tartanfics

Title: Between Two Thieves
Rating: PG
Prompt: # 25 at

barefootboys
Word Count: 1240
Summary: Sirius has always been running between two thieves. Past and future, each trying to steal from Sirius’ present.

August 25^th, 1982

Sirius has always lived in the moment. He knows Remus wishes he could live like Sirius does, but Sirius has never thought it that admirable. It’s born out of a desire to forget the past and a fear of the future. He doesn’t want to think about what may happen or what has happened, so he thinks about what is happening.

What he’s thinking about now is the way Remus’ back feels pressed against his chest as they crouch in a tiny alleyway between the local bakery and a tall wooden fence. He’s thinking about the voices of Arthur Weasley and Amos Diggory, keeping them from moving. He’s wondering why they decided to come through Ottery St. Catchpole on their way back to London, when it’s full of wizards and witches and they want to avoid people they know.

Sirius buries his face in the back of Remus’ jumper and listens past Remus’ breathing for the signs that their two unwitting captors are leaving. “How’s your son, then? Not causing too much trouble, I hope? My boys wreak havoc.” Arthur is jovial. Sirius wishes he would get on with it and move away so Sirius can unfold his knees.

“He’s very well, thank you. We caught him levitating all the pots and pans in the kitchen last week, he’s showing quite the knack for magic already.”

“Oh, excellent. My Percy saved a rat from one of the chickens the other day. Sad little thing, all pale and skinny, missing a toe. One moment the chicken nearly had its tale off, next it was on his shoulder.”

Sirius’ fingers begin to shake, and he grips Remus’ upper arm too tight. Remus gasps shallowly and leans backward, almost pushing Sirius off the balls of his feet. Missing a toe…. How many rats could be missing just one toe? It’s Peter, Sirius is sure it is, and he wants to be moving now, not sitting here waiting, as Arthur and Amos exchange pleasantries about their wives. Who could have known they would find the traitor by pure coincidence?

Sirius has always been running between two thieves. Past and future, each trying to steal from Sirius’ present. He wishes he were running in reality, wand in hand, Remus at his side, running to curse Peter, Wormtail, the traitor into oblivion.

And then, fading footsteps, Arthur Weasley in one direction and Amos Diggory in the other. Remus stands up seconds behind Sirius. “I’m sending a message to Dumbledore,” he says, and the silvery form of his Patronus erupts from his wand and bounds off.

“What do we do, Remus?” Sirius asks a little forlornly. The next thing he knows Remus is backing him against the wall and kissing him on the mouth, hard, so hard he feels it in his bones and can’t think of anything but this moment.

“Come on,” Remus says. “Best go doggy.” And he leaves the shelter of their little alleyway, striding out into the road. A moment later a large dog trots out of the alley behind him, menacing as the Grim and far more dangerous.

It’s easier to live in the moment as a dog than as a human. He pants a little as he runs behind Remus, and enjoys a dog’s pleasure in doing. But Sirius is poised to change at a moment’s notice, ready to come out duelling, the moment it will no longer matter that he is Sirius Black and a convicted criminal. Remus knocks sharply at the door of the Burrow. Mrs. Weasley answers, dishcloth in hand. She doesn’t recognise Remus, has never met him more than once or twice, though Sirius and Remus both knew her brothers. “Yes?”

“Your son—his pet rat—may I see it?”

“Oh, is it your rat? I was afraid it might belong to someone, it’s so well behaved. I told Percy, but he’s grown so attached to it. Poor thing.”

“Yes, I’m afraid it does belong to us.” Sirius notes his use of it, and deems it rather appropriate.

“Percy!” she calls into another room, “Go and get your rat.”

Padfoot sees the boy pass the kitchen door as he goes up the stairs, watches him as he comes down again with a squirming rat clutched in his small hands. It’s Wormtail, Padfoot knows it the moment he sees him, and from the way Remus tenses Padfoot can tell he’s recognised him too. “Hand him over, Percy, he’s someone else’s pet already.” Reluctantly, Percy passes him to Remus, but before Remus can gather him into his hands the rat has dropped, shot off down the stairs and across the yard.

Padfoot has changed even before Remus manages to turn around, he hears Mrs. Weasley gasp as she recognises Sirius Black, but he’s not thinking about that, not thinking about anything but the rat and the wellspring of possible spells in his mind as he grabs Remus’ wand out of his back pocket and points it. “Petrificus Totalus!” he shouts, and after nearly a year in Azkaban of not using magic, his aim is still good. The rat freezes, and the rest of the world seems to also, for a moment.

And then, “Expelliarmus!” and Remus’ wand flies out of Sirius’ hand. He looks around in surprise to see Mrs. Weasley looking fierce as a mother lion, pointing her wand at Sirius.

“It wasn’t him!” Remus says to her a little frantically, “He didn’t kill Peter Pettigrew and all those Muggles, he didn’t betray Lily and James Potter. It wasn’t him!”

Mrs. Weasley looks uncertain, but her wand doesn’t waiver. “Who was it, then?” she asks dangerously.

“Him,” Sirius says, pointing at the rat. “I didn’t kill Peter Pettigrew, that’s Peter Pettigrew.” At this moment he doesn’t care what happens to him, doesn’t care if he goes back to Azkaban or dies or anything else, so long as Peter goes with him. “That’s Peter Pettigrew, and if you’d be so kind as to give me that wand back, I’d like to actually kill him.”

There is a slight pop, a shift of air, and Dumbledore appears, his pointed hat a little crooked on his silver hair. “Thank you, Molly,” he says, gathering his wits faster than most would. “Where is Mr. Pettigrew?” Sirius’ arm is still raised, pointing. Dumbledore walks over and bends to pick up the rat and Sirius’ arm twitches and drops.

“Hello again, Sirius. You’re looking improved since last I saw you.” Dumbledore slips the rat calmly into a pocket of his robes and turns to Mrs. Weasley. “I apologise for imposing upon your hospitality, but a cup of tea would be simply splendid.”

Sirius grins, a broader and happier grin than has been seen on his face in a very long time. He can’t think about what will happen in the future, what difficulties they will have to overcome to get the Ministry to admit that they were wrong, what worries they will face. He can’t think about the past, either, not about Lily and James, or the Peter they had known before he became this Peter, the traitor. He can only think about the present, Mrs. Weasley in a state of shock, making tea, Dumbledore sitting at her kitchen table and rearranging his crooked hat, Remus sinking down onto the front step and burying his head in his hands. There is only this moment, and this moment—this moment is good.

(Day Twenty-Six)