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Remus feels like an idiot as he slips around the side of the petrol station, into the shadows and away from the blinding fluorescent lights out front, skulking around in the darkness as he blindly navigates his way towards the back of the building.
He jumps at a noise, knocking over a stack of crates and jumping again, cursing under his breath as he does his best not to look suspicious, which he feels like he’s missing the mark with quite a bit. He regrets the fact that he dressed himself in all black before leaving the house, thinking that it would help him blend in better, but now he fears that it probably looks like he’s come to burglarize the place, especially since he keeps dropping into an awkward half-crouch for absolutely no reason at all. He finally makes it around the back of the building, spotting a figure leaning against the wall, starting towards them until Remus realizes with dawning horror that they look… young.
Very young.
“Hey, are you Remus?” the figure asks, stepping forward to reveal a boy that can’t be a day older than fourteen, smiling brightly while fiddling with his wire-frame glasses.
Remus just blinks at him, flabbergasted, unable to wrap his mind around the fact that the person he’s spent the last week corresponding with after getting his number from a friend of a friend of a work acquaintance—the person that he’s here to purchase drugs from—seems to be an actual child. He opens his mouth, closing it when all that comes out is a sort of breathless squeak, which the child looks justifiably concerned at, because a grown adult who just squeaked agreed to meet him in what is possibly the shadiest location in the city, like some sort of pervert. He’s going to end up on To Catch a Predator, or whatever copycat version of the show is airing now, or even worse… a podcast.
“Yes?” he finally says, the word coming out like a question, one foot sliding backwards like he’s about to do a runner, which… he probably should do. He should simply run away and leave this drug dealing child to his nefarious business. “Are you Harry?”
‘Yeah!” The child—Harry, he truly hopes that’s some sort of alias—beams and starts digging around in his pockets, pulling out a little baggie and waving it around in the air, Remus’ breath catching in his throat like he expects police sirens to blare to life at any moment. “I believe we agreed to fifty pounds for an eighth?”
“Mhm,” Remus mumbles, sweat pouring down his back and dripping into his eyes, cursing his past self for thinking that he wanted to buy weed. He’s far too old for that, clearly, and has now found himself in an inappropriate situation with a child because he wanted something that would ease the pain in his hip and stimulate his appetite a bit.
He cannot buy drugs from a child. He will not buy drugs from a child. He refuses.
Despite that mental declaration Remus finds himself wandering forward, withdrawing his wallet from his pocket and accidentally opening it upside down, all of his cards spilling out onto the damp pavement. He sighs, wishing the ground would open up to swallow him and his shame alike, crouching down to scoop them all up when that doesn’t happen. Once he finally has things back to rights—all of his cards shoved haphazardly into the pocket of his jumper—he pulls a few bills out, bile churning in his throat as he exchanges them for drugs from a child.
His priest is probably rolling over in his grave right now.
Well, maybe not, considering that Father Dumbledore is still alive, and Remus only visits church once a year for Christmas mass with his parents, but still. The man has always had an uncanny ability to see right through Remus, getting him to confess to every sin he’s ever committed over the course of his life with only a look, and now he’s going to have to worry about confessing to an actual crime in front of God and every member of the congregation next time he sees him. On Christmas. Remus is going to make his mam cry on Christmas.
“Nice doing business with you,” Harry says, holding his hand out like he wants to shake, but when Remus reaches for it on instinct alone he does some sort of odd move where he slaps his palm twice before knocking their knuckles together. “Later!”
Remus just stands there, one hand still held out in front of him and the other cradling the little baggie of marijuana, gaping as Harry jumps onto one of those asinine electric scooters and motors off into the night. After a moment, when the scooter’s lights have faded from view, he looks down and realizes that he’s simply standing around in the open holding drugs, dithering about for a few seconds like a headless chicken before he stuffs the baggie into his sock and hurries away from the scene of the crime.
Later that night, holed up in his bathroom with the fan turned on high and a knobbly spliff that wants to fall apart held between his fingers—it’s been several years since he rolled one, and Remus hadn’t thought that was a skill that he would lose without practice—he takes several long drags that make him hack before he comes to a realization.
He has none of the usual headrush he gets when he’s high. The smoke also lacks that skunky quality that weed generally has, prompting him to sniff the baggie, which smells nice and vaguely floral. He inhales another mouthful of the smoke just to be sure—he knows that marijuana cultivation has grown leaps and bounds since his own teenage stoner days, so maybe things have changed more than he previously thought—but it doesn’t take long before he’s tossing the rest of the spliff into the toilet with a disappointed frown, having come to the conclusion that his pubescent drug dealer did not sell him weed.
Remus paid an exorbitant amount of money for a bag full of oregano.
He spends the few days wondering what he should do—calling the child is out of the question, and he can’t exactly call the police to tell them that he was scammed out of drugs that he, once again, purchased from a child—so he eventually decides to let it go, deciding that this was simply a very expensive lesson that he’s going to take to heart.
From now on he’s going to vet potential drug dealers more thoroughly, not buy drugs from children no matter the circumstances, and probably give up on the entire endeavor as whole because he’s too old for all of these shenanigans and would like to live out the rest of his life without ever experiencing what it’s like to be arrested. Which is why he’s not at all expecting it when he gets home from work one evening to find his pocket-sized drug dealer standing outside the door to his flat, next to a very tall, very angry looking man who is beating his fist against the door so hard that it’s rattling in the frame.
He freezes like a deer in headlights, muscles locked from panic, eyes flicking between the boy who looks surly and the man who looks like he could crush Remus like a bug without ever breaking a sweat, the muscles in his back rippling with each bang of his fist against the door. When his brain finally catches up to the situation, making sounds like an old-dial up computer as he watches the spectacle in front of him, his only thought is that he should back away before they notice him, make a hasty retreat, and then possibly move to Bermuda and change his name.
He always thought Mark was a rather nice, normal name. No one would ever look twice at a man named Mark. Remus isn’t sure if they have a need for accountants there, but he could probably resign himself to working retail again, enough to afford a little place to sleep at night. His mam has always complained that he’s too pale, so the sunshine would probably be good for him, though now that he thinks about it he’s not even sure where Bermuda is located. Maybe he should do some research before he runs away, though he might have a travel book somewhere-
“Dad, there he is,” Harry says, Remus’ head snapping up to realize that both boy and man are now staring at him, meaning that he’s lost his window to escape unnoticed. “That’s Remus.”
“Oh my God,” Remus whimpers, watching as the man turns towards him fully, who is unfortunately the most attractive man he’s ever seen in real life and concerningly muscular, biceps rippling as he crosses his arms over his chest, and he can’t help but to flinch preemptively from the punch he knows is coming his way. He’s not been in a fight… ever, and he should really turn and run now even if he has zero hope of out running anyone outside of perhaps a little old lady that’s had a hip replacement, but he still can’t bring himself to move as the man grabs Harry by the shoulder and marches forward.
“Apologize,” he growls, the words sending a tremor down Remus’ spine, knees quaking as his body threatens to give out on him entirely. He read somewhere that releasing your bladder could protect you in a fight, something about either submitting to or grossing out your attacker, but there’s so much tension in his body that he probably couldn’t wet himself even if he tried. “Now.”
“I’m so sorry,” Remus blurts out, holding his shaking hands out in front of him like that will do anything to protect him, letting out an undignified yelp when his overstuffed bag slips from his shoulder to the crook of his elbow and nearly takes him down.
“I promise I didn’t know that I was buying drugs from your child. Or a child, in general, I had the distinct impression that I was buying drugs from an adult. I did not mean to buy drugs from your child. Wow, I should stop saying drugs,” he gasps out, heart beating like he’s actively running a marathon, waffling on whether to drop his bag or use it as a shield. “I’m so sorry. I- I deleted his phone number, and he can keep the money. Actually, he can have more if you like, I have… um…”
Remus ruffles through his pockets, pulling out a few crumpled notes, which he holds out towards them in offering. “I can go to the bank as well.”
Both man and child stare at him, eyes wide and mouths hanging open, twin expressions of shock on their faces. Remus isn’t sure what to do now, debating on whether he should apologize some more or make a run for it and hope that it grants him enough of a head start to get away, when the man lets out a noise that sounds suspiciously like a laugh that he chokes back down, clapping a hand over his mouth.
“I’m sorry,” he says after a long pause, chest hitching a couple of times, narrowing his eyes at Harry who quickly wipes an amused look off his face. “I did not intend for you to apologize, nor did I mean to frighten you, I’m terribly sorry about that. Harry owes you an apology for scamming you.”
“I- What?”
“I’m sorry that I sold you oregano instead of weed,” Harry says, looking rather unrepentant, though he quickly contorts his face into a hang-dog expression when his father turns to glare at him. “And overcharged you for it, Pads reamed me out about that already. And for selling his fancy, imported Italian oregano to unsuspecting people. He said I should have used the cheap shit from Lidl, but- Ow, Pads.”
Remus blinks slowly as Harry scowls at his father, rubbing his side where he’d elbowed him quite sharply, feeling woozy as the adrenaline drains from his system. “I- I don’t- Are you calling him Pads?”
“Oh! Yes, Pads, that’s me,” the man says, stepping forward and holding out one hand, and Remus half-expects another palm-slap-knuckle-tap thing when he does the same, but he shakes it like a normal person. “Just a silly nickname this one’s father gave me as a kid that’s stuck around over the years. My actual name is Sirius, and this little hellion—who I’m very disappointed in right now—is Harry, my godson.”
Remus is still shaking his hand, which he promptly drops, becoming aware of just how embarrassingly sweaty his palms are. He hopes for a moment that Sirius didn’t notice, but then despairs when he sees him covertly wipe his hand against his trousers. “Right. And if I may ask… How do you know where I live?”
“Oh, that was easy enough. I just reverse searched your phone number on Google, which led me to your name, and finding your address from there was a piece of cake.”
Remus spends a few seconds panicking about his online security, images of stalkers and random murderers from the internet being able to find him flashing through his mind, wondering if he should finally invest in one of those door chains his mam has been on him to buy until he remembers that he’s a rather boring person who is most likely of no interest to stalkers and murderers alike. He just nods, finally fixing the strap of his bag, unsure of what he’s supposed to say now. His first instinct is to apologize again, though he’s not really sure what for, since apparently Sirius is pinning the blame entirely on Harry and not Remus, for being a grown-man who solicited him for drugs.
“No harm done,” he finally says, which must be the right thing to say because Sirius gives him a brilliant smile that makes his breath stick in his throat, shuffling his feet against the disgusting carpet in the hall and regretting it when a small cloud of dust rises around his shoes. “Well, I um… I appreciate the apology, and once again, I am so sorry about all of this. I’ll just get out of your hair and let the two of you continue on with your day.”
“Hang on a moment,” Sirius says, rifling around in the pockets of his leather jacket, pulling out a fifty pound note and something that looks like a DVD case, both of which he hands to Harry, who immediately sticks his lower lip out into a pout. “Haz-”
“Fine,” Harry grumbles, dragging his feet as he steps forward, holding them out towards Remus with a begrudging expression. “Here’s the money to replace what you paid me, and… Sirius do I have to? Isn’t the money enough?”
“You’re being punished, Harry. Yes, you have to.”
“Fine. Here’s the video game I bought with the money,” Harry snaps, all but throwing them towards Remus who drops them both, turning around and storming towards the stairwell. “There, apology tour completed, I’ll meet you by the car.”
Sirius watches him go with a grim expression on his face before he sighs, turning to Remus with a sheepish smile on his face. He is… unbelievably handsome, eyes a shade of grey that can’t be natural and long black hair, and if it wasn’t for the teenage child (godchild?) Remus would think that he’s at least ten years his junior. He just stares back, still feeling caught off guard and blushing beneath the weight of Sirius’ gaze, blurting out the first thing that comes to mind.
“Was I the only sucker he was able to scam?”
Sirius lets out a bark of laughter, snickering as he nods his head. “Yeah, sorry about that, and I want to apologize for him. He’s a good kid, he really is, but I told him he couldn’t get that game because it’s not exactly appropriate, and he hatched up a little plot with his best friend—whose mum also told him no, by the way—to sell some of my oregano for the cash to buy it. How did you even get in touch with him, anyway?”
“Oh, I uh… I truly don’t even know. I mentioned wanting weed to a friend, who told a friend, and eventually Harry’s number made its way to me. And again… I did not know he was a child, I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t even worry about it, but speaking of weed,” Sirius stoops down to pick up the money and video game that are still laying on the floor, rummaging around in his pocket before he pulls out a little baggie, arching a brow as he holds it out pinched between his fingers like a cigarette. “For you, as an apology present from my own private stash, and I promise it’s not oregano this time.”
“Oh, I-” Remus swallows roughly as Sirius hands him all three items, making a face at the cover of the video game, which depicts an animated woman in a bikini with breasts so large he doubts she’d be able to stand up straight if she were real. “I don’t want this. I don’t even have one of those gaming system things, but even if I did, I still wouldn’t want it.”
“You can trash it, the store won’t accept it as a return because it’s been opened,” Sirius says with a little shrug, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he walks backwards, an easy grin on his face. “It was nice meeting you, Remus.”
“Yeah, you too,” Remus mumbles, bewildered, standing there stupidly as Sirius gives him a little salute and disappears into the stairwell. He’s just taken a step towards his flat when it bangs open again, Sirius looking flustered as he strides back towards Remus.
“I’m sorry, this is probably super inappropriate of me, but… Could I call you some time?”
“You want to… call me?”
“Yeah.” Sirius’ nose wrinkles as he runs a hand through his hair, looking oddly shy, and Remus feels his cheeks heat when he meets his eye again. “You know, just in case you catch my kid scamming people again, or you need more weed, or so that I could maybe take you out on a date? I’d really like to take you out on a date.”
“Okay,” Remus says, a smile spreading across his face, even though part of him still expects Chris Hanson to drop out of the ceiling tiles at any moment. “Yeah, all of those sound great.”
“Great.” Sirius grins, teeth digging into his plush lower lip, nodding as he backs away again. “I should get Harry home before he decides to hot wire the car or something, but… I’ll call you.”
Remus just nods in response, feeling a bit like a bobblehead as Sirius disappears again, before realizing that he didn’t actually give him his number before remembering the entire reason they were in this situation in the first place. He looks down at the video game case, fifty pound note, and baggie of weed still in his hands, huffing out a little laugh as he walks towards his flat, having already convinced himself by the time he makes it into the bathroom later that night to smoke his—very potent—spliff that Sirius will never call him.
Sirius calls him the next day to ask him out on a date.
They go out to dinner three days after that, giving Remus just enough time to work himself up into a nervous wreck about the entire thing, stumbling around so discombobulated at Sirius’ side that he worries that he’ll think he’s mentally altered in some way. Instead Sirius seems charmed by it, flirting with him incessantly throughout the night which only flusters him further, and when Remus somehow accidentally rips the table cloth off the table like a terrible magician—taking their food with it—Sirius laughs uproariously before leaning across the table, cupping his face between his hands, and kissing him until he’s breathless.
“Does that mean there’s a chance I can get a second date?” Remus gasps brokenly when they finally separate, his face flushing hot when someone lets out a loud wolf whistle, and Sirius just laughs before bringing their mouths together yet again.