Paddington Station was busy on a good day. On a Monday morning, at the beginning of the Easter holidays, it was swamped with commuters and holiday makers. A teenage boy stood in front of the announcement board, clutching a scrap of paper and staring at the board. Had anyone paid close attention, they would have seen an exhausted, bruised face, a hastily packed shoulder bag, and a sort of lost aura about him.

On the scrap of paper was an address. He could barely decipher the untidy scrawl, and what he could read only confused him further. Llanfairpwll. Who the fuck needs so many consonants anyway? He crumpled the paper in frustration, and slipped it back into his pocket. According to the announcements, there were no trains to Llanfairpwll either. He groaned, and realised he was going to have to use his initiative. Well, he thought, running a tired hand over his face. Llanfairpwll is in Wales, right? Let's get there first.

Ten minutes later, he found himself collapsing onto a peeling seat, resting his head against the overstuffed headrest. It was a grotty train. The seats were lumpy and uncomfortable, rubbish rolling around the floor as the train pulled out. Within minutes, children were screaming up and down the carriage.

When James had pressed his address into his hand on the last day of term, with the promise that if Sirius needed, he could take refuge at his place, Sirius had never honestly thought he would need it. His family couldn't be that bad, really. What was the worst they could do to him?

The worst, apparently, was quite bad.

But he didn't want to think about it. He didn't want to think anything at all. He fished around in his pocket, looking for his phone to text James and play mindless games for the next few hours, but he couldn't find it. Taking his bag, he ignored the disapproving looks and emptied it onto the seat beside him, but in vain.

With a heavy groan, he realised he must have left the phone on his bedside table. When he had been packing to leave, his one thought had been to do just that: leave. Everything else had been out of focus as he threw grubby T-Shirts and jeans he hadn't worn since he was thirteen into his shoulder bag.

Desperate for any sort of distraction, Sirius opened a book without even glancing at the cover. But his thoughts kept sliding elsewhere as his concentration slipped again and again, until he just stared at the page blankly. It was going to be a long journey.

Several hours later, Sirius stepped off his second train and into the pouring rain. Having caught the train to Cardiff, he had sat on a platform for what seemed like hours as he waited for the train to Aberystwyth to roll by. That train had been worse than the London train, rattling unsteadily on its tracks and every so often, making a noise that sounded far too much like piece of equipment falling for Sirius' liking. He had been grateful when it had finally pulled in to small, empty station, at which Sirius was the only one to depart. He shouldered his bag, and set off into the rain.

Sirius trudged through the village, head bowed, hair dripping onto his face. At some point, he realised he was walking uphill and paused to tilt his head upwards. The village was built on the side of a mountain, cottages trailing down to the mouth of the sea, ending abruptly where the waves crashed upon the rocks.

Above him, the rows of houses pattered out, and behind them, as he peered through the rain, Sirius thought he could make out the outline of a mansion. He somehow doubted there were many in the village who could afford such a home, and continued his steady hike to James'.

It had been a decent holiday thus far, James thought. Despite the wet weather which haunted Wales at Easter, James had been enjoying himself.

Eight years ago, when James' parents decided to move to Wales, James had hardly been affected by it; it was just before he'd started secondary school, a boarding school in Scotland. During the holidays, however, James came quickly to discover that he rather liked the small village – only to find he had fallen in love with it. For a sporty kid, it was ideal; the often calamitous sea, the overbearing mountain, and the local children were easily enough to keep James interested. He lived in a spacious house surrounded by gorgeous views, and was spoilt by his parents. Had he thought about it, he would have been hard pushed to find any complaints.

However, it wasn't only the sea, or his parents, that kept James happy. One day, while exploring the caves at low tide, he stumbled across a boy leaning against a rock, a book resting on his knees. He almost literally stumbled across him. Stick brandished, James had been fighting pirates with enthusiasm when his stamping foot came perilously near to the boy's head.

James – being hyperactive, and ten – had demanded the boy's name. In retrospect, it may have been fairly abrupt. The boy was, after all, a total stranger, and James may have come across as fairly intimidating with his stick and wellington boots.

The boy, who had nearly toppled over, had straightened himself out and checked his book for damage. When it was deemed safe, he had looked up at James, squinting slightly in the sun. "Remus," he had said softly.

"Remus what?"

"Remus Lupin."

"Oh." James had started to trace patterns in the sand, chewing his lip mindlessly. For some reason – unknown to him at the time – he hadn't wanted to leave Remus Lupin. He had stared up at James with large, unblinking eyes, his auburn hair tucked behind his ears. His breathing had been slow and heavy, and James listened as it began to fall in time with the roll of the waves against the sand. A small cough had withdrawn him from his trance, and he had looked up from his drawings.

"What are you reading?" he asked.

Remus glanced down at his book, as if he had forgotten. "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory," he replied. James could see that it was a well-loved book; a letter had been rubbed off the front covering, and the edges were furry and fraying.

"It's a good book." The corner of Remus' eyes creased when he smiled.

"You think so?"

James sat down heavily beside him. "Uh-huh. Have you read any other Roald Dahl?"

Several years later, it seemed the friendship had yet to burn out and die. They only saw one another during the holidays, since James was in school during the term time, but – being currently the only two teenagers in the village – they spent almost the entire holiday in their each other's company.

This was one of those times. The pair of boys were sprawled across James' sofa, empty Chinese littered around the room, the TV blaring out a loud, American comedy. Both were quiet, yet neither watched the show. James was staring at the ceiling, counting the swirls of paint. He felt content as he listened to Remus' steady breathing, and wondered if he'd fallen asleep.

His thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door. After waiting for a moment, the call of "James, sweetie, will you answer the door please?" rang through the house. Heaving himself off the sofa with a mutter of "back in a minute", James took the stairs at a gallop.

"Coming!" he roared as he swung around the banister and charged towards the door.

When he saw the figure standing at the door, James' eyebrows rose in disbelief. He was not surprised to see Sirius, but the state of his best friend was shocking. Sirius was soaked through, his hair dripping onto his bruised cheek. His shoulders were hunched under the weight of his bag, but a smile was still plastered on his face.

"Sirius, mate," James breathed, opening the doors wider to allow his friend in. "What the hell…?"

"Can I stay for a while?" Sirius asked, his smile faltering.

"Yeah, course, course. Look, let me just… The spare bedroom is straight up the stairs, on the right, OK? I… I'll just let my parents know, then I'll bring you some spare clothes. Get dry, or something, right?"

Sirius gave a single nod, and James, giving his friend a final tentative look, moved in the direction of the kitchen.

Haltingly, Sirius climbed the Potter's staircase. His knees and shoulders ached with exhaustion, and his feet tripped on the stairs as he dragged himself up. The living room presented itself as he reached the top, along with a boy reclining on the sofa. Sirius, too tired to make introductions, spent a moment or two taking in the top of his head, and knees, before creeping past him to the bedroom.

In the Potters' spare room, he collapsed immediately on to the bed. His eyes were closed before his head hit the pillow.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading my first chapter. I'm really nervous about posting this, because I actually wrote this for the first time weeks and weeks ago. I'd like to thank thosedarndursleys for beta'ing this, for her patience, and for putting up with me. If anyone can bear to leave me a line of review, please do. It honestly makes me so happy.