He who has a why to live can bear almost any how.
Nietzsche, philosopher

The black dog transformed and then suddenly, all at once there they are again, staring at least other face to face, in the flesh.

There was Remus John Lupin, haggard, age thirty three minus six years times twelve full moons equals three hundred and twenty four transformations that each showed in his face. He was slower, older, even more careful than when they were still stupid headstrong children lost in a terrifying world. And there was Sirius Orion Black, gaunt, battered and beaten, filthy and starved and half mad with anger and injustice and loneliness. He wasn't the Sirius thing that Remus had carried around with him, that warped memory. He wasn't at all Sirius yet he was aching of Sirius from every pore; truly Sirius. It was really him, actually returned home, after all these years.

It wasn't awkward. They stared at each other sadly, words superfluous. There was really nothing to say: no pretending they didn't both understand.

They were like the keeper and the beater after a hard long game in the pouring rain after doing all they could desperately and achieving nought, that said "so that's that, then". And now here we are. Riders of two threads that each seems so twisted and knotted that maybe it was only coincidence that they had become once again entangled.

Or maybe Dumbledore really had known, for all this time. Remus's mind rattled through tiny forgotten moments, suddenly thought of a million kind words, a million reassuring glances, that weird knowing trusting look from the headmaster, over and over again. His dulled body weakened at the memory. Oh, Albus. He could have been sadly watching Remus for all these years, like he was looking in a mirror.

Sirius blinked back water that seemed an almost comically pathetic representation of his overwhelming urge to cry out all his rage and mistreatment and loss and waste into Remus's chest, forever. His chest hitched and his fists clenched hopelessly. Oh, he was still Sirius. That exact same Sirius.

And then they bumped together, each suddenly lost for words and having the feeling he was flying in a sea of nausea. Oh, Remus. Oh, Merlin, Remus. You just look so, so old.

Oh, Sirius. You're so frightened. You're so thin. You're stooping and your hair is lank and matted. You're emaciated. You're so bitter. You're scraped hollow like a shell. You used to be so, so beautiful. Oh, Sirius. Remus began to cry and he won't stop for a long time. Oh Sirius, what have they done to you?

And they awoke, each naked as the day they were born and nakeder, tight in each other's arms, dirty from Sirius's rags and sweaty from Remus's bad dreams, but together, finally, here, and now. Nothing could be simpler.