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December 31st, 1999
Remus watches Sirius plant a proud kiss on Ginny's cheek, ruffling Harry's hair in the way that still makes him blush with embarrassment and fondness at nineteen.
“Don't think you're getting away without giving me one too, Remus!” Ginny giggles, tapping one slim finger on the other cheek as he smiles and obliges.
“I'd watch that one, Harry,” Sirius tells him with a wink “you've only just got a ring on her finger and he's after your bird, he'll -”
Remus cuts him off with a swift dig in the ribs, mildly asking “Oh sorry, were you saying something darling? I could have sworn you were, but there was just all this noise”
“His hearing's going, Ginny, you'll have to excuse him” says Sirius, adding in a confidential sort of way, “he's forty this year, you know”
“Sirius, you're already forty. They came to your party. Ginny was sick in the -” Remus is cut off by the appearance of Molly, dabbing at her eyes with a hanky, surfacing for her third or fourth hug since Harry proposed all of ten minutes ago.
He watches Harry being manhandled with an affectionate smile – he really is so much more patient than James at that age, and moments like this really bring their differences home to Remus. Conscious of the disorganised queue of well-wishers waiting to congratulate the happy couple, Remus picks his way across the lawn to a low loveseat, thanking Merlin for Hermione Granger-Weasley's industrial strength heating charms, which take the edge off the midwinter chill perfectly. Sirius follows a moment later, saying something to the pair that makes Harry blush beet-red and sends Ginny into a loud hoot of laughter, pretending to cover Molly's ears with her hands.
“Are you causing trouble?” he asks, fondly, as Sirius catches him up, perching beside him on the stone seat.
“Only a little” Sirius smiles, and digs a battered pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket, offering Remus one.
He hesitates for a moment, telling Sirius “I probably shouldn't, you know – I swear I've taught about half of the guests”. He takes one anyway, as he knows Sirius knew he would, lets Sirius light it for him like the romantic lead in an old muggle movie. For a moment they're silent, soaking in the atmosphere of the New Year's Eve celebrations, wilder and more joyous in that they mark a full year since the war officially ended. Nobody had been ready to celebrate much, last year, all still reeling from the losses of the preceding months.
“Peacetime” says Sirius happily, and Remus moves to take his free hand, his moon-ravaged knee clicking as he shifts.
“Could do with a cushioning charm on here” he says, tapping the bench, and then, seeing Sirius' face, “you don't have to look so bloody smug, Black, you know that's not what I meant -”
“Oh really”
“Yes, and don't even start, because I saw you laying on the kitchen floor yesterday to stretch your back out – old age is starting to catch up to you too, at long bloody last”
“Well, it's been coming for you since you were eleven, Prof. Born with elbow patches, you were. Just wait till March - I won't even be able to show off that I'm shagging a man in his thirties to all the other dirty old men”
“I'm like, five months younger than you? And about ten years more mature, so you can shut right up”
“Whereas they're bloody babies” Sirius says, gesturing to Harry and Ginny, who are listening carefully to something Luna Lovegood is telling them “how the hell did Harry get old enough to get married?”
“Some would say he isn't” Remus answers, thoughtfully “I know it's what Lily and James did, but the war's done now – I hope he knows he doesn't have to marry his childhood sweetheart”
“Oh, Moony – it's sweet. Harry's not wild like James. He'll be happy when he's got a million children and a big kitchen to feed them all up in. Plus” he adds, his voice warm “there's nothing wrong with a childhood sweetheart, pain in the arse though mine turned out to be”
Remus swats at him affectionately “Yes, well, I don't think anyone could accuse us of rushing down the aisle”
He stubs out his cigarette and vanishes the butt. When he looks back up, Sirius is looking at him with a considering expression on his face. He's seen this look before – it usually precedes an explosion of some sort. “Hmm”, he says.
“Hmm?”
“Yes, hmm. Maybe we'll have to do something about that. I've always thought you'd look pretty in a white frock, Moony, you have the bone structure for it”
“I haven't qualified for a white gown since January of seventh year, as you bloody well know, you reprobate”
“I don't remember you complaining at the time, strangely. Like a duck to water, you were, you big tart. It's what you were born to do”
“I'm thrilled at your estimation of my skillset. I'm wasted as a teacher, then, am I?”
“Definitely. Fancy being a housewife instead? Pay's not as good but you do get unfettered access to my -”
“Sirius!”
“I was going to say laundry, Moony, get your mind out of the bloody gutter. You're insatiable”
Laughing in affectionate exasperation, Remus leans over to kiss Sirius right on his smirk. There's so much he could say. I love you is usually close to the top of the list, but it's mingling right now with everything from shut up, you cocky git to I want to be tied to you by law and by magic and by love until we both die, preferably in our mid hundreds and at the same time.
The beauty of it is, he knows Sirius already knows all of this. They finally have time – time to talk, time to be quiet. Time to let their love unfurl, unhurried by certain death or long separation. In the noisy garden, filled with their family and friends, survivors and fighters and victims and comrades, chanting together the midnight countdown like a hopeful spell, Remus takes hold of Sirius' hand, finally looks forward to their future.