Remus kept the photo in his breast pocket.

Sirius could see the shape of it in there, just hovering over his heart.

They crossed over the Canadian border, Buckbeak soaring over the Falls and affording them a beautiful view as they flew into upstate New York. Southwest, following the coast of the Great Lakes, down into the northern midwest of the United States. They camped in a wide open field and ate berries for breakfast. 

"What is today?" Remus asked. 

"I have no idea," Sirius said. He was laying in the grass, his arms tucked under his head, enjoying the sunlight. "Bloody hell, Moony, you know how glad I am for the sun?"

Remus was going through things in his suitcase, which he'd unshrunk after digging it out of Sirius's pocket. Remus looked up at it, glaring down at them from the sky, bright yellow and hotter than it generally got in England, even during the summer. Remus wasn't even wearing a jumper and he was warm enough. He'd even rolled up sleeves and was on the hunt for a couple of undershirts they could swap out the now quite dirty oxfords for.

He paused in his hunt and caught Sirius's wrist up in one hand, checking the moon calendar tattooed there for the date.

"You're thankful for the sun?" Remus asked, even as he turned back and dug out a short sleeve undershirt and a white tank top style one. He palled up the tank top one and tossed it at Sirius. "Even as it burns us up alive like this?"

"Yes," Sirius murmured, pulling the tank top over to himself, but continuing on with laying blissfully. "In Azkaban, you never see the sunlight. Everything's so dismal and grey. I think that's been my favorite part of this past year - getting to see sunlight as much as possible." He stretched.

Remus stared at his husband, midway through unbuttoning his oxford, the shirt hanging loosely over his chest.

Sometimes Remus forgot what Sirius had been through. He had a tendency, even now, to imagine himself as being the martyr of the Marauders, of being the only one who had suffered the past twelve years, as though somehow his brain had convinced himself that Sirius had been away at some sort of glorified country club. And perhaps that was the only way he'd been able to deal with the thought of Sirius Black - his Padfoot, his handsome, strong, passionate, hilarious little nutter of a husband - being gone. 

Sirius's eyes were closed, but he squinted through one now, peering up at Remus. "Come lay in the sun with me a bit, Moony."

Remus changed his shirt, shrugging the dirty oxford off and balling it up, tossing it into a drawer he used for things in need of a wash, and pulled on his t-shirt. He reached into another compartment and withdrew a bottle of ink, a quill, and a parchment and and carried those over to where Sirius lay, sitting so that his back was against Sirius's side, and used his knees as a desk for his parchment as he uncorked the ink bottle and dipped his quill tip.

Sirius murmured, "Who are you writing to?"

"Harry."

"Good job, Uncle Moony," Sirius murmured.

Remus took a deep breath.

Dear Harry,

He stared at the comma after Harry's name and waited for something more to come pouring out of him.

His mind was a perfectly blank span of empty space.

It was incredible just how quickly he had nothing to say.

The ink was dripping off his quill, he sat poised so long to write, and he paused to siphon up the ink spilled off the page and re-dip the quill, and he wrote quickly,

How is your Summer?

He stared at that now and sighed, lowering the quill and rubbing his face with his fingers in frustration. 

Sirius's breathing was rhythmic behind him. He'd fallen asleep. Remus looked over and Buckbeak, too, had laid down in the grass and was enjoying a good snooze.

Remus tapped his quill tip to the paper.

It oughtn't be this difficult, he thought. Sirius is right. It's Harry - it's James and Lily's son! Our Harry, that's what they'd all called him collectively, our Harry.

He hadn't had enough time to learn how to talk to Harry before things changed way back then... Harry had been only a baby and he certainly couldn't talk to Harry the way he did back then. Baby Harry had been fond of raspberry noises and of Remus off-key singing.

He didn't know what to say.

How would he have spoken if it was James he was talking to, rather than Harry?

Dear James, I miss you.

God I miss you.

It's been way too long.

I hope that you're doing well and that things are alright for you, wherever you are. I think about you near to constantly. Sirius is back - he escaped from Azkaban - and I know you know all the details even better than I do about him being innocent, but I am so thankful to know them now, too. I missed him as well all these years and it's so good to sit here next to him and feel his presence again. 

If I close my eyes, it's almost like the old days.

Almost.

I miss your laugh, I miss your jokes, and I miss the way your face would twitch when you delivered the punch lines, waiting for us to get it before you would let yourself laugh at your own humor. You always laughed at your own jokes. I mean, who could blame you? They were funny as hell.

Most of all, though, I miss your understanding and the way your eyes would shift from humor to somberness the moment it was necessary. Did you know it was possible to tell that you were listening with your whole heart in the way your eyes looked during a real-talk conversation?  You took on all of our problems with this unmatchable strength and dignity, like a knight in shining armor for us all. The imagery is cliche but it was never more truthfully used than when it's applied to you.

You saved all of us in so many ways, so many times....

Sirius and I stopped in a place where one of my mum's most iconic scenes were filmed and I walked in her footsteps physically. I'm walking in her footsteps metaphorically, too. I think you, above all people, would appreciate the need to leave the pressure of things behind to escape. I wish you'd gotten the chance to really do it.

You deserved it more than anyone I know.

James, you were the glue that bound us together.

You're still the glue, all these many years later.

Help me figure out what I ought to be saying to Harry. Help me. 

Harry is such a good kid, he has so much heart, so much soul. He's so much like you when you were his age. It isn't just his looks that make him like you - everyone sees it and it isn't just the messy hair and the James Potter strut (which you'd be quite proud he does very well at when he's entitled to it, just as you did). It's in the way he defends his friends and the thoughtfulness that he puts into his choices. It's the propensity to forgive and the desire to do right by everyone who crosses his path. He wants what is right in this world, and he's self-sacrificing in order to achieve that right-ness. 

God he's your doppelgänger in so many ways...

Sirius cleared his throat.

Remus glanced back at Sirius, who had rolled over so his stomach was pressed to Remus's back, his eyes glancing over the letter Remus was writing.

"You could say nearly all of that to Harry, too, you know."

Remus flushed.

"James would like the part about his strut, I reckon," Sirius murmured.

Remus laughed. 

Sirius sat up. "C'mon. Here, we'll edit it proper for Harry."

Dear Harry,

I hope that you are doing well. Sirius and I have been traveling together, staying out of the Ministry's eye, but we are both thinking of you as we've been on the move, hoping that you've been alright. Been thinking a lot of your father as well. You once asked me if I knew him, and I gave a rather vague and shoddy answer that did not do justice to the friendship that I once shared with your father and mother.

I miss your father's jokes and the way that his face would twitch with humor as he delivered the punch lines. He always laughed at his own jokes - and who could blame him? He was the funniest person I knew.

Most of all I miss the kindness your father and mother both showed to me when I was at Hogwarts. They were my best friends and my greatest heroes. 

You are so much like them, Harry, and they would be desperately proud of you.

As am I.

Sincerely, Remus Lupin.

The owl arrived at Number 4 Privet Drive in the evening.

Downstairs, there was quite a commotion going on.

The owl landed in the open window sill, clutching the envelope in his beak and hopped down into the room, landing on Harry's desk. The desk was bare. The owl hopped along, noticing a small dish of water by Hedwig's empty cage on the dresser. He pecked at the water, taking a drink.

Suddenly the bedroom door burst open and two red-haired boys - completely identical in stature and looks - stepped in. 

"Did you remember the toffees, then, Fred?"

"Of course I did, George, what do you think I am, a nincompoop?"

"Why yes I do rather think that."

"It's I who got the brainy bit of the egg, brother."

"Says who?"

"Says everybody! Clean out your ears, George!" Fred grabbed onto the owl cage, focused on his brother and not looking to see the visiting delivery owl. The cage knocked the little dish over and the owl hopped backward, flapping his wings, his letter slipping off the desk and onto the seat of the chair. "Bloody hell!" Fred jumped in surprise at the sound of the bird.

George laughed, "Oh an ickle owl scared the big brained boy did it?"

"Oh shut up," Fred drawled. "Shoo go on with you, this ain't your cage to be nicking food from you ruddy intruder!" 

"Yeah shoo!" George said, waving at the window.

"Blimey, the owls 'round here are awful presumptive aren't they? Just flying into any open window and helping themselves to whatever they find, 'ey? Imagine Errol letting his owl nuts being gobbled by a stranger?"

"Assuming he wasn't passed out when it happened, he might try at giving a half hearted peck or two. Just think how Pig's done him in!"

"True, true," Fred said. He saw to it the post owl had flown off, then closed the bedroom window. "He didn't even leave any post," he said, looking at the top of the desk and shaking his head, "Bloody idiot bird!" 

"Idiot bird indeed!" George reached in his pocket and withdrew his wand. "Locomotor trunk!" Harry's school trunk rose up from the ground as George flicked his wrist.

Fred put the bird cage on top of the trunk, "Brilliant work, George."

"Hang on, why aren't you carrying anything?"

"You aren't either, might as well let the cage hitch a ride down the stairs!" Fred answered.

George shook his head.

"Besides, I'm in charge of Ton Tongue Toffee distribution, remember? Need both my hands free to deliver these off don't I?"

"Do you?"

"Ah George, don't question things, as we've only just discussed, I'm the brains and you're the looks."

"I'm the looks, 'ey?"

"Aye," Fred nodded solemnly. "Notice I didn't say what kind of looks, only that you've got some kind of them!"

"I'll take what I can get," answered George, laughing. 

Fred reached into his pockets and pulled out several bright color wrapped bon-bon shaped bits of candy. He grinned at them as they lay in his palm. 

George looked over. "They should work grandly now that we've done the tweaking."

Fred nodded, "And I'm not keen to be the tester again even if we weren't positive! The once during O.W.L.s was enough." He stuck out his tongue and spoke 'round it, his voice thick and slurred by tongue blocking his mouth, "Sthill dot fuhhy down tuh shabe yed id id?" he crossed his eyes, trying to see his own tongue but couldn't do.

"It does look quite a lot better, though, which is the point really," George shruged.

"Di subbode," Fred answered, and he drew his tongue back in. "Let someone who deserves a good punishment give it a go just in case before we try it agin, 'ey?"

Both boys grinned evilly and headed out the doorway, trunk and bird cage following after them as they stepped into the hall and Fred closed the door behind them as they went.

The letter lay on the desk chair where it had fallen.