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Harry had known it wouldn’t go well, breaking the news of his relationship with Draco to Sirius. But he hadn’t realised his godfather would take it quite this badly, he thought, standing in the gloomy hallway of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, Sirius pacing as if he was about to transform at any moment.
“Cut him off. Find a nice boy. Get over it.” The words came quickly.
Harry had never seen him so angry. Sirius’s whole face was shaking, quivering, just like a rabid dog. Harry was reminded uncomfortably of all those screaming posters he’d seen of Sirius in his third year, before he’d known who he was.
“He’s changed.” Harry tried. “He’s not his father-”
“Slytherins. Don’t. Change,” Sirius hissed, as if the very effort exhausted him. “Except when they stab you in the back.”
He slammed upstairs, unsteady as a drunkard. Harry knew he was dry, but still it was a shock to see Sirius like this. He sat on the hard horsehair sofa, willing his vision to stop blurring. His hands were numb.
A while later, he found a warm mug being put into them by Remus, crouched in front of him on the carpet. His grey jumper was nearly the same colour as the ruined wallpaper, Harry noticed absentmindedly.
“Harry? Can you hear me?” he asked, his reassuring teacher’s voice betraying only a slight tinge of worry.
“Sorry, Prof-Remus,” Harry said, blinking.
“Don’t apologise,” Remus replied, settling back into an armchair opposite him. “Drink up. It’s better scalding.”
Harry clutched the mug, feeling the blood come back into his fingers. He could tell Remus wasn’t joking about the drink; he could feel the boiling heat on his hands, but the tingling helped. Slowly he took a sip.
“Chocolate,” he said, stupidly.
Remus smiled apologetically. “Yes, well, we can’t be drinking coffee at this hour,” he said reasonably. “Wouldn’t do much for the stomach.”
“Have I blown it with Sirius?” Harry blurted, voice low.
Remus did not react. Harry looked up. The werewolf was sunk speculatively into the armchair, legs stretched out, reminding Harry of how tall he actually was. His eyes gazed over Harry’s head to some far-off point he couldn’t see. As soon as he looked at him, Harry couldn’t stop looking, anxiously, seeking some sign of reassurance.
“I know Sirius never liked his Black family. I’m aware - he told me some of what they did to him. I just hoped - I didn’t know he would react this badly.”
At last Lupin turned his eyes on him, as if with great effort. “Something you have to understand about Sirius,” he said slowly, “is that he has his own code. I know people always thought him the rulebreaker - he likes to think of himself that way, to a certain extent - and God knows, maybe it influenced his trial. Maybe it influenced how we all saw him, then.” Lupin wiped a hand across his face. He looked pale. Harry frowned, unable to see how this answered his question. “But, Lupin went on after a pause, “those who know Sirius know he has his own rules. He may not seem to be law-abiding, but he keeps his laws - his honour-code, let us say - rigidly.”
Harry blinked. Lupin looked him in the eye.
“He’s like your father in that respect,” he said, ruefully. “James was always honourable. But not unswervingly - not to a fault. He could compromise, when he wanted something very badly, or he saw he had been wrong. He had to, living with Lily. She was always a pragmatist,” he added, with a grim chuckle.
“But Sirius isn’t,” Harry said dully, the chocolate settling in his stomach. Lupin shook his head.
“No, he is not,” he said firmly. “You know, I always wondered if it was a pureblood thing. Sirius, for better or worse, comes from a high family. One of the sacred twenty-eight. It’s the Black genes that make him such a stickler, whether he likes it or not.” He sat back, satisfied.
“And you?” Harry said, not without a certain impatience. “Where do you fit into all this?”
Lupin looked at him levelly. “Lily was a muggle,” he said, again answering indirectly. “James had to modify himself for her. Had to let go of some things. Even things he cared about. As for me - well, Sirius always had what he wanted, in the end. Even me.” He looked a little pink. “I’m not saying he never made sacrifices - I’m saying he never sacrificed his rules, his code, for me. I was always the rule-breaker. James was the pragmatist.”
“I wouldn’t have had you down as one,” Harry mumbled wryly. “No offence, Professor.”
Lupin leaned forward, a gleam in his eye. “You have to abide by the rules first to be able to break them,” he said, twinkling. “I was a very law-abiding student. And a prefect.”
Harry sighed, some of the tension leaving him. “I still don’t know what this has to do with Malfoy,” he said lowly. “Will Sirius ever get over it?”
Lupin grimaced in sympathy. “Your father broke every rule he had for Lily,” he said clearly. “He knew when it was right to do so. Evans could’ve been a Slytherin or a Ravenclaw, with her cunning and wit, and Sirius would’ve hated her guts. He’s a pure-blood; he’s tribal, whatever he might tell you. But do you think James would have let that stop him? He’d rather have lost his best friend than not followed his heart when he knew it was right. Sirius is bitter because he’s forgotten what it’s like to be challenged. I give him too much leniency,” Lupin finished sternly, looking into the fireplace. “And I suspect he’s jealous, as well. If you’re truly in love with Draco, he’s family now. It doesn’t help that he’s a Black. Sirius is always selfish; he never could bear to feel he was replaceable.”
“But I’m not replacing him!” Harry cried, starting forwards.
“I know,” Lupin said, eyebrows raised. “He was like this when James first started seeing Lily in earnest. He was hangdog for weeks until he worked out he’d got me.” He stood up. “I ought to remind him of that.”
Harry sat down again, covering his face, exhausted by his sudden surge of energy. His eyes were damp, but he felt a lot better, talking to Lupin. He hadn’t realised how much Sirius stood in judgement over him in place of his father; what a relief it was, to be reminded about James. Suddenly tired, he lay down on the sofa, pulling the musty blanket over him.
“Sleep well, Harry,” Lupin murmured, spiriting the mugs out of the living room. “Don’t get a stiff neck. Remember - his bark’s always worse than his bite.”
“Thanks, Professor,” Harry murmured, too tired to remember he didn’t need to call his old teacher that anymore. But in a way, he thought, drifting off to sleep, it was an appropriate mark of respect. Lupin was his teacher, and always would be...