[Podfic] Hope's Cottage by thewholeofthemoon

The last secret of the two former Marauder’s became known to Harry Potter on July 8, 1994. Like his father before him, Harry found out the morning after a Full Moon.

Now, Harry Potter may have been known for ‘selective observation’. He really could be an unreliable narrator if the stories of the lives of the people around him were told specifically from his point of view. And while he had zero suspicions, leading up to July 8 even Harry had not been entirely oblivious to the goings-on of the two men he was now living with.

He knew Sirius and Remus were best friends, and even if he hadn’t known, that was readily apparent any time they were so much as standing in the same room together. They didn’t even have to talk; they shared so many private looks and smiles it sometimes made Harry feel a bit left out. And when they did talk, they often revealed a banter that Harry watched with almost as much rapture as he watched Quidditch. Who knew that Remus Lupin could be so dry-witted? Well, apparently Sirius knew. And the amount of jokes that the two of them made at their own traumatic backstories had been unsettling at first but soon Harry couldn’t help but join in on the laughter. It was Marauder’s humor, and Harry came to love it.

And watching them prepare a meal was like watching two Wizard automatons perfectly in sync. Remus did the food and tidied most of it as he went, and Sirius was in charge of presentation and drinks. They moved around each other smoothly, waving their wands and never bumping into one another, and Sirius always did the washing up while Remus kept him company, sending Harry off to his own enjoyment. Sirius had told Harry he could do the washing with magic, but he liked to do a proper cleaning. Harry assumed it was due to the uncleanliness of Azkaban—he didn’t know that sharing that post-dinner time in the kitchen together was like a treasured moment for the two men.

And while Remus and Sirius didn’t touch while cooking, or while reading, any other time it seemed, they touched—a lot. More than Harry and Ron did, that was apparent from the day Harry had left the Dursley’s. Well, it was more Sirius touching Remus than the other way around, and so Harry assumed it was due to Sirius’ long years of isolation from physical contact in a prison cell. It must be a kind of reassurance, Harry thought, as he noticed Sirius’ hand on Remus’ knee most nights at the dinner table.

They also shared a bedroom. Harry had never seen inside it—Remus had just said it was his bedroom when he and Sirius had given Harry a tour—but Harry could see no other place for Sirius to sleep in the cottage. Sirius probably sleeps as Padfoot in a doggie bed or something, Harry thought as he watched the door down the hall open one morning while his bedroom door was open. He was standing by his wardrobe and watched Sirius come out of the bedroom, hair tousled from sleep, and Remus come out a few moments later. They hadn’t seen him standing there, and he’d ducked farther back into his room, away from his open door, before they could. He hadn’t known why he’d done that. The fact that he hadn’t wanted them to see confused him more than the two of them sleeping in the same room. It did occur to him that it was kind of degrading and odd for Sirius to sleep in a doggie bed as Padfoot every night, but he was willing to make a lot of allowances for his godfather considering all he’d been through.

But the discovery really properly started for Harry on July 7, when Harry bounded down the stairs in the morning to find Sirius making tea and not Remus. In the weeks since Harry’s arrival at Hope’s Cottage, Remus had always been the one to make tea—morning, mid-day, and evening, it was always Remus.

“Morning, pup!” Sirius barked from beside the whistling kettle.

“Morning, Sirius…” Harry said, glancing around the empty kitchen distractedly.

“Fancy flying the Firebolt later? The new Bludgers just arrived, and I am completely certain that I charmed them perfectly this time not to leave the wards,” Sirius was saying, preparing two cups of tea.

“Yeah, great!” Harry said, “Er…where’s Remus?”

Sirius’ face fell slightly, “Full Moon tonight, Harry. He’s having a lie in.”

Harry felt his cheeks redden in embarrassment; he should have known when the Full Moon would be coming. But not because he had any worry at all about living with a werewolf—living with Remus—but so he’d be able to help, so he could be understanding…

“Hey, hey, not to fret,” Sirius said, “I forgot to give you my spare lunar chart. ‘Sides, Moony and I shoulda said something earlier. Just slipped our minds that’s all.” Sirius knew he was lying but he felt this one time it was warranted—the Full Moon never slipped Remus’ mind; he just hardly ever spoke about it until it was upon him. And Sirius had been so wrapped up in thinking about what to do about it that he’d forgotten to properly speak to Harry.

“Oh, alright then,” Harry said, sitting at the table.

“I’ll just bring him his tea,” Sirius said, almost as if speaking to himself, taking a teacup and hurrying out of the kitchen. Harry stared out the kitchen window at the bright summer day. It was perfect flying weather, and Remus liked to watch him and Sirius. Would he well enough to watch them today?

“Eggs? Toast? What’ll you have?” Sirius asked him as he re-entered the kitchen. Sirius making food? That was just as unheard of as Sirius making tea. But Harry made an amendment in his mind—Sirius would have to cook around the Full Moons.

“Toast, please,” Harry answered, “Um…Sirius?”

“Yeah?” Sirius asked absently, opening the cupboard and taking out the bread and waving his wand so several slices toasted instantly.

“Will you…Padfoot I mean…be out with Moony tonight?”

Sirius looked at him apparent alarm, “And leave you alone? Not for a second!”

“But then Padfoot won’t be there! And only Snape can make Wolfsbane.”

Sirius’ eyes widened in understanding and he carried the toast and spreads to the table, sitting across from Harry. “I know,” Sirius sighed and for the first time since the day of his exoneration, Sirius seemed downcast, “I thought about asking the Weasley’s—if you could stay there for the night or maybe Arthur could stay here—but he couldn’t get away tonight and there’s just not enough protection for you there. Remus didn’t want to impose, regardless.”

Sirius ran a hand through his long black hair, and Harry watched him while spreading jam on his toast.

“The cellar…he used it before Hogwarts. He said he’s going to use it tonight.”

Harry’s mouth fell open, “He’s going to lock himself in the cellar???”

“My thoughts exactly,” Sirius growled, looking angry, “No better than that wretched Shack. I just couldn’t think of anyone who could come watch over you tonight. Anyone who would…understand too.”

Harry had lost his appetite. He stared down at his toast.

Sirius’ hand reached across the table and touched Harry’s arm gently, “I’m sorry, Harry,” he said, “I didn’t mean for you to worry.”

“Well I’m going to worry anyway,” Harry huffed, suddenly feeling belittled—something he had never felt before from Sirius and did NOT like one bit.

“He doesn’t want you to worry,” Sirius said in a softer voice, “You mustn’t let him see, okay? Stubborn as a bull, that one. Prideful too, though you’d never know it. I’ll figure something out next moon, but until then…we’ve just got to get through this one.”

Harry looked at his godfather, “We’ll figure something out together.”

Sirius smiled genuinely at him, “Deal.”

It was noon, and Harry was out on the back lawn, readying to mount his Firebolt while Sirius was about to open the trunk containing the Quidditch balls, Sirius’ own Firebolt (painted black) and beating stick beside him, when they heard the back door open. Remus stepped out in his usual jumper and warn trousers, and gave them a wave in greeting. He looked tired but not too bad off, Harry thought. He watched Remus walk slowly before sitting himself down on the back step like he always did, elbows on his bent knees, chin propped up on his hands.

“Let’s see that charm work, Sirius,” Remus called in a would-be strong voice.

Sirius grinned at him and released the lid on the trunk—the Bludgers and the Snitch flying up over their heads as he and Harry took to the air.

Sirius made dinner that night while Remus sat curled under blankets on the sofa by the fireplace. Harry lay on his stomach on the carpet beside him, obediently turning the pages of Treasure Island which, he was quite proud of himself, to be near to finishing.

“Don’t smell any smoke, do you?” Remus said from the sofa, smiling at Harry even as his body gave a great tremor.

“Hard to light stew on fire,” Harry said back, fighting to smile despite the twisting of his stomach.

“You’d be surprised,” Remus replied wryly.

They ate in the living room so that Remus wouldn’t have to move and Harry managed a few bites that he felt could be convincing for Remus to think Harry had an appetite. Sirius chatted more than usual to make up for Remus’ growing silence.

The last rays of sunlight were fading from the sky as Sirius returned from the kitchen, having washed up the bowls. He flashed Harry a sage look, one that said—don’t let him see, remember? —and went to Remus.

“Up ye get, Moony,” Sirius said, but his playful words were spoken in a soft voice that was laced with tightness. He sat on the sofa beside Remus, and wrapped one arm around the other man’s waist as Remus shed the blankets and put one of his own arms over Sirius’ shoulders.

Remus was looking at Harry, his face had gone almost white. He opened his mouth to speak but Harry beat him to it.

What Harry wanted to say was: I’m not afraid of you, I’m afraid for you. But he couldn’t say that, Sirius had told him not to. So, what he said instead was, “I’ll see you first thing in the morning, Uncle Moony.”

Remus bowed his head shyly and when he looked up, he gave Harry one of his classic soft smiles, “See you then, Harry.”

Sirius helped Remus stand, and the two men walked slowly through the living room and kitchen, and out the backdoor. Harry, high-strung on nerves, went to the kitchen window and watched them as they reached the cellar door.

Remus and Sirius crouched together before the door, Sirius waving his wand so that the lock opened and the cellar doors swung open. The sun was setting behind the hill, casting the two men in hues of orange and violet. He saw Sirius whispering in Remus’ ear, and Remus nod, and then Remus pulled away, and crawling toward the open cellar. He found his feet and walked on unsteady legs down into the dark.

Sirius waved his wand, and the cellar doors closed and the lock clicked back into place. Then Sirius gave another flick and a thick cloud of what looked like silver fell over the cellar doors; he used his wand one final time, and Harry hazarded a guess about that last spell that was completely accurate—it was a silencing charm.

As his godfather began to turn to walk back into the cottage, Harry quickly moved away from the window and went back into the living room. He took his seat again on the carpet and was waiting there when Sirius walked back into the room.

“Fancy a sleepover in here, tonight?” Sirius said in a hoarse voice, looking at Harry, “Only if you want, o’ course.”

Harry nodded wordlessly.

Sirius looked older to Harry—not haggard and ravaged like he had been the first time he’d seen him, but worn and weary. He came to sit cross-legged on the carpet in front of Harry. “Ever played Poker?” Sirius asked him, using his wand to summon a small metal box with playing cards and chips.

Harry and Sirius played Poker—a Muggle betting card game that Harry was rubbish at and Sirius amazing—until the clock on the fireplace mantle chimed midnight. Sirius looked up at the sound, his jawbones tightening in his face.

“What was it like?” Harry abruptly asked him, “Finding out about Remus, I mean.”

Sirius looked at him thoughtfully, “D’ya mean, how we found out? Or how we felt about it? Or how he felt about it?”

“All of it, I guess,” Harry said.

Sirius set his cards facedown and motioned for Harry to join him on the sofa. The blankets were still how Remus had discarded them earlier that night, and Sirius carefully folded them and put them on one of the arms before he and Harry sat on either side, facing one another.

“Well,” Sirius started, “You see, James, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and I, we were all purebloods. We grew up hearing stories about werewolves—mostly they were horror stories to scare us into staying indoors on Full Moons. Mothers telling their kids about them so that they would always come home at sundown, that kind of thing. None of us really knew the particulars of what it would mean to be one. Just that if you got bit by a werewolf—as a wolf I mean, on the Full Moon—that you became one.”

Sirius’ dark eyes were on Harry, and they reflected the firelight. “I never gave a single thought to ever encountering a werewolf—or ever meeting one as a Witch or Wizard,” he said, “Remus is the first and only werewolf to ever be allowed at Hogwarts. So, at the beginning, none of us thought much about his scars; he had some small ones when he first arrived at Hogwarts, said he was mauled by a wild dog or something, but…I noticed about halfway through our first year that he’d have new ones. I didn’t really know what to think of it, but it worried me a bit. And of course, there were all of his absences. He was our dormmate after all, and he’d be gone for a night and a day every month with a different excuse. And he always looked sick afterwards but refused our offers to take him to the Hospital Wing and have him looked at. We didn’t know that he’d always just come from the Hospital Wing.”

Sirius shifted on the sofa, “Well, it was Astronomy in our second year that finally sorted it out for us. Remus was gone, and James and I were doing our Astronomy in the Common Room, and he looked up and said—'Sirius, did you know it’s a Full Moon tonight?’ I think I said something along the lines of— ‘And I’m a Scorpio, what’s that go to do with anything?’ And James said, ‘what day was the last time Remus left?’ And I—fancying myself a bit of an expert in Remus Lupin—” and here Sirius abruptly stopped speaking, and Harry Potter saw his godfather blush for the first time.

Remus was the one to blush, and almost always it was because of Sirius (sometimes he’d blush because of Harry, if Harry had something kind or flattering, like telling a story from Remus’ tenure as Professor Lupin), but Sirius had never blushed before.

Harry stared.

Sirius cleared his throat and looked away, speaking hurriedly, “Well, at any rate I knew what date he’d been gone last and James checked the lunar chart and that was a Full Moon too. At first, I just thought, Huh, coincidence, so what? I mean—no way could Remus, a student at Hogwarts, be a werewolf. But then I thought of the scars.”

Sirius’ eyes had grown dark, and Harry knew where his thoughts had gone. The wolf locked in the cellar, scratching and biting itself in frustration.

“So, then what’d you think about it?” Harry prompted.

Sirius focused again and he gave Harry a warm smile, “I thought—bloody hell! And I thought, Remus is going to be so scared when we tell him. And I thought, I have so many questions to ask him! And I thought, he’s one of my best mates and I’ll do anything to prove to him he doesn’t have to hide.”

Harry looked at his godfather and thought that he was more compassionate than anyone outside of a close few would ever probably give him credit for.

“How’d you tell him you knew?” Harry asked.

“Well, James and…the other one…and I waited for him in the dorm the next day. We had to skip off classes waiting for him, and he came into the dorm in the middle of the day. At first, he just stared at us, clearly afraid,” and here, Sirius smiled warmly, “And then James said, Remus, you’re a Marauder. You’re one of us. And we’ll be dammed if you being a werewolf makes any bloody difference.”

Harry smiled.

Sirius reached over and ruffled Harry’s hair, “That day in the Great Hall at the end of term, Harry, you reminded me just of James in that moment.”

Harry ducked his head, shy but feeling his heart swell.

“I think Remus was scared for a lot longer than he let James and I see,” Sirius continued in a soft voice, “He didn’t believe we’d really accepted him for a long time. And don’t think he wasn’t scared that day in the Great Hall either, Harry. But you’ve got to fight your fears; that’s really courage. Can’t be brave if you aren’t afraid of anything.”

Harry knew they were both thinking of Remus, walking down the cellar steps into the pitch-black darkness below, waiting for his bones to break and the wolf to ravage him. The logs in the fireplace popped and silence fell upon godfather and godson as they thought about bravery, and friendship, and such things that made them both Gryffindors.

Harry woke up on the sofa to Sirius moving beside him. Immediately, Harry sat bolt upright. The light coming in from the windows was a faint grey—the sun was rising.

“You should go to your room, Harry,” Sirius said gently, trying not to order him but also trying to protect him.

“I told him I’d see him first thing in the morning,” Harry insisted.

"He might not...be awake really."

"I told him I'd be here," Harry insisted again.

Sirius gave him a quick appraising look before nodding, “Alright. Wait here. Maybe—sit in one of the armchairs.”

Sirius stood, grabbed one blanket from the arm of the sofa, and left the room without a backwards glance at Harry.

Harry moved to the armchair closest to the sofa, fidgeting anxiously. He wanted to bolt to the kitchen window, but he also didn’t want to upset Sirius or Remus right after such a terrible night. Remus would want him here so that he could maybe make himself more presentable for Harry. He wouldn’t want Harry to see him fresh out of that horrid cellar.

It felt like ages before Harry heard the backdoor open, but he only heard one set of footsteps. Harry’s stomach felt like lead.

When the footsteps reached the living room, Harry fought to hide any expressions on his face.

Sirius was carrying Remus—and Sirius’ face was wracked with worry. Harry knew Remus was taller, but that he was also skinnier and probably weighed less than Sirius, but still.

Remus was wrapped in the blanket, his whole body shaking in Sirius’ arms as Sirius held him tightly to his chest. His godfather didn’t look at Harry as he sat down on the sofa, moving Remus gingerly so that his head was against Sirius’ chest. Still, Remus remained curled in a tight ball, a hissing sound coming from between his clenched teeth. His face was white, his eyes were closed, and there was an inflamed red gash on one cheek.

“I know, I know,” Sirius was murmuring in an undertone, using one hand to unwrap the blankets where they covered Remus’ torso.

Harry swallowed the gasp in his throat.

There were cuts and slashes across Remus’ arms, his ribs, his chest. Some were faded old scars, of course, but there were several freshly bleeding ones from the night before. The fabric of the blanket, and Sirius’ tight hold, had clearly inflamed them further.

Remus’ body shook, his skin was covered in sweat and his torso was as white as his face. Sirius took his free hand to cusp the un-marred side of Remus’ face, rubbing his thumb under one of the man’s closed eyelids.

“Harry,” Sirius said, not looking away from Remus and speaking in a voice that barely disguised his anxiety, “The wardrobe in our bedroom. The top shelf. Essence of Murlap. I thought I could take him up there…can’t.”

Harry bolted up the stairs, his heart pounding. He ran into the bedroom at the far end of the hall and was at the wardrobe before the words hit him.

Our bedroom.

Harry grabbed the jar that sat on the top shelf—the only jar—and took only half a second to glance around the room. No doggie bed.

He dashed down the stairs, Sirius extending his hand without looking at Harry. Harry retreated back a bit as Sirius pulled his other arm back from around Remus’ shoulders and opened the jar, perching it on the sofa arm. He dipped one finger into the clear Essence, and with a look of deep concentration, gently stroked the coated finger along the gash on Remus’ cheek.

“Shh,” Sirius whispered as Remus hissed semi-consciously, “It’s alright, darling.”

Harry fought down a second gasp.

Sirius’ hand dipped back into the jar and pulled out a handful, which he spread evenly between his two hands, and began tracing them both along the fresh wounds on Remus’ shoulder, his ribs, his chest. That done, Sirius lifted Remus’ hands from where they were curled tight into his chest, and Harry fought down a third gasp at the ravaged fingers—the bones of the knuckles were visible, the skin was so flayed. Sirius massaged Remus’ entire hands in the Essence of Murlap.

Remus was still shaking, but the muscles of his body were clearing relaxing, his spine straightening out, his arms not so tight into his torso, his jaw no longer clamped shut, no more hissing escaped his lips. Sirius gently wrapped the blankets back around Remus, and only once Remus was properly covered, his face hidden in Sirius’ chest, did Sirius look at Harry.

“Harry,” Sirius whispered, his face was no longer tight with anxiety but his eyes were almost burning in their sockets, “He mustn’t know that you saw. Do you understand?”

Harry nodded.

“Speak it, please, Harry.”

“I promise,” Harry found himself saying, “He won’t know I saw.”

Sirius nodded, “I’ll take him to bed now,” he said, almost as if for no one but himself. Harry watched in amazement as Sirius copied the incredible feat from earlier and picked Remus up, carrying him out of the living room and up the stairs.

Harry stared after them.

Darling, Sirius had called Remus.

Harry thought--Bloody hell! And then—are they scared to tell me? And then—I have so many questions! And then—they’re my godfather and my uncle Moony, and I’ll do anything to prove to them that they don’t have to hide.