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Through the open window above his head Sirius can hear Harry crying, softer and softer until all that is left is Lily's voice, clear and melodious. He can't quite make out the words she's singing and Harry, barely two years old, doesn't understand what the song is about, but just the sound is soothing enough. It prevents him from stumbling in shock or relief, or calling Remus’ name and upsetting Harry again even though his stomach clenches at the sight of him.
Remus is sitting at the teak wood table in what could be called the front yard but is in fact a field that surrounds the cottage and the lake as far as the eye can see. In front of Remus lies a closed notebook and his suitcase stands next to his chair as though he is ready to leave, if not for the way he's sitting there, still like people in Muggle photographs; his elbows resting on the table, a pen in his right hand. However, he's not writing; all he does is stare at the lake that stretches out before him, immovable and black in the beginning of the night.
All sorts of monsters could be looming beneath the surface, awaiting a chance to appear, silently – out of nowhere, like Death Eaters, like dark wizards or like dreams, memories, thoughts. Ghosts from the past, intangible yet there in a way that is impossible to ignore once they have reached you. They can make you fall asleep or drag you down. Sirius imagines it like a dementor’s kiss.
However, they have been assured that they are safe here in the countryside, under the protection of highly advanced spell work as well as somewhere far away from cities. The nearest village is a forty kilometre bus ride. On top of that, Sirius hasn't noticed a sign of human life besides himself and his friends. The cottage seems to have risen out of the earth like a peculiar tree that has been there since the beginning of time, fused together with nature, though it must have been built only decades ago by some rustic misanthropist with money, or perhaps by refugees, fugitives, renegades.
As someone who has grown up in London, Sirius had been astonished, when one of the first nights at Hogwarts in the Scottish Highlands, he had looked at the night sky, captured by the sound of silence. Every now and then, he still marvels at places where the stars can be seen and where the silence is, instead of conjured by a charm, bearable in a way that does not make him feel as though he is holding his breath.
James, Lily and Harry have been here for over a year now, secluded and depending on others. Despite the peace this place seems to radiate, I can't help but feel nervous, Lily wrote in her first letter. Useless. It's a false sense of safety. Can you imagine it? It reminds me of this game where one person wears a blindfold and has to trust the others to not let them crash into a wall. Sirius supposes he would have taken it even worse, for sometimes, in moments that come and go like cloud-bursts, even London feels like old, rotten skin that has to be torn away. However, now that the war ended as of last week, it's a different story. The lives that have been lost and the lives that have been spared. Chaos, destruction and mistrust changed by the latest developments, vanished or just left there, lying in an open field, ready to burn.
How close they had been to losing. How close Sirius had been to losing everything. It's difficult to grasp, so he focuses on something else while he walks barefoot over the damp, knee-high grass toward Remus.
In the dim light of the two lanterns hanging on the outer wall, he can almost pretend that they are at Hogwarts and that Remus is the last person sitting in the common room, determined to finish a goddamn Potions essay before the sun rises in the morning, and that Sirius, restless and wide awake, misses Remus' deep breaths from the bed next to his so he slips out of bed to accompany him, cracks a stupid joke that makes both of them laugh too loudly and helps where Remus lets him. It feels like a lifetime ago, although only a few years have passed. It's enough to make him feel nostalgic about it – but then again, he reckons, nostalgia has more to do with the pleasantness of memories than with the length of time, and being alone with Remus had always been high on his non-physical list of favourite moments. It is, still, he thinks, while swallowing the lump in his throat.
He opens his mouth and he finds his voice. "Hey, Moony," he says softly in order not to wake Harry again – and possibly in order to not have everything be spilled between them by unmentioned emotions – but to his own ears it sounds like an explosion.
Remus jerks his head towards him, dragging his gaze away from the lake. "Sirius," he replies, barely audible. He clears his throat and stands up.
He rushes towards Sirius and stares at him for a second with brown eyes that in this light look darker than they truly are, and his cheeks, Sirius cannot help but notice, are more hollow than he remembers which vaguely makes him wonder what his friend is seeing looking back at him now; a heavy frown and lost eyes, his Muggle clothes – black trousers, leather jacket – more out of place than Remus in this night that looks like it belongs in a museum or a picture book. Quickly, he averts his eyes towards the lines of Remus’ shoulders. He looks at the veins beneath the skin of his hands, blue and purple, some of them green. Blood. Life lines. And then they are clutching the sides of his jacket, grabbing his shoulders and pressing against his back so tight that it hurts.
Oh. Sirius lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding. He returns the hug while burying his face into Remus’ neck, as though it were possible to convey relief and sorrow and despair of the war and all of the messed up feelings he's been having lately – or not only lately – regarding Remus Lupin with this simple gesture. Sirius breathes in Remus’ scent like oxygen running through his veins as his lips touch Remus’ skin. Remus' face is pressed against the material of his jacket and he can feel him trembling and he just wishes everything would be alright.
"I'm glad you're here," Sirius manages to say, after a while, when he looks at Remus with his hands still resting on his shoulder and his neck. He can't quite bring himself to let go of Remus while he drinks in the sight of him from his tousled curls to the straught lines of his nose that contrast with the soft curve of his lips. From this close, he can see the freckles across the bridge of Remus’ nose, and a few scars, new and old, faded lines like the condensation trails in the sky.
Remus looks at him quizzically and squeezes his shoulder. "Yeah. There's chaos everywhere. But in a good way, I suppose."
"So I've heard." Sirius lets out a laugh that doesn’t sound quite right. "Poor sods of the Improper Use of Magic Office."
Remus ducks his head. When his eyes meet Sirius' again, there's something he hasn't seen in a long time; something he can neither name nor describe, but it lessens the tightness in his throat a little.
They go inside, where it is a few degrees warmer than outside. From the small hallway, they step into the living room. As soon as Remus appears in the doorway, fingers fumbling with his cloak, Lily gets up from where she is sitting next to James on the threadbare couch to throw herself at him. "There you are," she breathes, relief threading through her words. "God, Remus. We've been waiting for you since we heard..." She trails off, unclear whether it is because she presses her forehead against his shoulder or because the words she was about to say taste unfamiliar in her mouth.
Sirius feels James' eyes burning into his back, as though it were possible to send a telepathic message.
–
Aren't you tired? Sirius thinks, but Remus doesn't look tired from travelling – if anything, he looks slightly worn-out in a way that sleep can't fix. He's sitting on the couch in a way that'll make his back ache, writing a letter and using a heavy looking book he must have carried in his suitcase as a desk. His cloak is still draped over his shoulders to protect him from the cold that isn't really there, but there is a giant rock high up in the sky – Sirius can see it from where he is sitting on the window sill, a crescent moon – that has a habit of pulling at Remus' bones and he tries to make sense of everything in order to say something other than How are you? (I'm fine), What are you writing? (A letter) or, Do you want to sleep on the couch or the bed that's been mine for the past few days? (I'll just take the couch – no, Sirius, really, I'll be fine). They have done enough of biting their tongues. He pulls at a loose thread in the metaphorical node inside his stomach – or, perhaps, inside his brain.
Finally, Sirius breaks the silence. "This place is not on Muggle maps, did you know? It makes sense though. You can feel it, the magic hanging in the air."
Remus stills his quill abruptly. He looks at Sirius with a slight frown that’s barely there, but it is enough for Sirius to recognise the look Remus always gives him when he's not sure why Sirius has said what he's said and whether he should question his mental health. Or maybe he's just joking.
"Not just the protection spells," he adds. "Can you feel it?"
Remus blinks and then nods slowly.
"Lily told me that when they arrived she had the inexplicable feeling that she was the first person to set foot on this land since forever." James had said the same, but less eloquently.
Remus smiles a little. "It's close," he agrees after a moment of consideration. "Inexplicable."
"Inexplicable," Sirius repeats, and then he says, "When I arrived here four days ago... It made me think of you. Thought you'd like it here..." He trails off.
"And?" Remus prompts carefully when Sirius stays silent.
"It made me realise," Sirius says, the words tumbling out of his mouth – although realise is not the correct word but what does it matter if Remus will understand anyway. "I've missed you. I want us to be okay again."
There. Said it. Dropped the bomb. Acknowledged it. End of the world.
Remus lays down his quill. He places his book and the unfinished letter on the couch together with his cloak and walks over to where Sirius is sitting on the window sill.
"Can I...?"
Sirius pulls his long legs up to make a place for him. Remus sits down and leans his back and head against the window. Worrying his bottom lip, he looks at Sirius, calculating and searching for something to say. Merlin knows what.
"It's a mess, isn't it?" Remus says after a while with a sad smile that doesn't reach his eyes; they're just wide and full of something Sirius has been seeing frequently since, he supposes, they left Hogwarts four years ago and fought a war. It's something between pained and shocked, desperate and worried, so different from what Sirius saw barely two hours ago when their bodies were so close that they could feel each others' warmth. Now, he feels miles apart and he wants to fetch his own cloak.
Sirius’ stomach drops. He says, "I guess," which is a fucking lie, because he is sure – one hundred percent sure – that it, their currently undefined relationship, can adequately be compared to their old dorm room in Gryffindor Tower with the school supplies of four people all over the place, or, more accurately, to their London flat with a pile of robes and T-shirts, worn out jeans, pieces of unfixable clothing that have been the victim of a prank gone wrong; there’s the occasional shirt from James and there are towels and washcloths, dusty photo albums and a box of Remus’ that Sirius isn’t allowed to touch – it’s heavy and probably contains returned test papers or letters from his parents.
In general, their London flat was a mess, and that included their lives.
–
It must have been more or less a year ago when Dumbledore had ordered Sirius to meet him in his office at his earliest convenience – meaning immediately. As soon as he'd stepped through the door, he froze. Behind him, the heavy door closed with a thud. Dumbledore was sitting behind his desk and in front of it stood someone he had never expected to see again, let alone alive.
Regulus. His back overly straight and his face stoic – like he had never laughed and played, been replaced at age thirteen when he figured out how to be the picture of respectable pureblood culture – his arm stretched, an object in the palm of his hand and the creature Sirius had never seen outside of the dark walls of Grimmauld Place before clinging to Regulus' robes while his bloodshot eyes stared at Sirius. As if it were possible to kill him. As if all of this had been his fault.
"The Dark Lord isn't mortal," Regulus announced in an unsteady voice that was bizarrely out of tune with the rest of his attitude. Dumbledore regarded him with those inscrutable, pale blue eyes as though he were a puzzle to solve, a curious case, like how Sirius had seen Muggles watching Muggle magicians determined to not miss the trick, to not let their attention be misguided, fascination and something more cunning, ready to jump and shout ha, I knew it!, and Regulus’ words echoed in Sirius' head. But somehow, all he could think of was turning back time to austere hallways and grim rooms, to playing chess and hide and seek, and unexpected, genuine laughter before everything went horribly wrong, until Regulus walked over to him – two years younger but looking immensely older – and he dropped the object into Sirius’ hand. It was a locket, heavy gold and green, a serpent forming the letter S, cold when it touched his skin – yet not as cold as it should have been.
For a moment, Sirius thought that it was because Regulus had kept it in his hand the whole time. He remembered how he used to pull his hand back from the banister while sending his younger brother a dirty look when he walked down the stairs behind him because his palms were always sweating. But then, he realised to his horror that the locket was not inanimate like he had expected it to be. Instead, it felt like blood pulsing, a heart beating, without a body.
On a better day, he would have gone out for a drink and vented his anger to James or to Remus, or gone for a ride or a walk, or attempted talking to Regulus or maybe to Dumbledore. But James had gone into hiding, Remus was away somewhere (Merlin knew where), and he was not allowed to speak a word to any of them either way, and he couldn't reach Regulus. A bridge was blown up, a church was set on fire, Caradoc Dearborn had disappeared – and it was highly unlikely that he too would show up out of the blue – and the way Dumbledore kept smiling amiably was, to phrase it nicely, getting on his nerves. Sit down, here's the plan except that we don't call it a plan – doing a favour. To hell with your favours.
When Sirius got home, he opened a bottle of Blishen’s Firewhisky and chose something else from Remus' drawer in the bathroom – elixir of disaster. Later, at some undetermined time, Remus Apparated into the kitchen, his usually soft features contorted into sharp lines of anger and defeat.
Sirius raised the bottle. "Want some?"
Remus looked at him warily.
The next morning, Sirius woke up on the couch, feeling strangely empty. There was an indistinct memory of telling Remus more than he had ever planned to. There was also the desire to lie there until the end of time. However, from somewhere even deeper inside him, he retrieved the energy to stand up and to continue with the fucked up stage play that was his life.
After that encounter with Regulus, everything accelerated as though the arrow had finally been released. Don't tell them. Don't tell anyone. Dumbledore decided everything – who got to know and who did what needed to be done. A mad genius playing a game of chess against a well trained army.
–
It’s a mess.
Their friendship has lasted at least seven years. Laughter, pranks, neglecting homework, strange disappearances, hurting in the infirmary and running. Drunken nights, career advice with McGonagall, pointless but what did it matter in the grand scheme of things. Remus' leg brushes his underneath the table and when their fingers touch as one of them hands the other something – a book, a wand, a glass – Sirius can feel the magic between them, prickling like electricity. It's been like that since forever.
He remembers the two of them underneath the cloak, their bodies pressed together while he struggled to remember how to breathe and he wondered if his heartbeat had always been so loud. Every now and then they barely escaped Filch by ducking into a narrow passage, Remus' face closer than he anticipated when Sirius turned toward him.
When there was still a map to finish, they often sat together on Remus' bed with the curtains closed, blocking out the sounds of James and Peter playing chess on the floor, James uttering primordial cries of victory while Peter squeaked indignantly.
Sirius felt his cheeks burn – they were probably more red than Remus' he could see – and he attributed it to the rush of adrenaline of seeing the advanced magic that was his doing locking and unlocking the map.
"We did it," Sirius said, attempting to mask his surprise with a haughty grin.
"It's brilliant," Remus said, probably seeing through him anyway. He looked up with a lopsided smile and bright eyes. Their faces were mere inches apart. Sirius swore he could feel Remus' breath on his lips. Warmth swelled in his chest and his heart skipped a beat.
He drew back, slightly dazed, not knowing how to hide his confusion. He forced himself to send Remus another grin. Then he yanked open the curtain and yelled, louder than was necessary, "Prongs, Wormtail, we did it! It fucking works!"
Then there are four years of whatever their relationship should be called. They started with the thing in the Potters backyard in the summer of '78. They never spoke about it, because it wasn't big enough to stand in the way – or at least, not outside their heads.
"We can't do this, Sirius," Remus had said with his hands on his shoulders. He was breathing hard and Sirius could still feel where and how Remus had pressed his lips against his own.
"Apparently we can," Sirius replied, feeling a bit heady.
Remus’ eyes were wide and full of something else, not exactly belying his words, although there was a hint of something else in the way he didn't pull back further. A what if, an I know we can but we can't though we can... as though he were having a debate with a voice inside his head, rationality against l'appel du vide.
"No," Remus reiterated, boring his eyes into Sirius', his voice louder now. "I can't do this."
For a reason that has a lot to do with how different the past few years have been, even though in some intangible way, they have been endlessly monotonous, that summer afternoon feels like a lifetime ago.
Remus turns his head away and rubs a hand over his face. When he looks at Sirius again, his cheeks and nose are red. Sirius' heart breaks again. He doesn't think he's ever seen Remus cry – actually cry with tears streaming down his face, apart from when his mother died – not even after the worst full moons, and they were truly bad – but now he is one step away from it and he cannot believe that Remus has given him the power to break him down. It must be the war that has fucked up these past years of their lives.
"I hate not talking to you all the time," Sirius says, the truest words he can think of. He wants to hug Remus, not just to know that he's really here with him and that he's still alive, but to make him feel loved and cared for and heal all the pain that causes his slumped shoulders, the lines of worry in his face, the sadness in his eyes.
In a sudden moment of clarity, Sirius decides to get the words out of the way, the closest to his heart. Remus' fingers brush his, a touch barely there that makes him long for more. "You mean a lot to me, Remus," he rushes. "The possibility that what we had has been wrecked is killing me."
Remus reaches out with his other hand, and stumbling over his words in a fashion so unlike him, he says, "I'm so... I can't believe we never talked about any of it and now we're..." He breathes in, shaking his head.
Only half registering the words Remus is saying because they keep floating through his head as separate sounds without any meaning, Sirius rests his forehead against Remus' and lets his eyes fall shut.
"It was shit timing," Sirius hears Remus whispering while Remus tangles his hand in Sirius’ hair. "With the war and... I didn't know about Regs. I thought... Merlin, you mean the world to me and I'm not going to let go of you."
Sirius’ stomach falls back into place. He would be reeling if he wasn't sitting down. "Good," he says, opening his eyes, to be met with a concerned expression. "You wouldn't be able to get rid of me anyway." It sounds less like a joke, more like a promise.
"Oh, Sirius."
"We're going to be okay again," he says. His voice is less steady than he would like it to be, but Remus nods.
“Okay again,” Remus agrees.
Remus averts his eyes towards their hands. Sirius touches his to Remus' and laces their fingers together. Remus brings his other hand up to Sirius' face, touching carefully, a gesture so sincere that it's overwhelming.
–
He bites his lip. "Sirius?"
Sirius laughs.
Remus squeezes his hand. "Sirius?"
Hesitantly, Remus brushes his fingers over his temple, leans in close and presses a kiss to Sirius' mouth, short, but slow and soft. "Alright?"
Sirius cups Remus' face in answer and kisses him back.
"We can properly try this time," Remus murmurs after a while with fear and hope. "If you want to."
If you want to. "Yes. Yes. I thought that was obvious. "
–
"I still don't know how to do this," Remus says, softly, in order to not wake anyone else through the unfamiliar walls. They're lying in Sirius' single bed. It's too warm, and the sun is rising already, and Sirius wonders how Remus isn't exhausted beyond sleep, but in one of Sirius' t-shirts, tangled in the blankets, his cheeks flushed, hair tousled, regarding him with soft eyes, he looks quite at ease. Content. Warm. Beautiful. Maybe even happy, Sirius thinks vaguely.
"I still don't know how to do this either," Sirius says as a belated reply, his voice slightly hoarse.
He feels Remus smiling against his mouth. "But I suppose we'll find a way," says Remus, and although Sirius knows that hope has never been something Remus has had in abundance, he feels it calming his agitated nerves, moving through his body by some sort of osmosis. Maybe it is Remus' kindness or his way of going on through the worst that blends with his own presumption that nothing lasts forever, but Sirius can feel it resting in his chest, stretching out for days to come, like they in all honesty never had before.
–
A letter arrives written in telegram style, as though the writer has tried their best at wasting neither parchment nor ink. In his head, Sirius reads it in Moody's growling voice. From the way Lily’s mouth quirks, he gathers that she does this, too. Before he can utter a word about it, however, another letter arrives – a longer one, from Dumbledore. The same day, he pays them a visit in a cheerful mood Sirius doesn't quite share when he reads the papers that Dumbledore has brought with him. They mention the names of Death Eaters that seem to have vanished, some names he has never heard before. And there is a complete article about new laws and regulations.
The old headmaster asks to talk to Lily in private. When Lily returns, Dumbledore has left. Her face is pale, tear stained, but her eyes are fierce; they find James’ first, then Remus’, then Sirius’, and there's something in the way she keeps looking at him that makes him realise what Dumbledore told her, and that she knows that Sirius knows because of Regulus. She sits back down next to James, who immediately pulls her close. She stretches her arm and places her hand over Sirius'. "It was Sev," she says, and James’ eyes go wide behind his glasses. Betrayal in reverse. Everything is wrong. Someone you were once close with. Their own choices sending them in a separate direction, but ending at the same point. The knowledge that some bridges will never be rebuilt.
Sirius meets James' gaze, and somehow, he does not think of his brother, but of Peter. He wonders if, perhaps, in the past year he has done that more, deeper, better, than he has done it in the ten years before that. He used to think that Peter would do anything for his friends, like they all would. But maybe that has never been fair.
Remus rests his hand on Sirius’ back and his head on his shoulder.
–
Meanwhile, the days are spent lying around, which is vaguely reminiscent of summer holidays and weekends at Hogwarts.
On the tenth day after Dumbledore's visit and three days after a disastrous full moon, when they're lying in the field behind the cottage and the sky is grey with the promise of a heavy downpour, Remus says, "We'll have to go back soon."
Sirius brushes his thumb over Remus' throat and sighs, knowing what back means. They will stay here with James, Lily and Harry a little while longer – safety measures that have something to do with Frank Longbottom’s narrow escape from the Lestranges – and although Moody never mentioned a first name, he immediately knew who this was about. And then this will be over; it will be the end of an era.
He shoves his hand underneath Remus' shirt, splays his fingers over the warm skin and presses them against his ribs. "I wish we could stay here forever."
Remus lets out a laugh. "You would be bored to death." He traces a pattern on Sirius' back.
"Not with you."
"I'm extremely boring."
"You're interesting. Hilarious, kind, handsome –"
"Handsome?"
"Attractive. Beautiful. Breathtakingly gorgeous. To me you seem equal to the gods, surpass them even – what, I'm going to write it down, Remus. You'd totally read it."
"Why the hell would you think that?"
He smirks. "Wouldn't you know?"
"Shut up." Remus places his hand over his mouth. "You know, you're missing the point. This doesn't have anything to do with not being boring."
"It does. Looking at you is a pleasant pastime." He grins, and then Remus pulls his hand away, a smile playing around his lips and says, "Just looking?" and Sirius breathes, "Shit, Moony," and kisses him, sinks into him like he has always wanted to.
–
They will go back, but forward. They will rent a flat in vibrant London for a while, and later, they will move to the town James, Lily and Harry move to because they are not going back to Godric's Hollow. They will never forget about this place.
It will be different. Different, however, he'll come to realise, is not always treacherous or lethal; sometimes it's just that – different – and there is no use in comparing. Maybe blurry analogies will do. There will be tears and memories, and lucid dreams, starring people like Peter – people who have made the wrong choice, have betrayed and have paid with their lives. Part of him will always wonder where it went wrong, where it started and how it could have been, but he’ll learn to live with that.
There will be arguments and obstacles – Remus' secretive ways, Sirius' own that are not much more healthy. Sirius' stubbornness and Remus' own will both resonate and amplify until it will feel as though the room is either on fire or immersed in a bath of ice. There will be hateful comments that hurt because they come from someone they love – and that they do love each other will be obvious (it has been for years), even though they have only recently started confessing so. There will be screaming silences from Remus and eruptions from Sirius. He will talk until his mouth is dry.
Finally, there will be time which they will both need after years of uncertainty. Eventually they will fall back together, good will and sharp edges and all. The understanding and the quiet. Work days, walks through the forest, dinners with the Potters.
(The two of them in the kitchen, James and Lily in the living room, playfully arguing about whose turn it is to go grocery shopping.
"They never shut up," Sirius says.
Remus leans back. "I wouldn't want them to."
Sirius places his arm around him and feels him relax. He laces their fingers together and trails his lips over Remus' knuckles. "I'm so glad you're here."
Remus turns around to kiss him with his hands in Sirius’ hair, their foreheads pressed together. Remus takes a shaky breath and closes his eyes. "You're so... Let's go home.")
They’ll go out, laugh too loudly in public and run through the rain to catch the metro just because they can, not because they need to feel alive or are running out of borrowed time. Someday the pain will fade, never forgotten, but one day Sirius won't miss the Regulus from when they were children so much that it threatens to swallow him anymore, because he is still there. His brother, the uptight Ministry employee. Every now and then they will get together, share a drink, maybe even laugh a bit.
James will get into the Auror training program, and one day he will become the illustrious Gryffindor that shimmered beneath the surface that day Sirius met him on the train – wild hair, wide grin, knowing. Remus will find a job that suits him, something he can do from home that he loves and that pays well. Something that brings him happiness, together with hanging out with his friends, and going outside after a storm, and drinking hot chocolate. Sirius will keep reminding Remus how much he loves him, which causes his face to light up brilliantly. Together with Remus, Lily and some other determined people, Sirius will find something that makes lycanthropy more bearable. Occasionally, he’ll come across something else, like restoring Muggle vehicles, which may be somewhat illegal, but what is life without a little risk?
Their eyes will find each other through crowded rooms. Fingers will intertwine in the dark, and Remus will always be beautiful in ways no one else can ever be. Sometimes the truth does not need a million adjectives and page long descriptions. It will be alright.
–
He watches Remus, who keeps glancing behind as they make their way towards the nearest bus stop. He memorises the fields and the grassy hills where a herd of sheep is standing lazily, unperturbed by the five wizards that invade their territory. In the early morning, the rising sun paints the sky a light orange with flares of blue.
"I told you this place was magical," Lily says while she turns around to look at the lake and the cottage for the last time. Sirius follows her gaze. He stumbles, taken by surprise. Next to him, James breathes in sharply. Harry makes some kind of an affirming sound.
All Sirius sees is fog, not just drifting over the lake, but also hiding the cottage and the few trees and the path they have followed from view.
He raises an eyebrow at Remus who just shrugs. “Like the Room of Requirement?” Sirius suggests.
“Yeah,” James says, his eyes distant behind his glasses. “Probably.” He starts walking faster to catch up with Lily again.
“Have you ever heard of places like that?” Sirius asks, while taking Remus’ hand in his and caressing his knuckles.
Remus shakes his head, leaning in closer and brushing the hair out of Sirius’ eyes. “Maybe we'll find it back someday," he says, softly so that only Sirius can hear it. Sirius wraps his fingers around Remus’ wrist and presses his lips against his pulse.
“I’d like that,” Sirius says.
“I’d like that, too.”
From the corner of his eye, he can see that James is walking backwards and gesturing that they should continue walking.
“I think it’s time to go.”
They're leaving now.