---
Sirius thought dirt kind of tasted like pepper, but didn’t have time to further contemplate this notion.
“When I was arrested I was dressed in black...”
He had no time to worry about the pressure he was putting on his not-yet-healed hand.
“They put me on a train and they took me back...”
He had no time to tend to his shredded knees.
“Had no friends for to go my bail...”
He had no time to protect his eyes or his nose or his mouth from the chips of earth falling down on him with increasing velocity.
“They slapped my dried up carcass in the county jail...”
He had no time for anything except clawing away at the wall of dirt that was the last obstacle between him and the only things in the universe that mattered. So he sang along to the faint echo of music pumping just above him, allowed himself to picture the two faces that made it all worth it, and clawed.
---
“They say it’s haunted.”
Tonks raised an eyebrow. “Haunted?”
Charlie nodded. “That’s why they decided to close it down in ‘81.”
Tonks allowed her gaze to float across the large expanse of Azkaban State Penitentiary. There was an unpleasant energy pulsing through the place, but Tonks chalked that up more to what the prison represented than any supernatural lingerings. She cleared her throat. “So what are we here for?”
“A couple of kids were playing on the grounds. They ended up falling through a sinkhole.”
“Onto a bag of bones?”
“Smackdab in the middle of an old escape tunnel,” Charlie replied.
“Any idea who the bones belong to?”
Alaster Moody, who had a talent for seeming to appear out of thin air, was suddenly at their side. “The ID patch on the uniform belonged to an inmate named Sirius Black,” he answered, “Imprisoned here November of ‘65 for murder. Would have been twenty-five years old at the time of death.”
Tonks snuck another glance at the skeleton. It looked oddly peaceful in its earthly coffin. She questioned, “So, what, he tried to escape and suffocated when the tunnel collapsed?”
“That’s the kicker—Horace doesn’t think Sirius Black suffocated. This is just from his visual examination, but the skeleton shows signs of blunt force trauma to the head.”
“So he was murdered,” Charlie concluded.
“That’s not all,” Moody replied. “Prison records state that Black was found murdered inside the prison walls in January of ‘68.”
Tonks and Charlie shared a look.
“Are you telling me this guy died twice?” Charlie asked.
Tonks frowned. “Seems like a cover-up to me.”
“What we know so far is that Black was recovering from an illness in the infirmary the night everyone was listening to Johnny Cash perform at Folsom County. Later that night, Officer Argus Filch reported finding Black’s dead body outside the infirmary.” Moody let out a bitter laugh. “Homicide wasn’t notified until forty-eight hours after the murder. Then the county morgue ‘mistakenly’ cremated the body before they could do an autopsy.”
Charlie snorted, “Plenty of time to get your story straight.”
“And doctor up some death records,” Tonks added.
Moody nodded. “I’m working on getting into contact with the warden at the time. Until then, I want you two to pay a visit to this Officer Filch.”
When they were walking back to their cars, Charlie murmured, “I told you this place was haunted.”
---
“Azkaban State housed some pretty bad boys in its day,” Tonks noted. “What was Black's story? Twelve years for a murder charge is pretty light. It’s a wonder he tried to escape at all.”
Filch did not avert his eyes from the mop he held in his spindly hands. Nor did he make any motion to respond to the question.
“Come on, Argus,” Charlie probed, “Your name's on the report. Says you're the officer that found the body. How’s it that we find the body thirty-five years later?”
Filch let the mop fall to the ground with a clatter. “Look, we thought Black had escaped.”
“Okay,” Charlie replied, “but when an inmate escapes, protocol is to look for him.”
“We did look for him. Six hours we looked for him.”
“Six hours?” Tonks repeated incredulously, “That's it?”
“That's when the warden called off the search,” Filch responded with a shrug. “Wanted us hush-hush. Story was to be: Black was murdered.”
“And you went along with that, no questions asked?”
Filch snorted, “Hell, I was dancing a jig. It was my fault he got loose.”
“How's that?“ Tonks inquired with narrowed eyes.
Filch sighed and shifted his weight. “This was the evening that Johnny Cash was on the radio, playing live at Folsom. Most of the inmates and COs had gathered in the mess hall. I had to haul an unruly inmate back to his cell. On the return trip, I took up post in the infirmary.”
“But Black was still in the ward then?” Charlie asked.
“And some other sickies,” Filch answered. “Figured I could take the night off 'cause all of 'em were flat on their backs.”
Charlie furrowed his eyebrows. “So, instead of watching Black, what, you took a cat nap?”
Filch shifted from foot to foot. “Yeah, something like that.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Tonks demanded.
“There was a nurse, Irma Pince. She and I… got along pretty well.”
Charlie let out a short laugh.
“So,” Filch continued, “We go into her office and by the time we come out, the bed’s empty.”
“And you never saw him after that?” Charlie questioned.
Filch shook his head. “It was like he disappeared into nothing—like magic.” He paused to stare into Tonks’ eyes intently. “All right, now I helped you. Is this thing going to come back and bite me in the ass or what?”
“Can you tell us anything else?”
Filch lowered his voice. “How about this: since there was never a body, a body was never sent to the morgue.”
“Go on,” Charlie allowed.
A smarmy smile came over Filch’s face. “Well, I was there when Barty Crouch signed papers saying there was.”
---
“In 1968, I had two problems,” Crouch began, “One: I was very young, and two: the prison was very old. The governor wasn't sure either of us was up for the job. If Black escaped one more time, he was closing the place down.”
“One more time?” Tonks inquired.
“He'd done it twice before. In '66 and again in late ‘67.”
Charlie hummed. “But you recaptured him.”
“First eight, then another ten years were added to his sentence.”
“That's pretty stiff,” Tonks remarked.
Crouch shrugged. “In any event, once he'd disappeared from the infirmary, I had to look at the bigger picture.”
Tonks raised an eyebrow. “So you initiated a phony murder investigation to cover up what you thought was a successful escape?”
“Correct.”
“The problem is, warden,” Charlie explained, “that make-believe murder turned out to be a real one.”
“Are you suggesting I had something to do with Black's death?” Crouch demanded.
“Did you?” Tonks replied without missing a beat.
Crouch laughed. “An inmate getting killed during an escape isn’t something I'd need to cover up. In fact, the first time Black ran we should've killed him.”
Barty knew that Black’s escape was not something to celebrate, but he couldn’t ignore the flaming thrill running down his spine. The lights, the dogs, the fear—it was what he thrived on. He knew he’d capture Black; he was God inside this prison, after all. So why shouldn’t he enjoy the chase?
“Black! Black! Black! Black! Black!” The inmates chanted from their respective cages. Barty grinned. The chants would be groans of disappointment soon.
“There!” Filch shouted, “He’s scaling the south wall!”
“Let's bring him down,” Barty ordered calmly, not letting an ounce of excitement leak into his voice. He gave a signal, and Filch fired a shot into the starry sky.
Black, who was at this point straddling the wall, turned to look at Barty. He yelled, “I've been trying to play the hand I was dealt, warden. I truly have.”
Barty called, “Next shot won't be a warning, Black!”
“How's it feel way up there on that wall, huh, Black?” an inmate shouted, pressing as far out of his window as the bars would allow.
Black’s face twisted in pain. “Lonely.”
Putting on his best reasoning voice, Barty urged, “Screw your head on, son. You've only been here a few months. It gets easier. In twelve years you'll walk out of here. Why jeopardize that?”
“Twelve years!” Black scoffed. “Might as well be a life sentence!”
“Going to be longer if you don't climb down from there,” Barty warned.
“I just got to get back!” Black cried out, once again looking like he was in pain. “They need me.”
Without hesitation, Barty commanded, “Shoot him, Argus.”
Filch pointed the gun at Black. The exact second he pulled the trigger, Black launched himself into the darkness on the other side of the wall.
“You sorry son of a bitch!” Barty growled, suddenly feeling a slight tinge of worry. “Let the dogs loose!”
“We caught him on the outskirts of Little Whinging only hours later,” Crouch finished proudly.
Tonks frowned. “Black said ‘they’ needed him. Who was 'they?'”
Crouch shrugged. “Not my concern. Black had a cellmate—Peter Pettigrew. He might have an idea.”
“Okay,” Charlie stood and made his way to the door, “we’ll keep in touch.”
“Every blue moon some fella gets it in his head to tunnel out,” Barty mused, “but I never made Black for a digger. How'd he do it?”
“Still trying to figure that out,” Tonks sighed.
Crouch offered an oily smile, “When you do, I’d appreciate it if you let me know.”
---
“You and Black shared a cell for three years. You and him must have been close,” Charlie remarked to the portly man sitting handcuffed across from him.
“We were true blue,” Pettigrew nodded.
“What was he in for?” Tonks asked, even though she already knew the answer.
Pettigrew sighed. “It was a sensitive subject. He didn’t like to talk about it much. All I know is he murdered a man named Tom Riddle and wasn’t sorry about it.”
Charlie pressed, “Did he talk much about how he was going to escape?”
“Nope,” Pettigrew shook his head. “Nothing.”
“Ever?”
“A man betters his chances if he keeps such plans to himself,” Pettigrew stated solemnly.
Tonks co*cked her head to the side in contemplation. “But why escape at all with such a light sentence?”
“That Padfoot had a mind of his own. It was no use trying to see his reason.” For the first time during their interview, Pettigrew smiled. Tonks got the impression Pettigrew didn’t get much opportunity to smile.
“Padfoot?”
“A nickname he came in here with. Never said how he got it.”
Charlie looked down at the file before him. “Says here you served at Azkaban until it closed down, then got transferred here.”
Pettigrew nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“So that means Barty Crouch is the only warden you've ever known,” Charlie surmised.
Pettigrew’s facial expression didn’t change. “Okay.”
“What's your opinion of him?” Charlie inquired.
Pettigrew considered the question for a moment. “Tough. Fair. Doesn't play around.”
Tonks jumped in. “How about a former guard at Azkaban, Argus Filch?”
Pettigrew smiled again. “You mean Pretty Girl?”
“Pretty girl?” Tonks and Charlie repeated at the same time.
“That's what we used to call him,” Pettigrew laughed, “and not just inmates, guards too.”
When Peter heard the sound of clumsy footsteps approaching, he shrunk deeper into the shadows of his cell. It wouldn’t do to burst into laughter before Sirius even had a chance to complete the mission. Once the footsteps had passed and reached the end of the hallway, Peter allowed himself to return to his position at the bars.
He heard Filch bark, “Black, finish up. Beat it!”
“Yes, sir!” Sirius chirped back. Not a minute later, the man was racing down the hallway. He still had the mop in his hand from his unfinished work duty, and he was already barking with laughter.
“Did you do it?” Peter felt his voice rise high in excitement.
Sirius discarded the broom carelessly and used both hands to hang off the bars. “I think the boys will appreciate this!”
Suddenly the crackling hum of the intercom formed clear words. “Yeah, just like that. Ok, I'm going to unbuckle now. Aha, there. Look at my face. Now say the magic words.”
Snickers bounced off the stone walls from every angle.
“I don't want to say it,” Pince responded, sounding annoyed.
“Come on,” Filch pleaded, “you have to. Otherwise, I'm no good. Say it. Say I'm pretty. Come on now, say it, say it.”
For a second the world was silent, but then Peter couldn’t hold back his laughter any longer, and like a tidal wave, everyone else was laughing too.
Still sounding annoyed, Pince muttered, “You're pretty.”
“Oh, yeah, that's mighty good,” Filch groaned back. “Now, do the next bit. I'm pretty like what, huh? Say it, pretty like what?”
Pince sighed. “Like a girl.”
At once chants of “Pretty girl!” roared from cell to cell.
“Shh,” Filch ordered. “Hear that?”
“Hear what?”
Peter heard the door to Pince’s office swing open and the sound of boots stomping closer.
“What the sam hill's going on in there? What are you mutts laughing about?” Filch demanded when he came into sight.
“Pretty girl!” The inmates roared in greeting.
Peter thought the look on Filch’s face looked remarkably like the look on Evan Rosier’s face when he got stabbed with a stiletto in that biker bar in Houston.
“Black,” Filch growled, “you son of a bitch!” He circled to face the chanting inmates. “You boys are goners!”
“Damn,” Charlie whistled. “That'd be a reason to go after Black.”
“Yeah,” Pettigrew agreed, “and after Sirius disappeared for good, Pretty Girl would walk on the cell block co*cky, for all to see.”
“Boasting he'd done the deed?” Tonks questioned.
“Not directly,” Pettigrew answered, “but guys did start calling him Officer Filch again.”
---
Charlie took a sweeping look around the small but clean dive. “Your bar, huh, Argus?”
“Bought and paid for,” Filch responded.
“It's a nice joint,” Charlie complimented.
“It's a living. I'd offer you a drink, but I used up all my hospitality on your last visit.”
“Use up all your lies, too?” Tonks asked.
“How'd I lie?” Filch responded, focusing his gaze on the glass in his hands.
“You didn't tell us about this beef you had with Black,” Charlie replied, “How he made you jackass number one. Punked by all the inmates.”
Filch rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, yeah.”
“Hey,” Tonks began, “if that happened to me, I'd start drinking for a living too.”
“Yeah, but say I'm a "pretty girl" who had a score to settle,” Charlie argued, “I might just man-up and see to that first.”
Filch set down the glass with a clatter. “I didn't kill Sirius Black. But you’re right about one thing—I did want to settle a score.”
“So, what'd you do?” Tonks probed.
“Planted two boxes of Duffy's Hay in Blacks’ cell.”
Charlie furrowed his eyebrows. “Duffy's Hay?”
“Smokes,” Filch clarified.
“How'd having the smokes hurt Black?” Tonks wondered.
Filch finally looked to her eyes. “Bank robber named Fenrir Greyback controlled the action. Guy was a half-tweaked hate machine.”
Tonks caught on. “You plant Greyback's smokes on Black, then tell Greyback Black stole ‘em—”
“—thinking Greyback would kill Black,” Charlie finished.
Filch nodded. “If not him, one of his crew.”
“So,” Tonks pressed, “you think he pulled it off?”
Filch shrugged. “Now that you tell me Black was murdered, seems possible.”
“Any idea where Greyback is today?” Charlie asked.
“Dead. Prison grapevine says he was killed in a knife fight in Detroit. Can't say I'm really sorry about it either.”
---
Moody hummed as he inspected the blueprints spread out before him. “Only way into that tunnel was through an old air vent in the library.”
“But Black was in the infirmary,” Charlie pointed out.
“The library and infirmary share a wall,” Moody explained.
“You think he went through the ceiling tiles?”
Moody nodded.
“So, Black crawls and hits a dead end. Then what does he do?” Tonks wondered.
“Digs,” Moody answered. “Through three feet of dirt, which then drops him into—and this is the beautiful part—an existing tunnel from a 1945 twelve-man escape.”
Charlie grinned. “Cool.”
“And that tunnel goes under Fairmount Avenue, comes out a manhole cover over on 22nd street,” Moody finished.
“Hmm,” Charlie tapped his chin, “a block from the prison.”
“These guys in '45 get away?” Tonks asked.
Moody grinned ruefully. “Entire dirty dozen were captured within an hour.”
“The question is,” Charlie began, “how did Black know where that old tunnel was?”
“Another question,” Tonks added, “what's in Little Whinging? The first time Black ran, he was found just outside city limits. The second time, he was recaptured inside the city in an apartment complex.” Tonks took a deep breath. “Black was from Godric’s Hollow. All his family and friends were in Godric’s Hollow, his old job was in Godric’s Hollow, the Potters were murdered in Godric’s Hollow—everything he had was back in Godric’s Hollow, right? So why was he heading towards Little Whinging? It might just be that he thought it’d make a good hideout, but to go there a second time after already getting caught once doesn’t make sense. Also, why wouldn’t he head for San Francisco, which is closer and an easier place to disappear?”
“So what do you think was in Little Whinging?” Charlie wondered.
“I’m not sure,” Tonks sighed, “but I’m positive it has something to do with what he said to Crouch—They need me. We need to figure out who ‘they’ is.”
“Prewett's hounding Crouch for the capture report from that night. It should give us more insight,” Moody responded, then asked, “Filch pointed to this Greyback?”
Tonks nodded, but said, “The problem with him as our doer is that he was released two weeks before Black was killed.”
Moody considered this information. “If Greyback's on the outside, maybe his long arm still got things done. Who was his number one henchman?”
“His old cellmate, Igor Karkaroff,” Charlie answered.
“We know what became of Karkaroff?” Moody asked.
Tonks replied, “He works at Durmstrang Auto Repair.”
---
“You heard about Detroit, huh? Knife fight that killed Greyback?” Charlie asked.
“Yeah, tough luck. Me and Greyback ran the mail room,” Karkaroff responded, wiping his greased hands with a rag.
“So,” Tonks drawled, “running the contraband made you two Kings of the castle?”
Karkaroff smiled. “The mail room gave us power. Droppin' guys made us King. Here,” he stuck out a hand to Charlie, “shake. Still strong, right?”
Charlie took the hand and grinned. “Yes, sir.”
“Working on these—” Karkaroff nodded to the car beside him proudly “—the past thirty years kept me that way.”
“So, Igor,” Tonks interjected, “when Black stole those smokes from you, you do something with those strong hands of yours?”
Karkaroff frowned, “Won't deny, I told Greyback we should get Black alone and cut him up.”
“What did Greyback say?” Charlie asked.
“He said no,” Karkaroff responded, “We should do it in the mess hall for all to see.”
Igor smirked. He’d never get over the way guys parted when he and Fen walked by. They were like Moses in the Red Sea. His smirk widened when he caught sight of the handsome face that wouldn’t be so handsome in just a few minutes.
Once they arrived at Black’s table, both men swung to sit on either side of him, effectively trapping him.
“Hi, Black,” Fen chirped.
Black’s voice dropped from the carefree tone he had used with Pettigrew. “I've been waiting for you fellas.”
“You were waiting for us?” Igor asked with fake enthusiasm, “Sweet of you.”
“Smokes are still in their cartons, 'cept for one or two I gave to my pal, Pete, here,” Black told them solemnly, “I was set up.”
Fen leaned in close to Black. He growled, “In thirty seconds, your insides'll be spilling on the floor. Any last wishes?”
It surprised Igor that Black didn’t shrink away from the large man like most would have. Black calmly said: “Tell me about Randy Greyback.”
“Who?” Igor blurted.
Fen, who seemed taken aback by this request, spared Igor a glance and quickly answered, “My Pops.”
“Sorry,” Black frowned. “I got the name wrong. I meant your grandpops.”
“Gramps and my Dad were both named Randy. Now, what in the hell do you know about them?”
“They both did time in this prison.” Black didn’t say these words with condescension, as most would have. “One of them, I think your grandpa, lived in my cell.”
“What are ya talking about?” Fen questioned, now more curious than angry.
“His name is etched on the wall,” Black responded simply. “There are a lot of other things he wrote too. If you wanna see them, I’ll show you.”
Fen considered this for a long moment. Finally, he declared “We’ll come by your cell later and grab those smokes.”
“Alright,” Black nodded.
Fen got up and made his way back to their usual table, but Igor lingered. He asked, “Hey, on your mother, you didn't steal from us, right?”
Black grinned. “What good's a pack of smokes to me? My husband made me quit.”
Tonks couldn’t suppress her own grin, “Pretty cool guy, that Sirius.”
Karkaroff shook his head with a rueful smile. “Paul Newman couldn’t have touched him.”
“What about this ‘husband’?” Charlie asked. “Our records don't show that Black had anyone.”
“I don't think he was really married, but he would talk about his sweetheart in Little Whinging. Said they were raising a kid together. Guy was called Remus Lupin. I never forgot ‘cause it was such a strange name.”
---
“Tom Riddle was a rising Mafioso and the worst kind of scum imaginable. He had his dealers wait outside schoolyards with ‘candy’ hoping to get kids hooked as an effort to increase their client base. He was as racist as they come. It was well known that he was involved in human trafficking, arms deals, bank robberies, protection racket schemes... really anything you can think of.
“And James was studying to become a lawyer. The Potters were very wealthy and had deep connections, so even though James was still an undergrad, he got the chance to intern with the D.A., Albus Dumbledore. James had made a lot of progress on the case against Riddle; he was just on the brink of getting a few of Riddle’s victims to testify against him. If everything went according to plan, Dumbledore could have potentially locked Riddle up for life. But then…” Remus trailed off.
Even though Tonks and Charlie had been pouring over the court records diligently for the past few weeks and knew exactly how this story ended, they were both on the edge of their seats. There was just something about Remus’ eyes that was equally magnetic and heartbreaking.
The man beside Remus interlaced their hands. “It’s okay sweetheart,” he coaxed, “go on.”
Remus took a deep breath. “On Halloween night Riddle showed up at James and Lily’s house. James opened the door with a bowl of candy in his hands and then Riddle shot him, just like that. That coward wore a mask so James wouldn’t know who he was. He didn’t even stand up to James like a man.
“Lily managed to get to Harry’s nursery, but Riddle was quick and he forced his way in. Then he shot her too—he shot her right in front of her one year old baby.”
Charlie croaked, “And Harry?”
Remus frowned and a little line appeared between his greying eyebrows. “He left him untouched. We’ve never been able to figure out why. He’d certainly done much worse to a lot of other children. The only thing I can think of is that Lily said something that struck a chord—she had a way with people,” he ended softly.
Though she didn’t want to, Tonks choked out, “So what did Sirius do?”
“You have to understand,” Remus pleaded, switching his gaze between Tonks’ and Charlie’s. “James and Sirius were closer than brothers. In fact, when Sirius ran away from home, the Potters took him in as a second son. Those two could practically read each other’s minds. So when Sirius stopped by to see the baby in his Halloween costume and instead found James’ dead body, he went a little unhinged. That’s why he did what he did. I know the prosecutors tried to say that a man has to be an animal to beat a man to death so brutally, but Sirius was not evil. Sirius was a good man.”
Tonks forced herself to ask, “And he only got twelve years?”
Remus nodded. “I always assumed Dumbledore had something to do with it. He had a real soft spot for the Potters and had a lot of friends in high places. Plus the judge was already pretty sympathetic, considering the circ*mstances.”
“And then they awarded you custody of Harry?” Charlie questioned softly.
Remus let out a bitter laugh and shared a look with his husband. “Not quite. Sirius was Godfather, but James and Lily never got around to making it official. And then of course he got sent away... Anyway, custody automatically went to Lily’s sister, Petunia. Petunia wasn’t particularly close with Lily and wanted absolutely nothing to do with Harry. She was happy to give custody to me, but unfortunately, the courts were not as easy to win over.
“I was waiting tables at the time and working for pennies at the library, trying to pay my way through school. The courts thought I wasn’t a ‘fit’ guardian and even more importantly didn’t want riff-raff like me around Harry’s inheritance, even though it was to be frozen until he turned eighteen. There was a lot of back and forth. I moved to Little Whinging and Petunia let me have Harry anyway, even before the courts eventually gave in.
“That was actually why Sirius kept trying to escape. Money was tight and it was hard trying to raise a baby by myself at twenty-one. Sirius has always been very protective of the people he loves, and he felt that he should be home, taking care of me and Harry.”
Tonks cleared her throat to try and get rid of its newly-forming knot. “Our records show that when Black escaped that second time in December '67 he was caught in your apartment.”
Remus smiled and nodded.
Not unkindly, Tonks remarked, “Kinda shortsighted, wasn't it?”
Remus chuckled. “Sirius was impulsive.”
“Just couldn't stay away?”
Remus decided he would ask for an extension on the rent. He knew Padfoot didn’t like the way Dolohov talked to him, but there was no other choice. Harry needed new shoes. All Remus had to do was smile the right way and flutter his eyes at the right time and then find a way to avoid Dolohov until he managed to get the rent money together. He’d ask Frank for some extra shifts if—
Remus jumped about ten feet in the air when the front door to his apartment unexpectedly swung open. Relief flowed through him when he realized it was not an intruder at all. In a second, a pair of muscled arms encircled themselves around Remus’ waist and two lips he knew better than his own claimed his mouth.
The relief was quickly crushed by the gravity of the situation. “Sirius, what are you doing here?!” Remus gasped as he pulled away from the kiss.
Sirius grinned at him and for a moment it felt like everything in the world would be alright. Sirius murmured, “I always told you when I got out I'd come straight to my boys. Where’s the baby?”
Remus couldn’t find it in him to remind Sirius that Harry was not so much of a baby at three-years-old, and nodded to the only bedroom in the apartment. “He’s sleeping.”
“Let me go see—”
“Sirius, there's no time. You need to run!”
“Shhh, close your eyes.”
“Sirius—”
“Moony, please.”
Remus sighed and squeezed his eyes shut.
“Remus John Lupin, will you be my husband?”
“Padfoot,” Remus pleaded, “you can't come all this way just to let them catch you again!”
Sirius pulled him in for another kiss, and then whispered, “It was worth it.”
And then the world stopped and started all at once because a small army of armed men were barging in. Sirius pushed Remus behind him and then a cold voice said, “Hold it right there, Black.” Sirius raised both hands in the air as a sign of surrender, but still an officer hit him straight in his middle with a baton. When Sirius bent over from the impact of the blow, the officer grabbed Sirius’ arm and twisted it to hold him flat down over the kitchen countertop. Instinctively, Remus made a move toward his Sirius, but another officer roughly shoved him back against the sink.
The owner of the cold voice leaned so that his head was level with Sirius’. “That's twice now you've run on me, Black.”
Sirius gave a small grin and Remus knew he would be shrugging if he could. He explained, “Transport van had my name on it, warden.”
The man gave Sirius a small smirk and straightened himself up. He nodded to Remus, “Evening.”
Remus didn’t respond.
“Oh!” the man exclaimed, looking down at the remains of dinner on the counter, “Casserole. How nice. Do you mind if I have a taste?”
Again, Remus did not respond.
The man picked up the fork and took a bite. “Hmm. It's only so-so, Black. You'd do just as good back at the big house.”
Sirius didn’t shift his gaze from Remus. He whispered, “I'll come back to you. I solemnly swear.”
“No. Sirius,” the man began, “you won't.” And then he stabbed the fork into Sirius’s hand.
This time, Remus could not stop the distressed yelp of horror from exiting his mouth. Sirius, however, didn’t utter a sound, and instead looked pleadingly into Remus’ eyes. Remus knew Sirius’ eyes were asking him to not say a word. And as much as Remus wanted to take the casserole dish and bash the man until he was nothing but a bloody stump, he thought of the small boy sleeping in the next room, and shrunk closer to the wall.
As quickly as the fork went in, it was out, and then the officer holding Sirius down pulled him back up.
“I didn't get your answer,” Sirius told Remus, as if they were the only ones in the room.
“Wave bye-bye, Mister,” the man ordered Remus, making his way towards the door. “You're never going to see Sirius again.”
Without hesitation, Remus mouthed, “Yes.”
And then Sirius was gone.
“I’m sorry,” Tonks blurted before she could stop herself.
Remus smiled at her sadly. “Time’s made things easier.” He looked to his husband. “And I was lucky to get a second chance at happiness.”
---
“We think the warden's got skeletons in his closet, Peter,” Charlie declared.
Tonks added, “We also think he's a lot more than ‘tough’ and ‘fair’.”
Pettigrew’s face revealed nothing. “Okay.”
“We checked his personnel file.” Charlie dropped the manila folder onto the table with a loud smack. “Twenty-seven reports of misconduct.”
Pettigrew did not shift an inch.
“Maybe,” Tonks offered, “you said what you said because you've been under his watch for forty years.”
Charlie softened his tone. “So what if we got you transferred out of here? Surrey State, St. Catchpole County, wherever you want, Peter.”
As soon as the words left Charlie’s mouth, the mask was falling and Pettigrew’s little blue eyes were sparkling like moonstones. “Today?” he said so high that it sounded like a squeak.
“Today,” Charlie confirmed.
“I was in the cell when they brought Sirius back from his sweetheart's place that night.”
“What kind of shape was he in?” Tonks asked, taking the seat across from the man.
“He was holding up. Showed me the fork wounds on his hand,” Pettigrew’s face twisted with disgust. “Nasty business.”
“Anything else happen that night?” Charlie questioned.
Pettigrew sighed. “Yeah. The warden happened.”
“ They’re coming,” Peter muttered the second he heard heavy footsteps stomp down the hallway. Instinctively, he shrunk as far away from the noise as possible.
In an instant, Barty Crouch was standing at their bars. “You're making me look bad, Sirius, and I got enough trouble with the rats and water in this place.”
“I can’t help it, warden,” Sirius replied, “my family needs me.”
Crouch let out a humorless chuckle. “You don’t have any family, Sirius. You’re the spoiled-rotten castaway of the mighty madhouse of Black, remember?” Crouch gestured for the guards to unlock the cell, and Peter’s stomach fell.
When he reached Sirius’ side, Crouch murmured, “You already had eight years added on your sentence for your last failure, now it’ll be ten more. Was it worth it? Give me your hand.”
Hesitantly, Sirius held the mangled thing up.
“Now,” Crouch began, eyes glinting wilder than those of any inmate Peter had ever met, “I want you to tell every last soul in this ever lovin' prison that you'll never disobey me again. Otherwise,” he held up a pair of pliers and snapped them ominously, “you and me gonna have a little game of piggy.”
Sirius remained silent.
“Go on,” Crouch growled, “Say it.”
Sirius frowned. “I'd be lying.”
Crouch relaxed his shoulders with obvious effort. He held the pliers to one of Sirius’ fingers, and then clamped. “This little piggy went to the market.”
Unable to stop himself, Peter desperately urged, “Come on, Sirius, just say it!”
Though Sirius’ jaw fell open from the shock of the pain, no words left his mouth.
“It's gotta hurt more than that,” Crouch grunted, “No? Okay.” He clamped a second finger. “This little piggy stayed home.”
“After the pliers,” Peter muttered, “they took him out of the cell. Later, I heard talk about him getting wailed on with a Louisville Slugger.”
“Okay, Peter,” Tonks stood, “you're coming with us.”
Charlie grinned, “You’ll stay in Hotel Homicide until we get that transfer worked out.”
---
“I’d better put a call in to the State about this warden,” Moody stated grimly.
Tonks nodded. “Pettigrew says he's been terrorizing inmates for years.”
“So he put a hurtin' on Sirius back in '68?”
“And Sirius never would cry uncle. Gotta admire that,” Tonks said, “The guy had heart.”
Moody allowed one of his rare laughs. “You're supposed to be on the side of the law, Tonks.”
Tonks snorted. “I can't be on the side of this warden, Boss.”
“So how do you figure him as the doer?” Moody asked.
“Sirius died from blunt-force trauma. The Louisville slugger could be the murder weapon,” Tonks explained. “I’m thinking the beating may be why he was in the infirmary in the first place, not pneumonia.”
Moody nodded approvingly.
Tonks continued her explanation, probably a little too eagerly for the subject matter at hand, but unable to suppress her excitement at catching a new lead. “Then Crouch forges the death records and dumps the body in a tunnel no one knows about.”
“What about this nurse who was treating him?” Moody inquired.
“Charlie's paying her a house call.”
---
“Mrs. Pince,” Charlie began, “I don't mean to be too personal—”
Irma waved Charlie off. “It's okay. Yeah, I’ll admit it. I used to pass the time with Argus.”
Charlie grinned. “AKA Pretty Girl?”
Irma snorted. “AKA the big dud. But he was harmless.”
“So the night Sirius was brought into the infirmary, was there a head wound?” Charlie questioned.
Irma shook her head “Not that I recall.”
Charlie frowned. No head wound meant Sirius hadn’t been killed that night, which meant that Crouch wasn’t necessarily the murderer. Tonks would be disappointed.
Irma continued, “But he did have body bruises, like he took a beating. Plus, the hand was mangled real bad. He had two broken fingers.”
“And during the month Sirius was with you, the warden ever pay a visit?”
Irma pursed her lips. “Old Barty wasn’t one to stick around the scenes of his crimes.”
“Did anyone come to see Sirius?”
Irma took a sip of tea. “A few of his friends. Mostly another inmate named Greyback.”
Charlie straightened in surprise. “So Sirius and Greyback became friends?”
Irma nodded emphatically. “Yeah. Real good ones, too.”
“Irma,” Greyback greeted, sweeping into the infirmary with the grace of a hurricane.
“Fenrir,” Irma nodded. “Hear you're getting out.”
“Tomorrow morning,” Greyback smirked. “Maybe I’ll look you up. We can have a date.”
“Hey, Grey!” Sirius called, licking jam from his fingers. “Cool it.”
Greyback immediately took a step back. “Yeah, right,” he mumbled in an uncharacteristic display of bashfulness. “I'm sorry. That was stupid.”
Irma gave him a small smile and nodded her okay for him to continue on to his bedridden friend.
Once Greyback reached Sirius, he began to whisper. However, whispering was no use against Irma’s superb sense of hearing. Well, that and the fact that the infirmary was roughly the size of a closet.
Greyback muttered, “Call that number like I told ya?”
Out of the corner of her eye, Irma saw Sirius nod, and carefully say, “A Falcon’s flying this way.”
“Good,” Greyback responded. “Now, you got till ‘the man in black’ comes to gather your courage.”
Irma’s stomach began to turn unpleasantly. “Fenrir,” she called. “You better get going.”
He gave her a polite nod and with one last meaningful look at Sirius, made his way towards the door.
Sirius called out to him again, “Hey, Grey! You're true blue. Don’t forget, that's what sets you apart from the rest of your family.”
Looking simultaneously pleased and uncomfortable, Greyback shifted from foot to foot. Finally, he said, “Me and the Boss will be waiting for you on the other side.”
Charlie sighed. “So Greyback was helping Sirius escape.”
Irma hung her head. “And I never reported it 'cause I'd always felt that Sirius got a bum deal.”
“What about the Boss?” Charlie wondered. “Any idea who that was?”
Irma shook her head. “No. But if he was as handsome as Sirius and Greyback, I'd like to meet him.”
---
“Fenrir Greyback was paroled exactly two weeks before the Johnny Cash broadcast,” Tonks muttered, browsing the man’s file intently.
Charlie grumbled, “And he left with the intention of helping Sirius bust loose.”
Moody chuckled. “Well that all makes sense because as it turns out, Greyback's granddad, Randy Greyback, was one of the twelve that built the tunnel in '45.”
Tonks’ heart started beating faster. “So, stories about the tunnel are passed down over the years and Greyback tells his pal Sirius where to find it.”
Charlie furrowed his eyebrows. “So if Greyback knows about the old tunnel, why doesn’t he ever try an escape?”
“Well,” Moody mused, “he was sentenced to five years, would probably only end up doing three. Why risk doing time you don't have to?”
“Right,” Charlie agreed, “don't be like Sirius.”
“Alastor,” a gruff voice greeted.
“Horace,” Moody responded, “Examine my bones yet?”
“I did,” Slughorn replied, “and your guy could've played Beethoven’s Fifth. There’s no sign of breaks or fractures on the fingers.”
Tonks and Charlie bolted up in a type of synchronicity that usually annoyed Moody. Now, however, he was too preoccupied to pay them any attention.
“But Sirius’ fingers were broken with pliers,” Moody insisted. “Wouldn't you be able to see that?”
“Yes,” Slughorn nodded, “and I'm telling you those fingers were good as new.”
Charlie sank back into his seat. “Those aren’t Sirius’ hands.”
“Which means,” Tonks sighed, “those aren't Sirius’ bones.”
---
“You say it was someone else wearing Black’s prison uniform in that tunnel?” Karkaroff asked incredulously.
“We're checking dental records,” Tonks answered, “but that's what we're thinking.”
Charlie explained, “We know Greyback and someone called the Boss were helping Sirius escape.”
“Okay.”
“Well,” Charlie continued, “you told us Greyback died in Detroit, so the skeleton can’t belong to him.”
“Right,” Karkaroff nodded but did not offer any further insight.
Slightly exasperated, Tonks said, “Which means that the bones probably belong to the Boss. But unfortunately, we don't know who that is.”
“Well, as far as ‘The Boss’ goes, Fen wasn't one to take orders.”
“So there's no one he ever mentioned by that name?” Tonks demanded, now fully exasperated.
Karkaroff chuckled. “I didn't say that.”
"So, one day I'm shootin' the breeze at the University library, waiting for James to get out of class. That's when I first saw Remus. He was all dimples and big doe eyes and honey curls."
"What did you say to him?" Pettigrew asked, all but twitching with excitement. Igor couldn't blame the kid though. He too was flicking the cigarette in his fingers with more gusto than usual.
Black laughed softly. "Nothing comes out."
"Oh man," Fen groaned.
"I know," Black sighed. "He just walks by, wheeling his cart of books, and never once spares me a glance. This happens three days in a row, and then," Sirius paused to take a long drag of his smoke, and his audience let out noises of discontent. Black continued. "So on day four, when I'm all but ready to call it quits, Remus slows down, looks over, and sticks his tongue out at me."
"Oh, Mother Mary!" Fen groaned. "Just real cute like?"
Always laughing, Black nodded. "So I stand up, straighten my jacket, and I say, 'Hi, I'm Sirius.' Then Remus says, 'You don't look very serious to me.'"
The audience burst into laughter as if it was the funniest thing they had ever heard. And in that moment, it was.
"So then what?" Fen prompted eagerly.
"He says, 'Are you going to keep gawking at me, or are you going to get up and help me push these carts?'"
"He was bossing you like that? Mmm," Fen grunted, "Don't you just love that?"
"That day on, nothing would keep me from being with the boy with the dimples and the big doe eyes and the golden curls."
"What else, Sirius?" Fen demanded. "What's that bossy boy of yours like? Bet he can fill out a pair of blue jeans, huh?"
Sirius didn't respond. He took another long drag of his cigarette, and smiled a smile that Igor knew was not for them.
Karkaroff smiled. “Fen always called him ‘The Boss’ after that.”
Charlie frowned. “How’d that little pet name go over with Sirius?”
“Well,” Karkaroff disclosed, “Black was patient with him. He knew Fen didn't have much. Story hour helped the guy get by. Let him dream a little bit.”
---
Tonks sighed. “Sweet kindergarten-teacher Remus Lupin is the Boss.”
“Pettigrew confirmed it,” Charlie announced.
“He’s also the Falcon,” Moody told them. “A Ford Falcon was registered in his name two weeks before Sirius made his move. Presumably to be their getaway car.”
“He and Greyback were gonna get Sirius out of that tunnel together,” Tonks remarked.
“Thing is,” Charlie muttered, “we know Remus is still alive, so those bones can’t belong to the Boss.”
“And we know they're not Sirius’,” Tonks added.
“Which leaves Greyback,” Moody finished, “but he supposedly died in Detroit.”
“Well,” Charlie shrugged, “maybe not.”
“We never did find a death certificate for a Fenrir Greyback in Michigan,” Tonks noted.
“I’m starting to think that knife fight rumor was a sham,” Moody grunted. “Maybe he died in that tunnel instead.”
“So, if the bones in the tunnel belong to Greyback,” Tonks wondered, “where’s Sirius?”
---
Tonks stared at the pictures placed unsparingly across the Lupin living room. She couldn’t possibly study them all, but a few caught her attention.
A small boy no older than four with the brightest green eyes and the sweetest gap-toothed smile surrounded by a small mountain of Christmas presents. Remus, golden and lovely underneath the sun’s dimming rays, standing in front of a Ferris wheel with the little green-eyed boy settled on his hip. The green-eyed boy, who was no longer a boy but a teenager with a strong jawline and a straight nose and a good-natured grin, holding a trophy in the middle of similarly uniformed and cheering figures. A new figure and Remus standing proudly on either side of the green-eyed now-adult, who was wearing a cap and gown and holding a diploma case with ‘Stanford Law School’ emblazoned on the front. The new figure and Remus bundled together in blankets watching the Golden Gate Park firework show.
The picture that caught Tonk’s gaze for the longest was the only picture atop the fireplace.
In it, stood a man who could have been the twin of the green-eyed boy. except with hazel eyes and a slightly longer nose. The twin had one arm cradling a sleeping infant and the other hugging a beautiful woman who had red hair almost as vibrant as her green eyes. Besides the beautiful couple stood another beautiful couple: the golden man wrapped in the possessive embrace of another man who was all movie star good looks and long dark hair and striking grey eyes.
Tonks wondered how she didn’t recognize those grey eyes when they invited her into his home and asked her if she wanted a cup of coffee and assured, “I’m sure Remus wouldn’t mind answering some questions.”
“Where’s your husband?” Tonks questioned.
“He went fishing,” Remus answered simply. “I'm getting ready to join him.”
Tonks lifted the corners of her mouth mechanically. “He seems like a nice guy.”
Remus smiled. “He's a good man.”
Tonks eyed the folded cardboard boxes shoved underneath the coffee table. “So, he went fishing, huh? Want to tell me where?”
Remus’ smile didn’t waver. “Just a place. Somewhere nice.”
“Somewhere that doesn't extradite?”
Remus eyed Tonks for a long while before replying, “You can't arrest me. My husband told me the statute of limitations are up.”
“That why you're the one following behind? Safe for you, but not Black?”
Remus sighed and slumped down on his couch. “You want to sit down?”
Tonks chuckled bitterly. “Guess Greyback was just a loose end, huh?”
“No,” Remus argued firmly. “Sirius thought of Greyback as a friend. True blue.”
“Then how come Greyback ends up dead?” Tonks demanded.
“You wouldn't understand,” Remus murmured, casting his doe eyes downwards.
Tonks narrowed her eyes. “Make me.”
“I love how this man sings. Stands up there like a wall of granite, but can still speak his heart.”
Remus found it hard to concentrate on Fenrir’s words. Tapping his hand impatiently against the steering wheel, he muttered, “The concert's almost over. When's he going to get here?”
“You don't like Johnny Cash?” Fenrir questioned softly.
“The manhole cover's halfway across the road,” Remus noted with a frown, “What if we don't hear Sirius’ signal?”
Fenrir laughed. “He'll be pounding so hard, we’ll have to keep him from waking the neighbors.” Then he lowered his voice. “Remus, these last two weeks—”
“Cops!” Remus exclaimed when a car suddenly passed them.
Fenrir laughed again. “No, it's not. Remus, easy. Easy.”
Remus let out a self-deprecating laugh. “Sorry.”
Fenrir smiled at him, then reached a hand out to finger a lock of Remus’ hair. Remus quickly moved away from the touch.
Fenrir’s smile fell. “That was stupid. I didn't mean it.” He looked forward and began to bounce his knee so hard that it shook the whole car.
“No,” Remus told him with what he hoped was a comforting grin. “I swear Fenrir, you've become a true pal.”
Fenrir let out a laugh that Remus didn’t like, then lit up a cigarette with more aggression than Remus thought was necessary. After a few tense moments, he growled, “Better go see what's keeping him.”
“The plan was to wait until he knocks,” Remus reminded him softly.
“No.” Fenrir opened the passenger side door. “This is better.” He slammed the door and made his way towards the manhole.
Remus did not like the idea of following Fenrir down the hole, but his gut told him not to leave Padfoot alone with the man when he was obviously agitated. So, Remus waited a few minutes to give Fenrir a head start and hopped out of the car.
Initially, Remus was concerned about the long climb down the stepladder, but the task proved fairly easy. What he should have been worried about was what he would find when he finished climbing.
The tunnel was surprisingly well-lit, presumably for the convenience of the city maintenance workers. However, Remus didn't particularly want to see what other inhabitants were lingering in the space. He remained quiet, tried to ignore the sounds of scuttering and the smell of grime, and listened for Fenrir. Once he caught the man’s trail, he silently followed behind. He felt a little like Orpheus on his journey through the underworld, but tried to push this negative thought behind him. It was about fifteen minutes of wandering later when Remus finally heard the voice that never failed to bring him comfort.
“Grey?” Sirius questioned.
“Yeah,” Fenrir drawled, “it's me.”
“You were gonna wait above ground,” Sirius remarked, “Where's Remus?”
“In the Falcon.”
“Okay!” Sirius exclaimed, “Let's go.”
Fenrir remained where he stood. “I should—I should tell you about him.”
Immediately, Sirius’ voice rose in panic. “Is there something wrong with Remus?!”
“Yeah,” Fenrir declared with a half-crazed laugh. “There is—he's perfect.”
Sirius remained silent for a long beat. Eventually, he said, “You seem off.”
Remus saw Fenrir pull something out of his pocket. Without waiting to see what it was, Remus jumped out of his hiding place and shouted, “Padfoot, look out!”
Sirius jumped out of the way just in time to avoid the swipe of Fenrir’s pocket knife.
“Why are you doing this?!” Sirius demanded.
“You got what I want!” Fenrir shouted and gestured madly to Remus.
As gently as Remus could speak under the circ*mstances, he pleaded, “Fenrir, don’t hurt him. No matter what you do, we’ll never be together.”
Greyback threw his cigarette to the ground and smashed it violently with the toe of his boot. He grunted, “Guess maybe I already knew that.” Then he lunged again and this time caught Sirius in the arm.
Sirius danced away, clutching his wound.
“This ain't a wrestling match,” Fenrir spat. He lunged again, and again Sirius slipped away.
Remus panickedly looked around for anything he could use against the hulking man. Much to his surprise, Fenrir himself was the one to offer up such a weapon.
He tossed Sirius a long hunk of scrap metal that he found lying by his feet. “Better pick that up, boy,” he growled.
Never taking his eyes off Fenrir, Sirius crouched low and snapped it up.
“There,” Fenrir smirked, “Now we're even steven.”
“Grey,” Sirius tried to reason, “it doesn't have to be like this.”
Fenrir laughed bitterly. “I'm a Greyback. It’s in my blood.”
The circled around each other like the ballroom dancers in the competitions Lily used to drag Remus to because James and Sirius refused to go. While Fenrir was slightly taller and a lot bulkier than Sirius, Sirius was no pipsqueak and no stranger to fighting.
Finally, Fenrir lunged straight for Sirius’ chest. Sirius ducked down and with the same movement swung his metal against the backside of Fenrir’s head. The momentum of the movement managed to knock Fenrir to the ground. Hard.
Immediately, Sirius dropped to the ground and grabbed the lapels of Fenrir’s jacket, shaking it as if the movement could bring the man to consciousness.
Remus ran to him, and frantically muttered, “Padfoot, he’s gone. If you want to make it out this time, you need to switch clothes!”
“Sirius didn’t want to kill him,” Remus whispered.
Tonks kept her gaze focused on the pictures. “Was Sirius the one taking all these earlier ones?” she finally asked, pointing out the photo of Remus holding Harry at the fair.
Remus nodded his head warily. “We didn’t think it was a good idea to have him in the pictures when he still looked exactly how he did when he escaped. Although, I admit I do have some of the three of us hidden away.”
Tonks studied the pictures for what seemed like a lifetime before her phone broke the trance. She checked the caller ID, took a deep breath, and answered.
“How’s it going?” Charlie greeted.
“I talked to Lupin.”
The big doe eyes, so lovely in the photos, now blinked at her mournfully.
She sighed. “It seems Sirius and Greyback were supposed to meet back up at his place, but they never showed. I can’t be sure, but I’m thinking Sirius realized the gravity of the situation, killed Greyback so there wouldn’t be any witnesses, and then decided to slip off into the night to start a new life.”
Charlie remained silent on the line.
The doe eyes melted into chocolate pools.
“I took it upon myself to look up Alphard Fleamont in the system,” Charlie announced slowly.
Tonks’ heart beat triple time. “And?”
“His story checks out.”
Tonks grinned. “I’m sure Sirius is long gone by now. Might as well tell Boss to officially close this case.”
“I think you’re right,” Charlie replied and Tonks knew he was grinning too.
---
“How do you feel?” Remus inquired softly, stretching out on the couch.
Sirius thought Remus looked just as golden and pretty as the first time he’d seen him. He leaned over and placed a kiss on one of the man’s dimples.
Remus pecked his nose. “Answer my question!”
Sirius sat up straight and tugged Remus until he fell into his lap. He pondered the events of the last few weeks before replying, “I feel like I felt last time.”
There were a few things Sirius had expected to happen on his first night of freedom.
One—have celebratory beers and subs at Fat Sal’s with Moony and Grey. Two—pick up the Prongslet from the Longbottoms. Three—hug the Prongslet and kiss the Prongslet and play with the Prongslet until said Prongslet fell asleep in his arms. Four—spend an extra long shower getting reacquainted with his beautiful husband-to-be.
There were a few things Sirius had notexpected to happen on his first night of freedom.
One—hyperventilate the whole car ride home and two hours after that. Two—take an hour long shower trying to literally and figuratively wash the blood off his hands. Three—take a seventeen-hour nap. Four—wake up to a large set of green eyes glaring at him.
“Who awre you?”
Sirius was too in awe of the small creature to respond to the question.
Harry pouted and stomped his little foot. “This the big bed.”
“Oh,” Sirius croaked, still at a loss.
Harry growled, “Big bed is onwy fo’ me ‘n my Moony! You go away!”
Part of Sirius wanted to laugh at the adorable display of possessiveness. Another part of Sirius wanted to say ‘damn right no one else sleeps in this bed’. The largest part of Sirius wanted to cry over the fact that Harry had no idea who he was.
Remus entered the bedroom, looking anxious and tired and absolutely gorgeous. “Harry,” he reprimanded softly, “Didn’t I tell you to color at the coffee table until dinner is ready?”
“It’s alright,” Sirius mumbled.
Remus reached out to run a hand gently through Sirius’ hair. Sirius leaned into the touch and let out a noise of contentment. “Padfoot,” Remus argued, “you need your r-”
“Padfoot?!” Harry yelped and turned to Remus in confusion. “This is my Padfoot?”
Sirius jolted up to a seated position and nodded his head frantically. “Yes! Yes, I’m your Padfoot!”
Harry stopped scowling and climbed into the bed. After a few long moments of intense scrutinization, he declared, “You don’ wook wike the picters.” This was said with such authority that Sirius could not think of anything to say to defend himself.
“Look at his eyes,” Remus suggested gently.
Harry grabbed Sirius’ face with hands softer than Sirius thought possible and continued his evaluation. Slowly, his face blossomed into a gap-toothed smile. “You awre my Padfoot!”
Unable to form a sentence that fully demonstrated the feeling of all-consuming love that he felt for the small creature, Sirius questioned, “Am I allowed to sleep in the big bed now?”
Harry began bouncing with excitement. Sirius gladly took this as a yes and opened his mouth to ask another question when Harry interrupted with a question of his own. “You knowed my Daddy?”
Sirius fought hard to bite back the lump forming in his throat. “Your Daddy was my best friend in the whole entire world. He was true blue.”
“True bwue?”
Sirius smiled. “True blue means that he was loyal and kind and always stood up for what was right.”
“Mama too?”
“Yes, Mama too.”
Harry looked so pleased with this information that Sirius could no longer resist the urge to scoop him into his arms and pepper his face with kisses. Harry squirmed happily and Sirius thought he had never felt lighter. He said, “I loved Mama and Daddy so much that they made me your Godfather. Do you know what that means?”
Harry nodded his head proudly.
Remus, whose eyes looked suspiciously glassy, urged, “Go ahead Harry, tell us.”
“You wove me awways.”
“That’s right!” Sirius exclaimed. “I will love you always and forever, just like Mama and Daddy.” Sirius took a deep breath. “I’m sorry that it’s taken me so long to get back to you, Harry. But now that I’m home, I’m going to take care of you always.”
“My Moony too?”
Sirius threw his head back and barked with laughter. “Of course!” He shot Remus a lascivious look over Harry’s head. “Moony needs a lot of taking care of.”
Harry nodded his head solemnly. “He wowrks hawrd.”
Sirius felt his heart pang, but reminded himself that now that he was home, his Remus would never have to lift a finger ever again.
Remus piped up, “Harry, why don’t you go find Mr. Snuffles so that you can introduce him to Padfoot?”
“‘Kay!” Harry shouted, clumsily wiggling out of Sirius’ embrace and climbing down the bed.
Sirius furrowed his eyebrows, but Remus did not say anything more until Harry was safely out of earshot. Wringing his hands nervously, Remus muttered, “Barty Crouch called about an hour ago.”
“Did he—”
“He called to tell me that you were found stabbed last night in the hospital wing.”
When it became clear that Sirius was too gobsmacked to respond, Remus continued, “They’re looking into the case, but right now think you got into a fight over a pack of cigarettes. They’ve cremated the body, which is apparently what you marked as your preferred choice of burial.”
Sirius opened his mouth and closed it several times.
Anxiously, Remus asked, “So what does this mean?”
“If they had even the slightest suspicion that I was here, they’d have busted the door down hours ago and booked us both,” Sirius responded. After another contemplative silence, he continued, “They’re saying I’m dead so that they don’t have to admit that they let an inmate escape three times.”
Remus bit his lip. Sirius could tell that he was trying not to sound too hopeful when he asked, “Do you think they’re going to keep looking for you?”
Sirius considered this. “I think that to keep looking for me necessitates a lot of manpower, which is something Crouch could not reasonably justify to his boss without telling him the truth.” Sirius interlaced their hands. “I think that Barty Crouch is a smart man who knows to quit while he’s ahead.” Sirius placed kisses along Remus’ knuckles. “I think that for the first time in a long time, luck is on our side.”
Then Harry reentered the room, holding not only the stuffed dog otherwise known as Mr. Snuffles, but seemingly as much of his stuffed animal collection as he could carry. Remus reached out to ease Harry’s burden so that he could climb back into the bed. Slightly breathless, Harry made his introduction. “This is Mistewr Snuffews.”
Sirius greeted, “Howdy, Mr. Snuffles!”
Harry giggled and the world shifted back on its axis.
“And how did you feel last time?” Remus prompted, burying his face in the crook of Sirius’ neck.
Sirius squeezed Remus and smiled at the picture on the fireplace. He murmured, “Like I’ve got nothing to do but roll around heaven all day.”
---
