The small house is dark but for the weak light of the waning moon coming in through the windows, and the golden pool from the lamp in the kitchen. The two men are seated at the kitchen table, heads inside the circle of light, the rest of them in darkness. They are poring over maps in Lupin's atlas, Lupin tracing potential routes with his finger, making suggestions, Sirius quieter, his eyes following the finger closely and flashing occasional glances at his friend's face. He speaks only to answer Lupin's questions or to acknowledge a point.
"Well, the route seems straightforward enough," Lupin says at last, showing Sirius the more or less direct line that he'll be able to take. "My concern is more for Buckbeak's sense of direction." Sirius gives something like a grin. "Pity we couldn't put a charm on him or something."
"Trust me," Sirius says wryly, "Somehow I don't think he'd be too keen. Best leave the navigating to me."
"I wonder," Lupin begins vaguely, "if there's something else…" He sits pondering for several moments, blue eyes staring, half-focused, into the darkness beyond Sirius's shoulder. Suddenly he smiles. "I've got it. A simple point charm on your wand should do the trick. I haven't used one myself, but I've certainly come across the spell in my readings, ought to be a cinch…" He trails off, noticing the look on Sirius's face.
"I haven't got a wand, Remus," Sirius says quietly.
Lupin blinks, bites his lip and exhales, holding his breath for a few long, embarrassed beats.
"Of course you haven't. I'm so sorry, Sirius, I – That was stupid of me."
Sirius shakes his head. "Never mind, now."
Remus opens his mouth to press his apology, then thinks better of it and shuts it again. A few moments of silence pass, then Remus pushes back his chair and stands. "Excuse me a moment." Sirius watches him go to the bedroom, hears sounds of drawers being opened, papers rustled, objects being moved about. A couple minutes later, Lupin returns carrying a long, narrow box. He resumes his seat and opens the box on the table in front of Sirius. "Go on, take it out."
Sirius hesitates, then lifts the slender, polished stick of wood with a tentativeness bordering on reverence. "Remus," he says, his voice a mixture of amusement and awe, "Remus, you can't give me your wand. Are you mad?"
Remus looks on the verge of laughter as he reaches inside his robes and pulls his wand out of his belt. "I've got mine right here. That one you're holding is my old one. If it suits, you are more than welcome to it." Sirius stares at Lupin, then down at the wand in his hand. He runs his fingers lightly over the smooth surface of Remus's wand, a glow appearing in his eyes.
"You haven't forgotten how to use one, I hope," Remus says, only half-joking. Sirius gives a sudden wave, and sparks shoot out of the end of the wand. Remus smiles approval. "Try a spell." Sirius pauses a moment, then slowly turns the wand on himself. Before Lupin has a chance to express alarm, the word is out of Sirius's mouth.
"Scourgify!" A cloud of soap bubbles erupts around him, and when they clear, Lupin can see that his friend's robes, though still tattered, are now clean. Sirius eyes his garments with a satisfied smirk.
"Good riddance!" Lupin says with a laugh. "It was high time those got cleaned."
Sirius gives him a proper grin this time. "What I really need is a new set, but this will do for the meantime." He fingers the wand again. "Thanks awfully, Moony."
"Not at all." They are both silent for a time. Remus puts the atlas away, and Sirius tests a few more simple spells before finally stowing his new wand in the pocket of his robes. Remus returns to the table and sits down, running a critical eye over his gaunt, ashen-faced friend. Sirius, oblivious to the scrutiny, traces scratches on the table surface.
"Remus, when did you get a new wand, then?" He asks suddenly, looking up.
Remus is quiet for several seconds, then responds in a low voice, "November of eighty-one. My old wand just wasn't the same after – after that night.
You mean you weren't the same after that night, Sirius thinks, but remains silent. For once he can't think of a single thing to say. I'm sorry? The words are so inadequate that he cringes at the mere thought of hearing himself speak them, but what else is there to say when it is his fault that the past twelve years of both their lives have been so completely devoid of happiness? He looks helplessly at Lupin. He can't speak the words, but his eyes say it, over and over again.I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Moony. Forgive me. Forgive me, please. I'm so sorry.
Lupin's expression turns ever so slightly, a change that is imperceptible except that there is a sudden openness in his eyes that allows the pain to shine through. He gives something like a wince, but does not look away. Across from him the dark head bows, overcome.
Remus hesitates, then reaches across the table and puts an arm on Sirius's shoulder. "It's all right, Padfoot." He knows it's not all right, it never was and it never will be all right, but it's all he can think of to say. It seems to have the right effect, because Sirius does not flinch away, and Remus can feel under his fingers the long, slow breaths he is drawing, the gentle rise and fall as the air from the summer night passes in and out of his lungs.
Many minutes later, Remus isn't entirely sure how many, he withdraws his hand. Somewhere outside, a nightingale is singing, but otherwise the night is silent. There is a slight breeze blowing through an open window in the next room, the thin curtain billowing and floating like a shroud on the honeysuckle-scented air. "We ought to get some sleep… Sirius?"
The dark head lifts, nods. Sirius gets slowly to his feet. The scrape of the chair legs on the tile floor is jarring in the stillness, and Sirius starts involuntarily. He looks around him, embarrassed, but Remus, if he notices, has the delicacy not to make anything of it. Remus crosses to the living room and Sirius regards him, standing in the dark among the shabby furniture, in his shabby, worn robes, with the faint moonlight falling across his face which is young and old at the same time, and feels safe.