I know our days are numbered,
early bird of summer;
You'll fly south just as the fall begins.

The wind blew fiercely, rustling the nearly-dead leaves in the trees. Sirius shivered and pulled his coat tight around him. "What, pray tell, are we doing here? I'm freezing my bloody bollocks off."

Remus didn't speak. He kept his hand on a rotting wood post, gripping so tightly his fingertips were red. His gaze settled on a decrepit, crumbling cottage. As Sirius stared from the cottage to Remus, then back again, his teeth chattered with cold. "Why are we staring at an old house? What the bloody hell is this place?"

The wind halted just long enough for Remus to speak. The hush of the lush, golden plain and the creek beds surrounded the two of them as a voice, barely above a whisper, croaked "This is where I grew up. This is my home."

Realization and awe filled Sirius' face. "Really? This is it?"

Remus nodded, more to the post than to his companion. "Yep. This, this right here," he said, gently kicking at the post. "This was a fence. Wrapped all 'round here." He pointed around the cottage and towards a barn as decayed as the house. "There, too. Fence everywhere. White picket fences, just like in the Muggle storybooks."

"Can we," Sirius started, pausing as Remus turned to look at him. There was something in his eyes, not sadness, particularly, but not happiness, either. He drew a quick breath against the wind and began again. "Can we go, you know, inside?"

"I don't know if there's anything left inside to see."

"We can try, though," He put his hand on Remus' shoulder and felt the young man flinch. "Sorry, mate."

"It's—it's alright."

"No, but really. Can we go inside?" Sirius smiled a wicked, toothy grin. "I promise no beasties will harm us."

The tawny-haired man, not much older than a boy in age but nearly as ancient as the house in physicality, forced a closed-lipped smile. "I suppose, if the desire has truly overtaken you."

The resulting grin lit up his whole pale-skinned face. "C'mon, then!"

He grabbed Remus by the hand and drug him across the yellowing grass to the cottage. He stepped inside and waited as Remus walked in, a piece of ceiling falling on his brown coat.
"Where to first, oh host?"

Remus brushed the plaster off his shoulder. "Here would be a pleasant place to start. This," he squinted as he looked around the remnants of an old room. "This is the sitting room, I believe. Yes, front door here, sitting room here. Merlin, it looks the same, save the falling ceiling."

They walked all through the dilapidated house, Remus pausing to chuckle at an old memory or story or Sirius stopping to ask a question. Most of the furniture was gone; looted, Sirius assumed, and the wind blew through the house with an audible howl.

"Mum liked chickens," Remus said as they sat together on a remaining bench on the back veranda. "We had dozens of chickens, and I hated them all except for one named Franz Ferdinand."

"Franz Ferdinand? You named your chicken that?"

"He was the archduke of Austria, and my rooster was the archduke of the Lupin land. It made sense when I was eight."

"Of course you knew what archdukes were when you were eight."

"Oh, stuff it."

Sirius smiled, then stood, circling his wrists and stretching his arms. "C'mon, let's go. I want to see all of the Lupin land that Franz ruled so mightily."

Remus groaned and stood, walking with his lanky, dark-haired counterpart. They walked toward a tree with a paddle swing attached to its limbs. Sirius immediately plopped into the seat and gave the lithe boy a pleading look. Remus sighed and began pushing him absent-mindedly. "I used to love this swing."

"I can see why. It's brilliant."

Neither spoke as Sirius swung his legs and concentrated on the creak of rope on wood and the comforting touch of Remus' hands on his back with each downfall. The sun was on the horizon, glowing bright and blinding in their vision. "I'd much like to have a swing like this someday."

"I can leave it, if it's all the same to you."

Sirius gave one last, hearty movement of his legs, then propelled himself forward. He landed crouching on the soft Earth beneath the tree. "What's your problem with the swing?"

"Take a look at the seat."

He caught the seat as it came flying back at him and eyed the plank of wood between his hands. It was stained with blood. He made a quiet gasp and it fell from his hands, coming to settle between the two of them. "Is this—is it where..?"

Remus nodded solemnly. "Yeah."

The world began to glow amber, the harsh glare of the sun gentling behind a hill. Remus sunk down where he stood, staring out into space. Sirius, still on the ground, crawled to him, much like a child. "Tell me?"

"What's there to tell? I got bit by a werewolf. End of story."

"Moony, can't you just tell me?"

Remus narrowed his eyes and furrowed his brow at the puppy-eyed Sirius. That nickname, that reminder of the times when things were actually okay: it was his kryptonite. He felt his reserve crumble with every dramatic bat of long, pureblood eyelashes.

"Pwease?"

"Godric, yes, just stop with the babytalk, you know how that irritates me."

"Oh, goody! You'll tell me!" Sirius waited eagerly, hands folded in his cross-legged lap. All was silent except for the chitter of crickets closeby. "Aren't you going to tell me, then?"

"Wait a moment, I'm trying to find my words."

"Just start from the beginning, maybe?"

Remus drew a long sigh, running his palms over his face. "I would have to start from the very beginning. It's a very long, very boring story."

"I'll bet it's not boring. And I've loads of time."

He groaned. "Okay! I'll tell you! Merlin. Well, it all started long ago. I was, maybe, four or five years old. My first love-"

"Oh, a love story!"

"Do you mind?" Remus shot a look at Sirius, who shook his head furiously. "Alright then. My first love was a girl named Sadie."

"A girl? Why, Remus, you devil. You never told me!"

"I was five, Sirius! And who, exactly, is telling this story? Me or you?"

"You are. Go on."

"Thank you. As I was saying, my first love was a girl named Sadie. And, oh, Sirius, I did love her. Well, as much as a five year old can love another five year old. And five year olds love everything, so I imagine, in retrospect, of course, that it was quite a bit that I loved her. She lived next door, about an acre over..."