Work Text:
There’s a wizard sitting across from Sirius at his desk. He’s going on and on about marketing strategies and interactive ads on the Daily Prophet, and Sirius wants to care – he used to care – but he’s not really listening.
He fought hard to get this bloke on their team. He’s supposedly the best of the best, flown in all the way from America, all expenses paid by Black Ventures & Co., just so he could work his magic and send their sales charts through the roof, like he did in every company he worked for in the States.
But now that the man is actually here, sitting in front of him, laying out his foolproof plan to revolutionise the British market, Sirius just… doesn’t feel the excitement anymore. He can’t focus.
He gets up and wanders to the window, letting his gaze drift through the view out there. From the top of the Black Tower, he can see all Diagon Alley and the surrounding wizarding blocks of buildings until they fade into Muggle London in the distance.
“–so people can sign up through the interactive ad to get a free sample and then this spell we do is really handy, see?” the marketing wizard is saying, pointing at the projection he’s conjured on the floating whiteboard. Then his voice slows, turns uncertain. “It compiles the data they provide, segments the audience and generates personalised correspondence to each group of leads… Mr. Black, I’m sorry, but… are you listening?”
Sirius snaps his head around at the mention of his name. The wizard is blinking at him with a confused look on his face.
“Yes, Marvin, of course,” Sirius lies. It’s okay, he lies really well. It’s a professional skill. “The view just helps me think. Keep going.”
Marvin does. Apparently, there’s a lot to say about lead-segmentation spells and intelligent quills that can generate personalised correspondence in seconds out of nothing but a prompt and a string of data.
Sirius’ eyes, however, are on the street below. It looks busier than usual, which is saying something when it comes to Diagon Alley. He squints, trying to work out what are those big red squares he can see from above– carpets? No–
“Tents!” He exclaims, probably cutting straight across whatever Marvin was saying. “Why are they setting up tents on the street?”
Marvin seems taken aback for a second.
“Er– Theo mentioned a… Winter market, I think? It’s supposed to be here for the whole month. I heard the team is planning to get lunch in the food court today, it sounds very charming…”
He’s off again – it seems the man can ramble about anything. Sirius turns back to the window and watches as the tiny figures below raise their tiny wands to put another red tent into place.
He doesn’t know why, but something sparks in his chest.
~~~~
Sirius remembers seeing the Winter Market in Diagon Alley before. It’s probably some sort of yearly tradition, here every Winter. He’d never paid attention before, though. Barely registered as a blip in his mind, buried under business plans, profit margins and end-of-year reports.
Now, as he stands before the decorated archway at the entrance, he questions why. Or how, actually. How had he walked past all this, year after year after year, without even stopping to look? Without ever questioning if he should step inside? It’s beautiful, shimmering in twinkling lights, and what he can see beyond the archway looks like something straight out of a snow globe.
It barely even looks like Diagon Alley, he thinks as he finally steps inside.
There’s nothing left of the usual rush, no witches and wizards running around, elbowing past each other, desperate to just get their errands done. Here, everyone walks slowly, with wide eyes taking in the beautiful decorations, exhaling the kind of excitement Sirius hasn’t seen with his own eyes in a while. The rows of bright red tents have a perfectly even layer of snow on their roofs, and the flakes falling and catching in his hair make Sirius wonder if it’s real snow or enchanted; he’s almost certain it wasn’t snowing outside the arch.
Above his head, fairy lights connect from tent to tent; every so often one of them slips free and floats to the air, only to reattach itself somewhere new. It creates the most beautiful scene, shifting constellations against the already dark evening sky. Sirius slowly walks beneath them, letting himself absorb the scene. It should feel overwhelming – all the different smells, roasted chestnuts and almonds and cinnamon, mixing with Celestina Warkbeck’s voice that sings about Christmas in the background – but it isn’t. It’s lovely and calm, charming, wholesome; and it makes something warm spread through Sirius’ body in a way he’s not used to.
The stalls sell a bit of everything. He sees self-warming knitted socks, hand-sewn notebooks, wooden toys, enchanted ornaments, painted crockery with Christmas themes, and every kind of sweet or biscuit imaginable. A man in a snowman costume waddles through the crowd handing out pamphlets for the choir that’ll be singing later, stopping every few seconds to reattach his foam carrot nose that keeps falling to the floor. This time, a little boy picks it up and bolts with it, and the Snow Man drops all his pamphlets, chasing him through the market. The boy laughs so hard he can barely run, so full of joy, giggling when the Snow Man finally catches him and hoists him off the ground–
Sirius smiles, still putting one foot in front of the other, slowly walking deeper down the hallway of enchanted market stalls.
He doesn’t know why he’s here. Doesn’t know what happened today of all days, this year of all years, that compelled him into coming here instead of heading home after work. He’s got a perfectly good, elf-cooked dinner waiting for him at home, a bath bomb, a skincare routine and a new episode of his favourite Muggle K-Drama. Normally, he’d consider this blissful. Yet, for some reason, doing that just sounds boring today.
Not exciting and new and bustling with energy like this Winter Market is.
Before he realises it, he’s queuing for food at the open-air court. There are about two dozen stalls, all arranged in a circle around an enormous fountain with an ice sculpture in the middle, which Sirius is fairly sure was not part of Diagon Alley last week. Each stall appears to serve food from a different country – there’s Mexican tacos, Italian pasta, Indian curry and Chinese dumplings. It’s not like him to eat street food, not at all. For a brief moment, he stands there, in the middle of the cheerful crowd, and considers if he really should. He’s certainly risking some food poisoning here. But he’s hungry, and he’s already far outside his comfort zone just for being here. And those Polish pierogi look very, very tasty, don’t they?
He goes for it, and he’s certain he hasn’t tasted anything this good in years.
Perhaps not since Hogwarts.
He hasn’t thought about Hogwarts in a long time. About the food and the feasts, how good it all was, especially on Christmas, and Halloween, and on the first night back each September. About his warm bed in the boy’s dorm, and the best seats by the fire in the Gryffindor common room. And about his friends… Merlin, it’s been ages since he wrote to any of them. He really should–
“Hello ma’am, would you like a taste of Moony’s Magical Cocoa Mix?”
Sirius startles.
The sound of this voice and the shape of this name – no, it can’t be right. He must’ve misheard. It’s impossible. The voice was distant and drowned in the endless stream of chatter around him, and though it sounded like… no. He’s only thinking that because he’d just been thinking of him. Of all of them.
But then, he hears it again.
“Hello Sir, Merry Christmas! Would you like a taste of Moony’s Magical Cocoa Mix?”
Sirius turns in circles, looking over his shoulder, trying to track that voice through the noise. There’s so much going on around him, so many market stalls, Witches and Wizards buying Christmas gifts and little children running around. Someone bumps into him and mutters an apology, but he barely registers it, trying to tune his ears to see if he hears it again, if he can find out where that voice is coming from.
“–like a taste of Moony’s Magical Cocoa Mix?”
Sirius snaps his head towards where the voice seems to be coming from, and he sees it: an enchanted sign floating above a stall. It says Moony’s Magical Cocoa Mix, and, beneath it, holding a tray of tiny plastic cups–
Him.
Moony.
He looks almost exactly like he did the last time Sirius saw him, which would’ve been at a pub, here in Diagon Alley, about a year or two after they’d left Hogwarts. After that, well… things got complicated. Orion fell ill, and then he passed away, and Sirius was suddenly the head of an empire, he had to take his place as the Black heir. He got too caught up in his job, always a new problem to solve, a new deadline to meet…
And Moony… Merlin, he still looks eighteen years old. Well, not really. The scars on his face have multiplied, and there are faint lines at the corners of his eyes as he smiles at the customers. His temples show his age too; they have gone completely grey. But he still looks exactly like Moony, the same kind brown eyes, the same crooked little smile that used to undo Sirius at seventeen.
For a moment, Sirius forgets to breathe, his heart forgets to pump, his feet forget that there’s ground beneath them, and he has to lean against a tent pole just to stop the world from tilting.
“Good evening, Merry Christmas!” Moony chirps, offering another sample. “Would you like– Oh, yes, I know, it’s very good!” He laughs as an old witch praises the taste. “It’s eleven sickles for a jar, or one galleon for two.”
Sirius watches her buy four jars, chatting happily while Moony packs them into a paper bag and accepts the coins.
When she leaves, Sirius feels himself walking forward without so much as a second thought.
“Hi,” he says as he reaches Remus’ stall.
Remus seems distracted, still counting coins, dropping them into a wooden box. “Hi sir, I’ll be with you in just a min–” He looks up, meets Sirius’ eyes, and stops midsentence, eyebrows shooting up. Then, his face contorts and he blurts, “Sirius?”
Sirius feels like his insides might be turning into goo, but he smiles anyway. “Hiya, Moony!” He chirps. “Didn’t expect to see you here!”
“I’ve been selling at the market for five years,” Remus says with an astonished chuckle. “You’re the one who is… uh, unexpected.”
Sirius shrugs and steps closer, leaning against the wooden counter between them. “If I’d known you were here, I would’ve dropped by ages ago,” he says, much more casual than he feels inside. “I work right there,” he points to where the Black tower looms over Diagon Alley like a giant scarecrow.
Remus doesn’t even look. “I know,” he says. He sounds… drier than Sirius expected him to be. Aren’t they all still good friends? “I might have mentioned I was here, if you cared to respond to any of our owls.”
Sirius scrunches up his face, standing straight again. “Ugh, I’m sorry, I know, I just–”
“We wouldn’t know if you were alive if your face wasn’t on the Daily Prophet every week,” Remus insists, and he crosses his arms, giving Sirius a pointed look.
Sirius realises then and there that just a shrug and a charming smile won’t take care of this one. Moony had always been stubborn, after all.
He sighs. “I know, I– I don’t know what to say,” Sirius swallows, trying to give his voice all the earnestness that he suddenly feels. “I think about you all the time, really. You and James and Lily and– I just– It’s–” He stammers, then huffs in frustration.
Truth is, he can’t even explain properly why he hasn’t been in contact all these years. He’s not even sure he’s aware, consciously, of the reason. It’s like every time he gets close to writing, dropping by, reaching out, his brain just… redirects. Yanks the thought away. ‘It’s not the right time’ and ‘they wouldn’t even want to hear from me’ are excuses that play on loop whenever James or Remus, or even Peter, cross his mind.
Remus seems to take pity on his flustered state. He softens.
“It’s… fine,” he says with a sigh, uncrossing his arms and looking away. “We’re all busy, I suppose.”
Sirius can see that he’s still hurt, and that makes him hurt too. There was a time when Moony meant everything to him, when he’d go out of his way constantly just to make him smile. What happened to them? Why did that stop?
“I really am sorry, though,” he insists.
“Yeah, well…” Remus turns his back and starts rearranging jars on the counter.
Sirius bites his lower lip. “So, how have you been?”
It takes a moment, and a long exhale, for him to respond. “Oh, you know,” he shrugs, as if it’s not important. “Getting by? Christmas is always good, the market brings good money, but it’s a lot of work–”
“What are you selling anyway?” Sirius interrupts him, paying attention to the many jars of cocoa mix in front of him at last. “Magical cocoa mix?”
Remus lets out a soft chuckle, and when Sirius glances up, he’s wearing a small, proud smile.
“Not to brag, but… you should try it. It’s really good,” he says, nodding toward the tray of small cups, each of them containing a little dose of cocoa.
Sirius feels the warmth of the stasis charm as he picks one up. He grins and lifts it toward Remus in a mock toast, then brings the cup to his lips and takes a sip–
And oh. Oh. That’s… it’s something.
If just being here at this market (and having run into Remus after all those years) had already made him feel inexplicably nostalgic and unsteady, this simple cocoa takes this feeling and turns it up to eleven. It’s like a wave of warmth spreading all over his body, swelling his heart, filling every corner of him with this nice and fuzzy and bright feeling. All the excitement he’s been missing from his life lately, somehow it’s all condensed into this one small cup of cocoa.
He widens his eyes in shock, staring back at Remus – who was clearly watching him closely to catch his reaction.
“Merlin’s pants, you really did say magical! What’s in this, is it some kind of spell–?”
Remus tilts his head, smiling playfully, “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
“No, no, Moony, don’t give me that. I’m not joking, this is – it’s amazing!” He exclaims, grabbing one of the jars in front of him and turning it over to read the label. “It should be everywhere. You shouldn’t be selling this in a tent, it belongs in every shop in Britain!”
Remus gives a small, self-deprecating laugh. “C’mon Pads, you’re exaggerating.”
Pads.
Sirius hasn’t heard that name in so long he can’t even place the last time someone called him that. He’s already feeling all kinds of gooey and melted inside, and that one might’ve just done him completely. He drops the jar back onto the counter and looks up.
“I’m not, Moony,” he says softly. “It’s really– I haven’t– I–” There’s a knot wanting to form on his throat and these feelings seem to be overflowing him, making it hard to think. He doesn’t understand what’s happening, what is it about today, here, this market. Him, Moony. He clears his throat and shakes his head, trying to cast away all the complicated feelings with some logic. “We could work together on this! I mean, I could invest in it, Moony, we could mass produce it, get it in every Wizarding Shop! Or– Or we could open our own shops, yes! One here in Diagon Alley, perhaps Hogsmeade–”
“Sirius–” Remus looks exasperated now, and Sirius recognises that look. He remembers it from back when they were in school together. Moony is just a bit stubborn, but he’ll come around if Sirius just shows him–
“Remus, listen! I know business, okay? It’s all I ever fucking do, it’s my whole life and this– this could really be something! You could be a rich man! C’mon, tell me, what’s the secret–?”
“There isn’t one!” Remus snaps, frustrated. “There’s no charm, no magic. It’s just– It’s cocoa mix, the way my mam used to make it, that’s all.”
“Rubbish!” Sirius protests.
Remus rolls his eyes. “Sirius, look. I really do appreciate the enthusiasm, and I love that you love the cocoa, I do– I love it too but… I have no intention of making this any bigger than it already is. So… no. Thank you.”
“But–” Sirius starts.
Remus sighs deeply. “Sirius, I’m sorry. Really. I know it can’t be easy to– To have become–” He falters, searching for the right wording. “To step into your father’s place. You were always terrified of that, and now look at you. You’ve done it. And you’re brilliant at it, I read about you in the Prophet all the time, about how business has never been stronger. And I imagine you’re an incredibly busy man, so I doubt you’ve got time to worry about mass-producing my silly cocoa mix anyway.”
“I do–”
“Here,” Remus says quickly, cutting him off. There’s a desperate edge in his voice now as he shoves a paper bag toward Sirius. “Take a few, since you liked it so much. It’s on the house. And… I’ll see you around, Sirius. I’m Sorry, I– I really do have customers to…” His voice trails off as he turns away and greets the witch who’s just stepped up to the stall, suddenly cheerful again, like he’s flipped a switch.
Sirius lets out a shaky breath, wondering how it is possible that he fumbled that one so badly, so fast. That must’ve been a new record. All those years of not speaking, of convincing himself that if there was a reunion, he needed it to happen at the right place, at the right time, to make a great impression…
He holds the paper bag close to his chest, turns and walks away.
~~~~
The paper bag with the jars of cocoa mix sits on Sirius’ kitchen counter unopened for days, and each evening, when he passes the entrance to the Winter Market on his way to the apparition point, he wonders if he should just go in. His heart aches and his throat tightens and Moony (and James, and Lily, and Peter, and the Sirius he used to be) are all he can think about.
But he does his best.
He doesn’t step inside, he keeps walking, goes home alone. And he attends to his meetings and he analyses his charts and his numbers and keeps doing his job–
Until he can’t take it anymore.
It’s starting to come together, very much against his will, the why he has stayed away for so long. Why he suddenly stopped answering the owls and showing up for the meet ups. His mind had been dodging the truth, all those years, keeping it buried, because turning it into a conscious thought would make it a real choice.
And it may not have been conscious, but it was a choice all the same. He can see it now: at twenty, he had to decide whether to be the Black heir – and become the head of the empire – or to keep being the careless, reckless Gryffindor boy who liked playing pranks and telling dirty jokes, who was James’ partner in crime and daydreamed about kissing Moony all the time.
He couldn’t be both; no one could.
But he had never thought about it so clearly. He just… accepted it. Let his family’s expectations steer him into taking that role. And every time he thought about his friends, every time he got a letter or met with them for a chat and a butterbeer, it hurt. It was a reminder of the person he wanted to be, but couldn’t.
He didn’t want to make any drastic decisions, so he just sat back and watched as things happened. As his work took over, as all his old friends drifted away.
Now, ten years later, standing by the paper bag on his counter a week after running into Moony at the Winter Market, he finally understands: you can’t opt out of life-changing decisions.
Because doing nothing is a decision too – and now he’s fairly certain that he made the wrong one.
His hands shake as he unwraps the jars of cocoa mix. He lifts the lid from one, slowly, then conjures a glass of warm milk and a spoon. When he takes that first sip, and the same warmth spreads through him as it did a week ago, he sees it clearly – he can’t keep living like this.
Sirius makes a decision again. A conscious one, this time. One that he thinks – he hopes – might finally set things right.
He summons a roll of parchment and a quill and he writes:
Dear James—
~~~~
A week later, Sirius wonders why he was ever nervous about reaching out to James.
Because, of course, James does what James does best. He listens, and he understands, and then he grins and says, “I always knew you’d come back to us, Pads.”
He welcomes Sirius back into his life immediately and, like they never missed a beat, they’re right back at being the best mates they always were. Lily takes a little longer. She’s polite but cool for the first hour Sirius is at their place for dinner, and he has to profusely apologise and stammer through an awkward explanation while James is in the bathroom.
She softens a bit – or, well, a lot – after that; it’s probably the pregnancy hormones.
Because yes, James and Lily are having a baby. Sirius can’t even think too hard about that without his eyes stinging. He can’t believe he nearly missed this because he was too wrapped up in his own nonsense to reach out.
Before long, Peter’s there too, joining them for a pint. He doesn’t say much when Sirius apologises, just claps him on the back and pays for his drink, so Sirius guesses they’re alright now.
After that, Sirius becomes a bit addicted to rebuilding the life he threw away. He writes to Marlene and meets up with her to watch a game of Quidditch, and then he meets Mary for dinner and Emmeline for a shopping trip.
Naturally, his work suffers from all those new additions to his routine. Each morning, a new stack of paperwork and memos waits on his desk, waiting for his signature. So, after a few days, he just stops going altogether. Regulus sends him a Howler demanding he comes back, to which Sirius only replies with “Haven’t you always wanted to be CEO instead of me? Well, have at it. I’m on holiday.”
Every evening before bed Sirius makes himself a cup of Moony’s Magical Cocoa. He warms up the milk the muggle way (it tastes better this way), stirs in two spoonfuls of the mix, and drinks it slowly from his armchair by the window, looking out of the city below. There, he makes a new plan to reach out to yet another old friend.
He reaches out to them all, one by one.
Except for Remus.
He can’t quite find the words. Just thinking about Moony’s face and the way Sirius acted, making an arse of himself, makes him want to puke with anxiety. Plus, as much as he loves all his friends, none of them mean as much to him as Moony once did. Still does.
He was never just a friend.
Well… not that he was ever more than that either, at least not explicitly. They never said it out loud, but Sirius always felt that what he and Moony had was different. More. For the longest time, he couldn't even define it. He knew he loved James immensely. Like a brother, or… actually, more than his own brother, if he was being honest, which was always a sore point with Regulus. And he could always have fun with Peter, with Marlene and Mary and any of the girls, but Moony–
Moony got him, he saw parts of him that no one else could. He was the only person Sirius could sit in silence with, have deep late-night talks with, the only person Sirius could admit his flaws, his fears, his scars to. He was about seventeen, watching James and Lily fall in love with each other, when he understood what it meant.
And part of him was certain Remus understood it too. It was in his eyes, sometimes. On the way he sighed softly while looking at Sirius, or how he would always let their hugs last for just a little bit longer than they should. But he never brought it up, and so Sirius never brought it up either. They danced around it for years and then, after Orion died, there was just no way anything could happen.
There was just no way the Black heir could be like that.
But the thing is, now, Sirius isn’t sure he wants to be the Black heir anymore. In fact, he’s quite sure that he doesn’t.
He used to think that it was out of his hands, that he had no choice but to step into this role, be this person they wanted him to be. But he left, a few weeks ago, and no one died. Nothing exploded, the world didn’t stop turning and Walburga’s ghost didn’t crawl out of the grave to torment him like she always swore she would.
Everything is working out just fine without him. Maybe even better – Regulus certainly seems happier – and as the comfort of his decision settles in, so does a new certainty: he can do something about it.
What’s he got left to lose? All’s already lost between them anyway.
So that Thursday, after meeting up with Frank and Alice Longbottom for coffee at Diagon Alley and learning they’re having a baby too (honestly, what is it with everyone and these babies?), he finds himself standing once again before the enchanted archway to the Winter Market.
And he knows it in his bones: he has to go in.
He has to tell him.
~~~~
Sirius walks down the corridor of market stalls feeling his stomach churn and his insides twisting into knots. This place was certainly much more charming when he wasn’t expecting to see Moony just a turn away. When he reaches the food court and knows Remus’ stall is just beyond it, he stops for a moment.
Takes a deep breath, tries to recall the apology he’s practiced in front of the mirror.
He doesn’t feel ready, but he has recently learned that ‘ready’ is more a decision than a feeling. So he decides; he forces himself to keep walking until he spots the familiar sign: Moony’s Magical Cocoa Mix. And–
Moony isn’t there.
In his place stands a witch with bright purple hair, cheerfully greeting customers and offering samples, just as Moony had done that day a couple of weeks ago.
Sirius frowns. He’s got a bad feeling. What if this is Remus’ girlfriend? Or worse– his wife? What if this whole love confession plan he’s been scheming is even more pathetic than he anticipated? Oh Merlin, what if Remus is having a baby like everyone else? No– No, James would’ve mentioned that.
Or would he?
“Can I help you, Sir?” The cheerful witch asks, snapping Sirius out of his spiral.
“Yes– er– Where’s Moon– I mean– Is Remus there? I thought he owned–”
She laughs. “Yes, yes, this is Remus’ stall. He’s… indisposed at the moment, so I’m covering for him. I do it every month.” She says that last part with a measured, slow tone, and the meaning lands straight away.
Of course, how could he have forgotten? Today’s the day after the full moon.
“Oh, right. I’m sorry! Of course he’s not here, I forgot–” He stammers, already turning on his heels to leave.
He’d worked up all that courage, and now it’s for nothing.
“Wait!” The witch calls after him. “Are you– You’re Sirius, right? Sirius Black?”
Sirius frowns, turning back. “Yes…?” He answers, uncertain.
“I can tell him you dropped by, but–” She breaks off mid-sentence, biting her lip. “Remus lives at his parent’s old cottage. I think you know where that is.”
Sirius swallows and nods. “I do.”
“Good. He was really– When you dropped by the other day, he told me about it and I just– I think hearing from you again would do him good today, that’s all.”
Sirius doesn’t always find it easy to open up, especially for strangers. But something about her tone disarms him, and the words slip out before he can stop them.
“I think he hates me.”
She smiles softly at him. “He doesn’t.”
“Well– Then he should.”
She laughs. “Remus? Couldn’t if he tried.”
There’s something warm and familiar about the way she talks about Remus and the anxiety in Sirius’ stomach wouldn’t let him leave without knowing.
“I’m sorry to ask but– Are you and Remus– I mean… Are you–?”
“Together?” She finishes for him, still laughing. “Not a chance! See that rather striking witch over there?” She nods towards a blonde woman a few stalls down, selling macaroons. “That’s my wife, Fleur.”
“Oh.” Sirius feels the heat crawl up his neck. “Sorry, I thought–”
“And Remus, well–” She raises an eyebrow at him, still grinning. “I’ve only known him a couple of years, but I’ve never heard him talk about anyone the way he talks about… well…” She gives him a quick once-over, then shakes her head. “Alright, I’m saying too much. You should go see him, though. Trust me.”
And with that, she turns her back and resumes calling cheerfully to passers-by, offering cocoa samples once again.
~~~~
Sirius hasn’t been at the Lupin’s cottage since the summer before their Seventh Year, but everything still looks exactly the same. It’s an old cottage, with a steep slate roof and ivy climbing so thick across the brick walls that it almost disappears into the dark trees behind it. A warm yellow glow shines from one of the windows; to Sirius, a sure sign that Remus is home. He crosses the overgrown garden and climbs the stone steps until he’s face to face with the deep green front door.
He’s still standing there, trying to work up the nerve to knock, when it suddenly and violently swings open, and Remus appears behind it, holding out his wand defensively.
“Sirius?” He exclaims, incredulous. He exhales loudly, then lowers his wand. “Fucking hell, warn a man, would you? You’ve set off all my wards.”
“Sorry,” Sirius blurts, realising his hands are up in surrender. He drops them quickly. “Sorry– Shit. I should’ve–”
“Sent an owl? Yeah,” Remus says, shaking his head. His eyes linger on Sirius for a long moment, questioning, and Sirius knows that’s his cue – he should say something, now – but words fail him. Remus sighs again. “Alright, come in. It’s cold out.”
~~~~
Inside, it’s warm. There’s a fire on the hearth and a hot cup of cocoa and Remus’ honey-brown eyes, locked on Sirius’, the entire time.
“I’ve met up with James,” Sirius says, in between sips. “And uh… Peter.”
“I know,” Remus nods. “They told me. They were here last night and this morning, for the–”
“Oh. Right,” Sirius cuts him off. The thought makes him want to crawl into a hole, from the sheer guilt he feels. During those years, he stopped showing up for moons too. He left Moony alone, something he’d sworn he’d never do. There shouldn’t be any forgiveness for that – still, he has to try. “I’m sorry,” he says at last.
“For what?” Remus asks, and it’s not sharp or challenging, it’s not wounded. Just… interested, perhaps. Curious.
Sirius sighs. It’s hard to know where to begin, but he has rehearsed the whole thing a few times, just to make sure he got it right. “I was ashamed,” he starts. “When I became the heir they wanted me to be, I had to do things and be someone I didn’t like. And I didn’t want you, or James, or Pete, any of you– I didn’t want you witnessing it. I didn’t want you thinking less of me.”
“Sirius–” Remus starts, but Sirius shakes his head and lifts a hand.
“I just closed my eyes and got on with it, and I think I tried to keep things separate, like it would somehow make it easier for everyone. But I can see it now that I just made it worse and… I’m sorry. I’m so sorry and I know there’s no excuse for acting like I did and for ignoring you all these years but I just– I thought I would at least try.”
Remus tilts his head, studying Sirius for a long, piercing moment. Then, he lets out a shaky breath. “I heard about you reaching out to James and Lily. Then Pete. Then Marlene, Mary, Emmeline, even Frank and Alice and I– I thought you wouldn’t–”
Sirius’ heart breaks all over again, listening to those words. It feels like he will never get this right.
“I wanted to reach out to you first, Moony, I really did. You mean the most to me. I just– I made such an arse of myself that night at the Market–”
“I made an arse of myself!” Remus interrupts, throwing his hands up. “You were trying to be nice and supportive of my ridiculous cocoa–” He breaks off, shaking his head in frustration. “You had every right to be mad at me.”
“Moony I wasn’t–” Sirius hears himself laughing, incredulous. “I wasn’t mad at you! I was mad at myself, if anything. Plus I guess I just– I guess I just had more to say to you than to the others. And I hadn’t found the words to say it yet.”
The air between them is thick enough to cut with a knife. Remus places his now empty mug of cocoa on the coffee table in front of them, then reaches out and takes Sirius’ too, placing it beside his own. Then he turns to Stirius, shifting closer on the couch, close enough that their knees brush.
“What did you want to say to me?” Remus asks at last.
And yeah, that’s the cue for the second half of his practised speech. It’s right there, sitting on the tip of his tongue, and before he can talk himself out of it, he lets it spill.
“Back then I was afraid to tell you this,” he says, so low it’s barely a whisper. “I wanted to, but I was afraid of ruining our friendship. And now… Well, I’ve managed to find an entirely different way to ruin it, haven’t I?” He lets out a dry laugh. “So I suppose I’ve got nothing left to lose when I tell you that I–” His heart is hammering against his ribs, blood roaring in his ears, and he pauses, drops his gaze to Remus’ mouth and then up again. “I love you. I’ve always been in love with you.”
The sentence is barely out of his mouth before Remus’ lips are on his, like this is all he needed as confirmation before he could take this step, make this move. Remus kisses him urgently, like he’s waited a lifetime for this, and Sirius has too, so he kisses back just as desperately. He parts his lips, tastes the cocoa still lingering on Remus’s tongue, and it’s everything he’s ever dreamed of.
A second later, Remus pulls away, panting.
“I’m sorry I never did this before,” He murmurs, forehead still glued to Sirius’, eyes flickering between Sirius’ own. “I wanted to, I just–”
Sirius smiles, shrugs. “Me too. I always wanted to, but maybe– maybe we needed that time. All those years. And thank Merlin for your cocoa mix–”
Remus laughs quietly and leans in again, brushing their lips together.
“Yeah, well,” he whispers against Sirius’ mouth. “Maybe it is magical after all.”