Chapter Text
“Pass the spanner, would you?”
“Here.”
“Cheers.”
Sirius worked on tightening the bolt, sweat beading on his forehead, mixing with the dirt and motor oil he had smeared all over himself; motorcycle maintenance was dirty work, and the bike had been unfortunately poorly kept during his incarceration. Harry sat beside him in the dirt, in a similar state of dishevelment, watching proceedings with interest. It was nice, honestly, despite the blazing heat and this stupid bloody fucking piece of shite bolt--
“Fuck, finally, got it. Stupid bugger. How's lessons been going with Remus?”
“Frustrating, but I think I'm getting the hang of it.”
“He told me he was going to start you on no English in the house tonight. I commiserate, truly. He pulled the same on me when we moved in together. But I've got to tell you, there's no quicker way to learn.”
“Yeah?”
“For sure. And soon enough you'll be able to catch him out when he only half-translates what he's saying.” Harry raised an eyebrow at him.
“Has he really?”
“Somewhat. He's giving you a sort of ‘yadda yadda’ rendition, giving you just the meat of what he's saying but leaving out the real juicy bits.”
“So you mean I might finally figure out what a mob is?”
“Mab?”
“That's the one.”
“Ahhh, I'll just give you that one. Serves him right for being a dodgy bastard about it. It means son.”
“...Oh... Why would he leave that out?”
“Because he's an idiot.” At Harry's unimpressed look, he sighed, amending: “Alright, not an idiot… just, well… shy, if you can believe that. He's always been very slow to express his emotions in English; hides behind the Welsh so he can say what he really feels without anyone being the wiser. Some of which is very rude, depending on the subject, but other times… he's really got a way with words. Like a bloody poet sometimes, you know? But somewhere along the way he lost a lot of that confidence he used to have.”
“In the eighties, you mean.”
“Probably, yeah. But even before that, he didn't exactly have the best upbringing. He got on fine with his mum, but she was muggle, and half-terrified of him, what with his monthlies. And his relationship with his father could be best described as… fraught.”
He wiped his hands off on a rag, frowning. Fraught was an understatement. Remus hadn't actually had any contact with his father whatsoever after his mother's death in ‘81, and seemed perfectly content with keeping it that way. By all accounts, Lyall still worked with the Spirits Division at the Ministry, but preferred to not acknowledge the existence of his only son.
They had never once come to blows, so far as he was aware, but their last conversation had been…
“You as good as killed her yourself when you didn't have the sense to die when that monster attacked you!”
“Then maybe you should have just let me instead of fighting him off! But you didn't think about that, did'ya now? You never fucking think!”
It had been a very near thing, though, and he'd had to physically drag Remus, screaming, from the house. They'd both gotten roaring drunk that night, chucking the empty bottles into the walls of their flat and bellowing along to The Ramones. Woke up the following morning to a horrid mess and an even worse hangover, but Remus had been a bit more himself then. But there'd been that undercurrent afterwards of something dark in him that Sirius couldn't put his finger on at the time. An uncertainty developed between them… one which Peter had seen, and exploited.
It had been nothing in the end. Just brooding. I was such an idiot.
“So,” Harry began, interrupting him from his thoughts. “Are you going to be speaking Welsh in the house too?”
“Efallai.”
“Damn.”
“It'll do you some good, trust me. You will thank him later.”
“Oh of course, I'll be walking around not knowing the fuck is on half the time but still saying ‘thank you, sir, may I have another?’” Sirius choked.
“Please for the love of Merlin don't ever say that to him.”
“What? Why?”
“Just… do not. For the sake of Remus’ blood pressure.”
“Is it really that big of a deal? I remember he had a thing about it third year also, but--”
“Fuck I actually forgot about that! Ohhhh, that's too fucking good. He must have been going spare!”
“Why does he not like being called sir that much?”
“Erm… no, you've got it backwards.”
“I have?... Wait, you're saying he likes being called sir? But then… hang on.”
“Don't think about it too hard, mate, you'll hurt yourself.”
“...No. Fuck no, really? Oh my God. Eugh, please Obliviate me, I want to unthink that entire thought process.”
“Nope; better you know so we can avoid awkwardness.”
“What about my awkwardness? I have to know that about him now.” Sirius threw his head back with a wicked laugh.
“Oh, pup, there are some things I could tell you. Maybe when you're older.”
“Brilliant,” Harry scoffed, rolling his eyes. “I can’t wait. When's 'older'? So I can be nowhere near this conversation?”
Sirius’ smile grew a little wistful.
“Maybe when you're thirty.”