to get home, no one would have been the wiser.