Author's note: This story was inspired by a similar event that occurs in Janie Steps In, by Elinor M. Brent-Dyer.


As autumn closed in, Sirius stalked the landings and haunted the fireplaces of number twelve, Grimmauld Place, desperate for company that, when it materialised, never quite banished the recollection of his mother's screeches, his brother's sobs, and his father's threats. He'd never been afraid of the dark until he'd returned here and discovered that he had so few happy memories left with which to fend off his ghosts.

On one of his hourly parades through the house, he came upon a breathless Remus, all pink cheeks and jacket buttoned against the chill that Sirius dully assumed was in the air now.

"Remus," he said sullenly, but for once Remus was too excited to notice his friend's mood. Grasping Sirius's arm, he told him, "Come upstairs, Sirius, I've got something to show you."

Sirius followed mutely, past Harry's erstwhile bedroom, and then that inhabited by the Weasleys, beyond Buckbeak's room, up another couple of flights of stairs and into the attics that they were still trying to clear of clutter. Sirius stopped short in the doorway of the first one.

Apples. The little room was full of apples: Golden Delicious, deeper green Granny Smiths, rosy Galas, lumpy cooking apples. There were boxes and boxes of them, enough to keep the Order in apple pie and apple sauce and baked apples and just plain apples for the next year.

He turned to face Remus, who was staring open-mouthed at the scene.

"So, er, was this what you were intending to show me?" inquired Sirius, knowing that it wasn't.

"Er, not exactly," said Remus feebly. His eyes were huge as he stared at what must have been nearly a thousand apples, their reds and greens and in-betweens epitomising the sight of autumn.

"Er," Remus started again. "Er, well, I ordered some of these. A couple of hundred, anyway. But I didn't –" He trailed off.

Sirius could feel mirth brimming a long way inside him, but he managed to keep a straight face, at least temporarily. A flash of white caught his eye, and he stooped forward.

Sirius,

We have more apples than we know what to do with, now that all the children are at school. I thought perhaps you might like them, since your house is so busy at the moment!

Best wishes,

Molly Weasley

Hi Sirius,

Mum and Dad's apple trees went a bit mad this year, must've been the heatwave, so I swiped a few cartons for you! Remus said you've always loved them, and there's only so many three people can eat.

Cheers,

Tonks

My dear Sirius,

The Hogwarts orchard did very well this summer, and so I take pleasure in sending you some apples. This is perhaps a good opportunity to inform you that I was indeed aware that you and your friends regularly sneaked into the orchard to steal fruit while you were at school. I offer you these in the hope that they may bring back fond memories.

With my best regards,

Albus Dumbledore

For a moment Sirius was arrested by the memory of four small figures hurrying through the gloom of a late September evening, spelling the apples down, occasionally so enthusiastically that one or other of them would be buried. He inhaled, revelling in the heady, cidery scent, and wondered how he could have forgotten the joy of being thirteen, and having apples to pick and teachers to evade; friends to scuffle with and seasons to smell; a castle to roam, a life to live, and people to love.

His eyes alight, he gazed at the still stupefied Remus in delight, before leaning down to read the last label.

My dear, dearest Sirius,

These apples are from the woods near James's parents' house. May they bring back happy memories.

Your

Remus

Short, because Remus had never been one to labour a point, but oh, so beautiful, and Sirius wanted badly to take Remus, who was beginning to look uncomfortable, in his arms and kiss him and say, thank you, thank you, I love you, you are wonderful, and I'm sorry I'm being such an idiot, and I love you, and I love you.

Instead, he asked carefully, "And how did you get the apples up here?"

Remus swallowed. "I told Kreacher to take them up last night while you were asleep. I ordered him not to tell anyone, and I suppose the others must have all done the same. Now I think about it, he did look a bit shifty, but then he always does…" He revolved slowly, staring at the mountain of apples.

Sirius couldn't help it. He emitted a kind of aborted snort, and then gave up, throwing back his head and laughing in great gasps as he sat down amongst his gifts and thought of Kreacher surlily carrying out his tasks, taking grim pleasure in the knowledge that he'd have his revenge on the architects of his toils when they discovered that they'd all had the same idea.

Remus stood frozen for a few seconds and then, catching Sirius's mood, joined him on the floor and began giggling helplessly. Sirius grabbed several apples and attempted to juggle them, but he was laughing too hard, and the apples went everywhere. One landed on Remus's chest, and Sirius dived towards it, landing heavily enough to roll them both over.

Tears were far too close, and Sirius took the only possible route: he kissed Remus hard, feeling soft lips open to him as they had done so many times over the past twenty years.

"Thank you, thank you," he whispered against Remus's mouth, "thank you, I love you, thank you."

He thought of teenage boys hurrying through a wood in the early autumn sunshine, carrying baskets of apples between them, the insouciance of youth apparent in every gesture, and he began to laugh again.