I Hv Always Imagined (since The Oh-so-overwhelming Epiphany) What It Would Be Like To Just Say The Words...just

ok hun i hold you and your BEAUTIFUL WORDS and poor little harry responsible for THIS torrential downpour!!!!

Fault Lines pt. 3

Fault Lines 1- read here

Fault Lines 2- read here

In which Remus and Sirius get divorced and are raising Harry and just doing their very best.

--

February 1990

“Moony, I’m stuck again!” Harry turned over his shoulder from where he was working on maths homework from the tiny desk in the corner of Remus’ flat. Remus had set it up next to his own tiny desk, usually opting to do homework alongside Harry during the week, or at the very least read so his kid wasn’t alone in his misery. Sometimes, Remus even enjoyed it, though he was sure Harry would disagree. Although the shift had been challenging to get used to, the amended custody agreement that allowed Remus and Sirius to switch off month by month was actually proving to be better. They both got more uninterrupted time. Harry was no longer living out of a suitcase and trying to remember to bring his toiletries from one place to another. There were fewer checklists and worklists and just more time. Harry had two sets of clothes, two sets of shampoo, two sets of books, and toys.

Two parents.

Income was stable and Remus finally felt his feet were on the ground after years of floating in uncertainty and uncharted territory.

Remus stood up from the couch and walked towards Harry, not feeling entirely confident he would be able to unstick Harry from the horrors of primary school maths. And what made it worse was Harry being excellent at the subject, and Harry enjoying the subject after spending the first 4 years of his schooling learning maths with Sirius during the week. Remus of all people knew how exciting and captivating Sirius could make a subject sound when he was motivated to do so; when Sirius was interested and engaged, there was nothing quite so blinding. Remus had gotten a NEWT in Astronomy for that reason alone, and even now could go out and look at the stars on the street and hear Sirius’ voice reciting constellation longitudes and latitudes in the back of his mind.

“Okay…let’s…see here.”

“It’s another mixed fraction, and I don’t know what I’m doing wrong, but I just keep getting a messier fraction and that’s not right. And then we have to add them but I can’t because I do the first part wrong and then the whole thing is wrong,” Harry looked up at him from behind round glasses, as Remus leaned over his shoulder.

It might as well have been Greek. Remus couldn’t remember a damn thing from his own muggle schooling and even then, maths wasn’t his strongest subject.

“Do…you have a text for this, Harry?”

“It’s at school. We were just given worksheets.”

“Okay…” Remus looked at it again and then back at Harry, “I…am not the person who should help you with this. Why don’t you take a break while I get Sirius over here, hm?”

“Can a break include those chocolate cupcakes in the cupboard?”

Remus smiled, kissing Harry on top of his hair quickly before he could escape from the chair, “As long as you save one for me.”

Harry pumped a fist into the air before getting out of the chair and walking the short distance to the kitchen, rummaging through the cupboards. His flat had been thrown together with, pieces collected from different shops and yard stales when he stumbled across them. A grandmother's lap on the end table; kitchen chairs that were already broken in with gaudy plaid cushion covers; the rug that tied the space together in shades of burnt orange and brown that just needed some extra love to become brand new. It wasn't glamorous. But it felt right. Remus went to the end table in his small sitting room, grabbing the two-way mirror Sirius had given him when the time between visits had gotten longer. It wasn’t uncommon for Harry to fall asleep talking with his godfather.

“Sirius!” Remus said into the mirror and waited a few moments, the unmistakable sound of classic rock heard in the distance before Sirius’ face appeared. It hurt to admit it, but Sirius looked happier than he had looked in years. Sirius laughed more now, and Remus wasn’t sure if he could attribute the newfound lightness to healing from grief or a marriage that he never wanted. There were some days Remus still put on his wedding ring. Checking to see if it still fit? Checking to see if it was still right to leave it off? Sirius hadn’t touched his since the day they left the ministry, papers signed, tattooed hands now covered with other jewelry. The jewelry Sirius had slowly stopped wearing once the wedding ring went on and a kid was put into his hands.

“Hey Moons, how’s it going?”

“I hope I’m not interrupting a party?” Remus asked, watching out of the corner of his eye as Harry shoved a whole chocolate cupcake into his mouth, “Oi! Make sure you chew that at least 50 times, I’m not prepared to do the Heimlich this evening.”

“Mfffhmmmp!” Harry nodded, exaggerating his chewing for Remus’ benefit.

“Party for one,” Sirius responded, “Do I need to come give an etiquette lesson? I’m sure there’s a book around here somewhere.”

“No, but it would be great if you could come give some help on fractions.”

“Mixed fractions!” Harry said, coming to where Remus was standing, chocolate hanging on the corners of his mouth. Remus angled the mirror down to Harry’s level so he could see Sirius’ face.

Sirius gasped, “Mixed fractions? Those are the best kind.”

“And we’re adding them,” Harry told him, “I think Moony was asleep during maths…”

“Might be right,” Remus laughed and looked back at his ex-husband who had put down a glass of wine he was holding, the music quieting. “Would you mind?”

“I’ll be over. But--”

“But?”

“Do I need to bring my own chocolate-whatever or will I have to lick it off of my godson's face?”

“Gross!” Harry exclaimed, though he started wiping his face with his sleeve, “There’s three left, so you don’t even have to fight over it.”

“Imagine that.” Sirius laughed, “I’ll be over in a bit. Floo alright?”

“Floo’s alright.”

--

August 1990

Sirius attributed it to his namesake that he always had a particular affinity towards the sun. Towards the sky. But particularly, he was certain there was nothing that couldn’t be fixed by enough sunshine, and he was inclined to believe that theory after returning to Number 12 after spending the day at the seaside with Harry and Remus. The water was calm and clear. Remus read on the beach under an umbrella while he and Harry jumped over waves. Sirius loved when Harry was a baby, all soft and giggling; easy to hold and warm against his chest. Sirius also loved when Harry was a toddler and was full of curious questions and too much energy. But there was a special joy Sirius was discovering in having a ten-year-old who now understood how games worked, and Sirius didn’t have to go easy on him while throwing a disc. Sirius could still pick Harry up but didn’t have to be nearly as gentle and he loved listening to Harry’s loud laughter every time he chucked him back into the water. They stayed out there all day, watching the sunset on the sea from a muggle seafood restaurant, and as a result, Harry had passed out in the car on the way home, sunbathed and exhausted.

Sirius also realized that ten was still small enough to be carried up the stairs and tucked into bed after stumbling to get into pajamas. Still young enough to want a hug from both of them before falling asleep.

“I don’t think he’s gone to bed this willingly since he was five…” Remus commented, smiling softly as they walked back to the threshold of Number 12 where all their bags had been dropped in favor of getting a child up the stairs. Harry’s suitcase for the month was still there, Sirius thinking that there wasn’t a better way to start the month and the last few weeks of summer with his kid.

“And he’ll deny it too.” Sirius laughed, “Want to stay for a second? I think I have lemon bars left in the fridge…”

“Well, when you tempt me like that…” Remus said gesturing toward the kitchen.

It was comfortable, as Remus went into the cabinets to fill classes of water and Sirius went to pull out the lemon bars. Harry wasn’t living out suitcases anymore and Remus had stopped feeling like an unwelcomed guest in Sirius’ home. Though, that was probably because Sirius had stopped treating him as one. They had open-door policies during their months, and Sirius found that he would go over to Remus’ flat for dinner sometimes on a random Monday, or meet them in the park on Sunday, at Harry’s request. If Sirius was taking Harry to a Quidditch game, Remus was always invited, even if he usually declined. If Remus was taking Harry to see a special exhibit at the History museum, Sirius was invited (and he definitely declined).

“What’s all this?” Remus asked as Sirius finished cutting out the squares from the tin and plating them.

“What’s all--oh. That. Where’d you find that?”

“I’m nosy and looked through your post,” Remus said inclining his head towards the small table at the edge of the counter that had always held the post.

“Appreciate the candor, Moons…” Sirius put the small plate in front of an empty seat on the kitchen table, noticing Remus bringing the pieces of letters over with him as he sat down. “I’ve…been considering taking a few…courses at the Ministry.”

“This looks like more than considering. It says you're enrolled and--”

Sirius reached across the table, pulling the letter from Remus’ hands whose only response was a cheeky grin, “That’s illegal you know, going through people’s post.”

“Seems like you would know. Has a nice ring to it, I think, Sirius Black, Esquire. Is that what they’d called you?” Remus cut off a piece of the lemon bar with his fork, innocently taking a bite.

“You’re terrible.”

“You’ve told me that a few times before.”

Sirius rolled his eyes and cut off a piece of his own dessert, “Harry starts Hogwarts in…well, too soon. I can’t believe it, really. I wanted to stay home because I know James would have and even when we were together, it was just better with someone at home.” Remus nodded, considering his words, “But…he won’t need someone at home anymore, and I figured I should find something to do. Other than…drinking and going on joy rides.”

“Law? Really?”

“I don’t know if you know this, but I’ve gotten very familiar with Ministry legal procedures these past 10 years,” he said and Remus laughed, “So much of it is bullshit, and I don’t know…thought maybe I would try to put my posh last name to good use and try to…change some of it. It’s stupid, really, but it gets me out of the house.”

Remus smiled, “I think…I think that’s great, Sirius.”

“You don’t need to placate me. It’s just a passing idea, I don’t know if I’m going to start…”

“No, I mean it, I think it’s great.” Remus told him, “And..uh..these are also very good. Thank you.”

“I’ll send some home with you. I can always make more.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I know.”

"So...law. Politics. Really?"

"Stop sounding so surprised."

"No, I'm just wondering what all the years of disappointing your family were for if you were just going to end up here," Remus said dryly, smiling around another bite, and Sirius laughed.

"You're right. Should I go find my mother's portrait in the attic?"

"I'm sure she'd love a visit. Pleasant woman."

--

Harry woke up the next morning half in his bed, a foot sticking out of cool linen sheets, and the feeling of sun still on his face. But more importantly, was the feeling of Christmas Morning in his stomach. The butterflies--the dragons-- flapping their wings because your body knew what was in store for the day. Harry knew. Because he had gone to bed and both Remus and Sirius were there.

Because Harry had tiptoed out of his room after being tucked in, to get a glass of water and had heard them laughing in the kitchen. And it was late. He didn’t get his water, not wanting to interrupt Remus and Sirius, rushing back to his room with a smile on his face in eager anticipation of the morning. He tried not to run downstairs because he had fallen a few times doing that and a bruised knee was not going to ruin the day, but he still walked quickly. Two at a time.

He expected to walk through and see Sirius and Remus there. Maybe they would have coffee out. Or Sirius would’ve made something special and Remus would be at the table smiling that smile that made him look younger and maybe Sirius would be hugging Remus the way he hugged everyone that made them feel so safe and so cared about. And it would be perfect.

Harry tried not to let his face fall when he walked into the kitchen and only saw Sirius.

Because that was still good. Sirius was the best. Sirius was his favorite person. Sirius always smiled when he saw Harry and Sirius always let Harry pick his breakfast and would usually go flying with him in the afternoons. But he liked Sirius and Remus best.

“Morning, love. Sleep okay?”

“I don’t even remember falling asleep I was so tired.”

“Yeah, you’re getting heavy too. Practically dragged you up the stairs last night…” Sirius teased as Harry sat down in front of him, Sirius kissing his hand before reaching across the table to put on Harry’s cheek.

“Nuh-uh! You’re just old, maybe.”

“Oh, cheeky, I see. So you don’t want breakfast? I was feeling in a chocolate chip mood this morning and made a bread if--”

Sirius had some superpowers that Harry sometimes wondered where he got them from. If like muggle comic books, Sirius was bitten by a spider, and instead of being able to sling webs, he had the ability to read minds, even if Harry had been away.

“I take it back, I take it back! You’re not a day over…er…t-tw-en--twenty?”

Sirius laughed standing up, “Nice save.”

Harry watched from the table as Sirius magically got out plates for them, cutting the bread by hand.

I used to think that the best way was with magic, but I’ve learned that…somethings are just better by hand. The old-fashioned way. You’ll see.

“Hey, Sirius?”

“Hey, Harry?”

“Where’s Remus?” he asked finally. Maybe Remus was still asleep, just upstairs. Or he was in the next room over. Any moment he would come around the corner. Maybe they should wait to eat the chocolate bread because he would like it too. Maybe he and Sirius would go outside in the morning like they used to when Harry was little so that Remus could sleep, and eventually, Remus would appear in the backyard, with his cup of coffee and sweater no matter the temperature.

“Hopefully at his home, and by the time…I would guess he’s sleeping.”

“How come he’s not here?”

Sirius set the plates on the table and sat down once more, “...Why…well he doesn’t live here. You know that. It was nice he spent the day with us yesterday but he went home.”

But he was here! I heard you! Harry wanted to scream already until one of them finally heard.

He was here and now he’s not.

That’s unfair!

He swallowed, “I just thought he might…be here? Like maybe he stayed...”

“Oh, sorry. We can write him today if you’d like.”

“No…it’s okay,” Harry said quietly, looking back down. The Christmas Morning feeling had faded with his appetite, butterflies turned to ashes in the blink of an eye. He picked at the fruit on his plate with his fork, unwilling to look up, the colors blurring in front of him as his eyes filled with hot tears. He tried to push them down, shake them away because it was too early to be crying and he had no reason to be.

Remus didn’t live with them.

He did. When Harry was a baby and everything wasn’t so hard.

And now he didn’t.

And that was that.

And that was the way it had been for years.

There was no reason for tears when this was just how it was.

Harry sniffed, reaching a hand up quickly, hoping Sirius didn’t see him do it.

“Harry, babe, what’s all this? Hey, look at me,” Sirius said gently, one of his big hands coming underneath Harry’s chin, lifting it upward. “Talk to me, please?”

“I…heard you talking last night,” Harry managed, his lip quivering as he spoke, “Like you used to? I just…you’ve been getting along more and I just thought that…”

It sounded so stupid now, saying it out loud.

Harry didn’t have to finish his sentence before Sirius realized where he was going, hating that he was so transparent.

Elastic heart.

Sirius sighed softly, “I’m sorry if yesterday was confusing for you, Harry. We’re...just really trying hard to be friends. We don't mean to send you crossed-signals about that."

“So you’re not getting back together?” Harry asked in a voice so small, it didn’t even sound like it came from him.

“I’m sorry.” Answer enough.

“Don’t you love him?”

“Yeah, I do. I always will. He’s Remus.”

“Then why can’t you be together?”

Sirius paused for a very long time, a thumb running across Harry’s cheek, wiping away tears that couldn’t be stopped.

Torrential downpour.

“Sometimes…it takes more than love to make things work, Harry.”

A heart comprised of too many rubber bands formed into a ball finally snapped, one by one, until there was nothing left.

“Hey, come here,” Sirius said, pushing his chair away from the table. Ten was probably too big to crawl into your godfather's arms. Ten was probably too big to be crying at the table uncontrollably too. But Harry did both, letting Sirius pull him into his lap, and he felt Sirius' arms wrap around him tightly.

“I don’t understand.”

“I don’t really either.”

“But...what about my Mum? And Dad? They died because they loved me?”

“They did. They loved you so much.” That wasn’t enough. They're not here either. “We love you too, you know that? Both me and Remus. And none of this--”

“Is my fault, I know…” Sirius kissed him on the top of his head, pulling away just enough so he could look at Harry in the face. “I..”

“What are you thinking about?”

“I…just thought it would be nice if we all lived together again. Kinda got my hopes up…” he trailed off, his arm still around Sirius, not wanting to let go just yet.

“I know the feeling,” Sirius offered him a sad sort of smile, “Do…should we go have breakfast outside instead? I don’t know much, but I do know there…are few things that just a little bit of sun can’t fix.”

Did you take Remus outside when you asked him to leave? Did you take Remus outside in the sun to keep him from leaving?

Harry learned two things that day.

Love couldn’t save a single person.

And the combination of Sirius and the sun couldn’t fix everything.

2+2=5. "When a lie has been told enough times, it becomes real." Two and two is five. Every morning I tell myself I like who I am. How many times do you repeat the lie?

I don't hate myself. I love myself too. I'm surrounded by myself, hounded by my own cries, caged inside my own ribs. I love myself. My body is my temple but some days it feels like the ruins of Petra. I love myself. I just don't like myself all the time.

On rainy days full of blues, I'm tired of this body, of this mind. 2+2=5. If you could sell all your bad memories, only on the condition you'd have to give away the good ones too, would you still do it? Are you your memories or are you the vessel that houses them? Are you the product of your thoughts or the manufacturer? When you repeat a lie enough times, it becomes part of the truth, expands and births itself anew.

Two plus two is five. Am I the voice in my head or the notes of my heart? Am I the lies I tell myself? Lies of consolation, lies ot condolences. If I love myself, why do I keep seeing my corpse at the bottom of the ocean, on a road, slumped on my chair, buried in the dirt? If I like myself, why do I keep hearing four, four, four? Two plus two is four. Where do lies end and god's honest truth begin? Because lord I'm tired of not knowing.

-Ritika Jyala

Robert Wood Lynn, "About the Phones", Mothman Apologia

why would you need to prove it to someone? isnt it just common sense?!

Ok I need to prove something to a friend

Reblog if you think it’s perfectly ok/normal for guys to cry and emotionally express themselves.

There are dumb people in this world who need to know that crying doesn’t make guys look weak!

ah fucking yasss!

Fucking is the only fucking word that can be put any-fucking-where and still make fucking sense.

amen, bitch!

half of me is a hopeless romantic and the other half of me is, well, an asshole

This is his home and I’m just a vacation.

.

.

this line broke me-

(my sis is literally singing 'hold back the river' as if it isnt completely out of my control already)

Fault Lines pt. 2

Fault Lines pt 1 here

In which Remus and Sirius are divorced and doing their best while also raising Harry.

(about 3k)

--

July 1987

Remus stayed behind to help clean up after the birthday party, their newly seven-year-old slowly losing steam minute by minute and heading for a sugar crash, judging by the quieting sounds from the sitting room.

“You were better with the mess this year…” Remus commented absently, putting paper plates into a large trash bag as Sirius stored the leftovers, magic moving around him to wipe off the counters.

“I’ve been…working on it.” Sirius replied, smiling a little over his shoulder, “But, in all fairness, seven-year-olds are better at mess control than six-year-olds…and this year the theme wasn’t Sandcastles.” Remus couldn’t help but smile back, thinking about Harry’s birthday last year. The first birthday after separating where they both tried to compensate and acquiesced to every ask their six-year-old had, including turning the backyard of Number 12 into a makeshift beach. Remus had stayed to help clean last year as well, watching as Sirius cleaned the floor free of sandy shoe prints three separate times. He also watched the whole party as Sirius made a mental list of the sticky doorknobs, spills in the kitchen, his smile never faltering and his voice never changing. As if nothing was bothering him in the slightest. Sirius always knew how to put on a good show, even when their relationship was pulling apart at the seams, and Remus’ would have to fight down tears in public spaces. Sirius could hold it together. Sirius could smile and say thank you, expert at lying between his teeth.

Part of Remus always circled back to wondering if that’s what started the rip in the first place. But the other part knew that there was no longer time for pointing fingers and it just was now.

“Still going to wash the floors tomorrow?”

“Shite, I'm washing them tonight after Harry goes to bed."

Remus laughed softly, the last of the used paper cups going into the trash bag as well. Sirius let out a contented sigh, eyes scanning the kitchen with a look that clearly said this will have to do, before extending a piece of cake in Remus’s direction.

“I already had some,” Remus told him, shaking his head.

“The tiniest slice. Even though I told you there was plenty. You deserve a proper one.” Remus accepted the slice, still unsure of when he should excuse himself to leave, thinking there should really be a book on this sort of thing. He noticed Sirius had his own piece in his hand as he jumped to sit on top of the counter, finally relaxing for the first time all day. Sirius was always the last to eat. Sirius always made sure everyone else got some before he did and on party days, focused more on Harry having a good time than remembering to eat himself. “Cheers, Moony."

“Cheers.”

Filling the gaps hadn’t gotten easier. Neither had dropping Harry off after the weekend, or leaving Number 12 on the rare occasions he had stayed for dinner, though he had found the courage to stay a few times now. It seemed unfair that Remus had to choose between loving his apartment and the way it felt to not be tiptoeing around arguments and his family. Though, if you asked Sirius, and Remus had, he felt it was unfair Remus got to be the one who left. Sirius felt it unfair he had to be the one who sat with the memories because his house was the one Harry felt comfortable in. Another show. Make sure someone else is comfortable before addressing what you need.

Remus sometimes wondered if his own selfishness was what caused Sirius to start pulling at the existing rip in the first place.

Did I push you away?

Did you ever love me or did you just want to make me happy?

Usually, Sirius was the one who took the step to make the palatable silence between them feel less awkward; less jarring. Remus noticed that in addition to not minding mess nearly as much, Sirius had also stopped doing that. Sirius had stopped doing a lot of things for Remus when he realized he didn't have to anymore.

Some days Remus missed it. He had admittedly grown accustomed to a life with someone who catered to him. Not just financially. But Remus missed coming home from work to dishes that were already done, waking up to a kid who was already dressed for the day, to favorite desserts and thoughtful notes left on bathroom mirrors. He missed having someone who always corrected baristas when they got his order wrong. Remus had drunk a lot of incorrect coffee since being separated.

Did I ever say thank you? How many times did I roll my eyes instead?

“It’s…the sun is going down.” Remus tried, around a mouthful of chocolate cake, wincing as he heard the sentence leave his mouth.

“It happens every day,” Sirius replied, raising an eyebrow in amusement, “You know…we used to be good at talking to one another. We used to be friends.”

“Yeah, how’d we do that?”

“I…think we would just…think things and then say them out loud.”

“Okay.”

“So...how are you?”

“You know…still pretty lousy most days actually, but today was good.” Remus finished, already bracing himself for Sirius to return with an answer that would add insult to injury. Already bracing for I’m just fine; I’m enjoying being single again; We get on swimmingly without you.

“Me too.”

--

June 1988

“I don’t understand why you’re still insisting you play by their stupid rules, Remus! He’s your kid just as much as he is mine. I know it, you know it, they’re just--”

“Because I can’t afford to break the rules, Sirius! How is that going to look?”

“If you do I’ll just--”

“And I don’t need you to fight my battles for me. This isn’t something your piles of money and last name can just--”

“It is actually. You’re so fucking stubborn…”

“And you’re not?”

“Just…” Sirius made a small noise of frustration in the back of his throat as he continued packing a trunk for Harry for the month. Their kid was spending the afternoon with Andromeda, giving the two of them time to work out any particulars and argue without the fear of their almost eight-year-old overhearing. Aside from losing his best friend in the divorce and the hangovers he endured coping with the fall-out when Harry was with Remus for the weekend, trying not to argue in front of Harry had been the hardest part. Sirius was always so proud at Hogwarts and the years following that he and Remus rarely argued. They rarely fought.

Love is the easiest thing in the world. He had said. And maybe somewhere Sirius still believed that because he didn’t love Remus any less now that he had an apartment across town and a whole life that Sirius didn’t get a play-by-play of. Love could be easy. Relationships weren’t though, and it was more common now that they would meet up while Harry was at school to calmly argue at coffee shops. Public places to settle disagreements, where they both had to keep their heads, never wanting to cause a scene, and not wanting to move backward. Because the first months had been full of name-calling and shouting matches that left both of the high and dry and bleeding out. Remus waved the white flag first.

“It’s been over two years at this point. You have a job and a flat and a car that I’m sure you drive very cautiously in. You've taken him to Healer check-ups, you've been on time to meetings... Just let me appeal--”

“It is not your job to intervene, Sirius.”

“Like hell it’s not!”

“Why are you arguing with me about this? All it means is you get Harry less.”

“I know.”

“You lose.”

“Has it occurred to you that I don’t want to win? I don’t want to win this one because that means Harry loses. He’s the one caught in the middle of this,” Sirius told him, hastily throwing socks into the trunk, not bothering to count how many there were or if they were matched properly, “And he’s the one who is missing out on spending time with you because the adults just couldn’t keep their shit together. That’s bullocks.”

Remus smiled softly, “You’re not folding his pants? This is a very messy trunk.”

“Shut up.”

“Sirius, come on, don't--”

“No, I mean it, shut up for one second,” Sirius said taking a breath as he closed the dresser drawer, flicking his wrist so the pants and socks would organize themselves in the trunk. Even though he knew it would be ruined the second Harry unpacked at Remus’s and that when Harry came back at the end of the month, it would be haphazardly thrown in. This was the second summer they had done this. This was the second summer Sirius would spend all of June alone in his big empty house, crossing off days on the calendar until his kid came back and the walls of Number 12 could be filled with laughter instead of ghosts. They had both agreed to this arrangement, but that didn’t stop the frown appearing on Remus’ face when he dropped Harry off the last day of June a year ago. It didn’t stop Sirius from looking out the window of Grimmauld Place a half-hour later to see Remus still parked there, tears running down his face.

I’m sorry, I don’t mean to make this about me. It’s just…hard. This is his home and I’m just a vacation.

But Remus didn’t hear the times Harry started calling for him and then had to stop himself mid-sentence. And Remus wasn’t around the first week of July where Harry couldn’t stop talking about the park near Remus’s flat and the time they had ice cream for dinner. Remus wasn’t there for all the bedtimes Sirius tried to read the book Harry had been reading with Remus only to be told you’re doing it wrong and it’s okay, I’ll just wait. Sirius didn’t want either of them to be a vacation destination--he wanted Harry to have roots in two places.

Point A.

Point B.

So no matter what happened, Harry would always have two clear places to go.

“This isn’t about money,” Sirius started, once the blood in his brain had settled and he could think straight, “Maybe at first it was…and I think if you take a second think about it, you’ll admit that you weren’t ready to have a five-year-old staying with you for an extended period of time when you first moved either…”

Remus chewed his lower lip for a moment, “No, you’re right. I wasn’t.”

“But it’s not anymore. It’s not about…I’m not just throwing money at you, Remus.”

“The galleons in Harry’s trunk say differently.”

“It’s pocket money!”

“He’s eight, how big do you think his pockets are?” Remus asked but there was no heat to his question. It was the same tone and same expression that Remus used to wear when Sirius would go overboard with baby clothes or toys.

“So I’m…indulgent. Okay? I admit that. But maybe you can admit you’re being stubborn about this? Harry deserves more than every other weekend with you. And to be honest, you know I can’t read and his books are getting more and more words in them.”

“You can read…” Remus smiled a little and sighed, “What is admitting it going to do? We signed a contract.”

“Contracts can be amended.”

“To what?”

“What do you want?” Sirius asked, though he already knew what the answer would be. All the time. So he’s mine. Usually with ex-boyfriends, you could go the rest of your life and never hear their name again. It was much harder to move on when the ex was your husband and his name came out of your child's mouth every other breath. “I mean, obviously we can’t…the all together under one roof thing isn’t going to work. So, what do you want to do? Just tell me and I’ll be down at the ministry and I won’t leave until--”

“I don’t know how many times I need to tell you that I don’t need you to fight for me anymore.” Remus told him, eyebrows knitting together, “That’s not your job anymore.”

“It’s always my job.”

“No. You aren’t just going to sweep in and handle this for me but--”

“For fucks sake, Re--”

“Let me finish, would you?” and Sirius crossed his arms, the trunk long forgotten as he stared at his ex-husband expectantly, “You don’t get to handle this. Because it is not a you situation. It’s a we situation. So we can go handle it together.”

We.

Maybe there was a different version of us to be found.

“I can work with that.” Remus rolled his eyes at the response as Sirius walked to Harry’s closet, going through t-shirts, trying to remember which ones were his favorite to wear at the moment. Blue.

“Hot head…”

“Stubborn arse.”

--

December 1989

“I don’t think there are enough presents here,” Remus mused looking around at the towering boxes of gifts on the floor. It was after midnight, and as usual most of the gift wrapping was left until the last minute, Remus sitting in the parlor of Number 12 with Sirius a bottle of firewhiskey between them. It would’ve taken less time had they both not wanted to have at least two very stiff drinks following Christmas Eve dinner at the Weasleys before starting wrapping. The first hour after Harry went to bed was spent recounting the evening, a back-and-forth occurring between the two of them that had been pushed aside years ago. Like a double-trapeze artist act at the circus that had retired and came back around for a farewell tour, Remus still remembered how to counter quick remarks from Sirius. And for the first time in such a long, long, time, had been thankful to have Sirius next to him at the Weasley’s dinner table while he bit his tongue and they shared looks that no one else understood.

Dusting off the cobwebs of a foreign language both of them had forgotten to practice. Tongues were clumsy around the words, pronunciation a bit off, but a conversation could be had nonetheless.

“Kid is spoiled.” Sirius returned, “James and Lily would hate this. Christmas is about love, not about presents, Sirius," he finished in an impression of James that Remus hadn't heard in quite some time.

“He was such a bloody tosser sometimes,” Remus smiled around the rim of his glass, “Tell us all it’s not about presents and it’s about a feeling but you know he’d be the first one writing us about what he got from his parents.”

Sirius laughed, “Like it was a contest too. We get it, Prongs, you had a good childhood. No need to rub it in our faces. I remember one year, I think I had gotten a set of dress socks from my parents…this whole new, expensive wardrobe, and a magical planner to help me organize my classes. James writes me with Pads, I got a new broom and my Mum made my favorite cookies! Honestly, more--”

“Jealous of the cookies, right? Mrs. Potter’s were the best.”

“They were…”

“You make them pretty well too,” Remus told him, taking a sip of his drink. The fireplace crackled quietly, warmth enveloping the both of them. “You think they’d be upset?”

“About what?”

“Us?”

“I…can’t think about that.” Sirius told him, “I do sometimes and it gets way too dark up there," he said tapping the side of his skull with a tattooed finger, "and…it’s better I don’t. I think…they’d just want Harry to be happy and taken care of…and if we’re happy too, even better. But not required."

"Like a side effect?"

"Yeah, something like that."

Remus looked up from the amber liquid in his glass to meet Sirius’ eyes from across the room. The same dark curls, as thick as it was at seventeen. The same lopsided smile that Remus fell hook, line, and sinker for. Except now he was 29 and Remus wasn’t falling, wasn’t hurting, wasn’t anything but glad to be able to sit in a room with his best friend without wanting to claw his eyes out or play the blame game.

“You…you know…what I realized?” Remus asked, Sirius’ eyes meeting his own.

“Hm?”

The ache is gone.

“I don’t think we’ve been in a room this long together in…years. And…the funny thing is, I’m still looking forward to being here tomorrow. I don’t even want to pretend I’m going to the lav when I’m actually smoking out the window.”

“I knew you were doing that…”

“You never said anything.”

“Yeah, because that’d be very hypocritical of me when I say I need to go to check the wards when I’m actually smoking.” Remus laughed, Sirius’ smile catching the firelight as he spoke again, “It was rough waters there for a little bit, Moons…but, I think we did alright.”

“Yeah.”

“Except, you know…James and Lils would really hate that we’re still smoking.”

any recs??? plzzzzzzz-

I want a Sirius-raises-Harry-after-POA AU that’s past Sirius/James/Lily (past because they’re still dead whoops). Give me that good, good angst where Sirius suddenly is raising the child he barely knows, the child that he’d had with partners who are long dead that he hasn’t even had a chance to properly grieve yet 😭

:)

The intimacy of thinking about each other at the same time.

Vera Pavlova, A Weight on My Back (tr. Steven Seymour)