An - So this one turned out to be a bit longer than I'd planned. A huge thank you to mooray and the guest for the reviews! I really appreciate them :). One more chapter to go after this. Again, feedback is most appreciated, and I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Fidelius

2. Canis et Lupus

Exhausted and weak, the dog collapsed against the rocks, the sound of nearby waves almost lulling him to sleep. For the most part, the crossing had been smooth, though he was amazed he had made it to dry land - he had almost drowned out there. Sheer determination, fuelled by obsession, was what had driven him. But he was weak, and exhausted.

Barely able to move, the scent of food roused him and he limped further onto the beach. A family played nearby, tossing a Frisbee between them. They did not show any signs of noticing as the dog took the picnic hamper in its teeth and hauled it to a nearby cave.

It was a man who tore through it, skinny and malnourished, long black hair matted against tattered grey robes. He wolfed down the contents of the basket as though he hadn't eaten in weeks. He paused often, to stare at the damp wall ahead.

The air felt distinctly warmer here. Even his thoughts...

He savoured the taste of the food against his tongue, felt his thirst sate quite comfortably as he poured the contents of a can down his throat. And one by one, they started to return. Memories. Feelings. Relief washed over him and he laughed tearfully. The date on the Daily Prophet told him that he had spent roughly twelve years within those walls, though it felt so much longer.

Twelve years without peaceful emotion, without even a sliver of happiness in his mind...it almost hurt as it all came flooding back, as though it had been just out of reach this whole time.

He had rested well in the days leading up to his escape - he had made sure of that. After the food was washed down and his limbs ached a little less, he left the cave as a dog and made his way up into the seaside town.

News was already on the street about the escape of the infamous Sirius Black. One muggle lady even complained about the fiend as she fed sausages to the big black dog in a café, unaware that she was stroking the head of the very man of who she spoke so lowly.

Sirius focused on his destination, knowing of the long journey ahead. As a dog, it would be easier and maybe even quicker. He had not apparated in so long, he wasn't entirely sure he was still able to do it. At the very least, he did not fancy the risk of getting splinched. So much depended on him. Justice...Harry.

He found that his thoughts often turned to his godson, and a strange longing burned within. How different would life have been if Hagrid had given Harry to him? Would he still have spent time in Azkaban? Or would the truth of Wormtail's betrayal got out, would he have raised Harry as though he were his own child, showering him in love, raising him to know the wizarding world?

Of course...

The Dursleys. Never ones for change, perhaps they still lived in Surrey?

He stole a phonebook when he arrived, a sigh of relief breathed when there turned out to be only one V. & P. Dursley living there. A quiet suburban street in Little Whinging - perfect.

Sirius had not planned out all too well how he was to go about his plan, but he continued on to Little Whinging nonetheless, pinning hope on the fact that it was the summer holidays and Harry would hopefully be at home.

It was night time when he arrived, and the streets were deserted. It was getting late, there was little chance of seeing him tonight. And so he formulated a plan, one that involved him sleeping somewhere hidden nearby before making his way to Privet Drive for daybreak. When Harry left the house, he could see him, know that he was okay and...and then he would leave.

Part of him knew that he was being silly, delaying his trip north just to get a glimpse of his godson; they were both heading to the same place. But somehow, he just felt that he had to see the boy. Perhaps it would give him the strength needed to see his aim through.

There was a dark alleyway in Magnolia Crescent that suited his needs and he curled up beside a large bin. If anyone saw him, they would assume that he was a stray.

But something caught his attention not long after he had settled down. The unmistakeable trundle of a large trunk - a school trunk, perhaps. Sirius was confused. Term was not due to start for some time still. He edged cautiously down the alley, watched a boy open a definite school trunk and rifle through the contents.

Could it be? Little Whinging was perhaps the least wizarding place he had ever set foot (or paw) in - what were the chances of there being another family with school-aged children here?

The boy turned suddenly, squinting into the darkness, and Sirius almost yelped in astonishment.

He could have been looking at James Potter. Indeed, if he had not known that such a thing was not possible, he would have believed that's who was standing before him.

The boy lit his wand and held it up. Sirius felt the light fall over him, wanted to run out, to ask him what he was doing wandering alone at night with his school trunk. The last time he had known anyone do that...well, it was the night he ran away from home all those years ago.

Harry seemed surprised, perhaps even frightened to see the animal staring back at him. He stepped back, seemed to lose his footing and flew backwards, wand falling from his hand. Almost immediately, a deafening bang filled the street and even the dog started. The purple Knight Bus blocked Harry from view.

The bus would take him where he needed to go. He was alright.

With sudden urgency, Sirius took the opportunity to flee, dashing over the gardens of Magnolia Crescent and out of sight. It wasn't until he heard the second bang in the distance, as the Knight Bus disappeared, that he slowed his pace, heart pounding.

A renewed sense of purpose filled him. Harry was okay, he was alive, he was healthy.

A debt he had promised to collect pushed him onwards through Little Whinging. Hogwarts awaited...and so too did revenge.

There was a knock at the door just after eight o'clock. Remus jumped, torn from the newspaper article he perused. To say that he was not used to guests was an understatement. Truthfully, he did not believe that anyone other than his father knew where he lived, so often did he move.

It was with a cautious step and wand in hand that he answered it. Even after Voldemort's defeat, old habits were hard to shake. Born into a world at war, the notion of living in peacetime was a difficult one to adjust to.

The light from within his home reflected off the white beard and half-moon spectacles of Albus Dumbledore, who smiled at Remus like an old friend.

'Evening, Remus,' he said. 'May I come in?'

A swell of something long-forgotten blossomed in his chest as he smiled eagerly and stepped aside to let his old headmaster inside.

'Dumbledore,' he greeted amicably. 'I...What a pleasant surprise. It must be-

'Twelve years,' Dumbledore finished, eyes twinkling. 'You are a difficult man to keep track of, Remus.'

Though he felt as though he should explain, he did not. Dumbledore would have known all too well how difficult it was to get by with his condition. The longest he had managed to keep a job was a little over two months. Even so, a wave of embarrassment washed over him as Dumbledore's eyes took in the worn, dilapidated appearance of his home. He never saw the point in sprucing his dwellings up - he was never there for long.

'Better this way,' he settled for. 'Please, take a seat.'

The older man found the armchair by the empty fireplace. If the threadbare condition of the furniture bothered him, he did not let on.

He had not seen Dumbledore since the early days of peacetime. The Order of the Phoenix was disbanded in the wake of the events of that Hallowe'en night, and Remus had sought to distance himself from everything. Even twelve years later, the grief still lingered.

'Nice place you have here,' said Dumbledore politely.

'It does it's job. Looking for the next if I'm being honest. Getting harder and harder to find a way to put food on the table.'

That was the part the wolf did not like. Sometimes, he would go days living on simple bread and water so that he could have a full meal before he transformed. The wolf was violent enough on a full stomach - letting it out hungry was just foolish.

'I take it you're here because of...' His voice caught in his throat. Even now, saying his name felt taboo.

'Because of...?'

Was he really going to make him say it?

'I don't know where he is, Dumbledore,' he said with a sigh. 'If I did, I'd hardly be serving him a cup of tea. Speaking of which...'

'If you don't mind, thank you, Remus.'

Escaping to the kitchen, Remus busied himself with the kettle, igniting flames beneath it with a tap of his wand. An old edition of the Daily Prophet lay beside it on the bench, a painfully familiar face blinking up at him. Were it not for the headline, he may not have believed that it was his old friend. Once handsome and full of life, his face now suffered from the decade he had spent at the mercy of the Dementors. It was a cruel fate, but no less than he deserved. Hard to believe he could harbour such bitterness and hatred towards a man whom he once held so much affection for.

Dumbledore accepted his tea with thanks.

'I come in a bit of a difficult situation,' he said. 'You have no doubt heard of my bad run with Defence Against the Dark Arts teachers?'

'I heard the last one is still in St. Mungo's?'

'Indeed he is. Unfortunate circumstance, but completely of his own doing.'

Remus sipped from his cup, a thousand potential conversations running through his mind. There was much he would have liked to have known, but Dumbledore would not have sought him out without purpose.

'You always excelled at that subject,' Dumbledore noted. 'Peter not so much, but you three... I was positively delighted when you expressed interest in joining the Order.'

Suspicion pricked at Remus's senses.

'I think for James and...and...Sirius...it was more-'

For years, he had come to understand that for James and Sirius in particular, their flare for DADA stemmed from an inherent hatred towards the Dark Arts and an overwhelming desire to protect anyone threatened by them. And yet...

A cloud of confusion seeped into his mind, as it did every time he tried to fathom Sirius's reasoning for anything. And he hated himself all over again for trusting the man who had given him so much, only to take it all away in one long, violent moment.

'I am here to offer you a job, Remus,' said Dumbledore.

Remus was immediately snapped from his thoughts, eyes scrutinising Dumbledore's aged face, trying to find a hint of a joke.

'I'm sorry?'

'As you can imagine, given the track record of the Defence Against the Dark Arts post, there are very few willing to take it. I'm afraid it has gotten to the point where I must seek out applicants myself - advertising the position is no longer enough.'

Remus laughed humourlessly.

'Not that the prospect of stepping into a potentially cursed job doesn't thrill me, but having a werewolf amongst your staff would hardly do you any favours.'

Dumbledore stared at him, not a single emotion discernible in his expression.

'Arrangements have been made to accommodate that in the past, they can be made again,' he said. 'Professors McGonagall, Flitwick and Binns remain on the staff, as does our groundskeeper Rubeus Hagrid, and they are all aware of your condition and very much eager to welcome you back. As for the rest of the staff, I assure you that there will be no issue with your appointment.'

'I can't,' Remus said, rising to his feet. 'It's too dangerous. I can't risk-'

'The risk will be my own, Remus.'

Remus sighed deeply. How could he make him understand? It was different now. He had spent so long alone, fending for himself...he could not risk putting himself amongst so many people again. He was sixteen years older than he had been the last time he used the Shrieking Shack to transform. It was an old building - how sure were they that it would still hold him?

Dumbledore sipped from his cup again, gazing down into the warm liquid.

'You will be teaching Harry Potter,' he said. Something rose within Remus's chest. 'He is the spitting image of James. Save for his eyes; he has Lily's eyes. He is a wonderful child. Bright, funny...I dare say he inherited a little too much of his father's personality, but the head on his shoulders is more level than James's was at that age.'

He had not seen Harry since he was a baby. The memory of him was old, and hazy at best. All these years, he had found comfort in the knowledge that Harry was safe, he had not even entertained the possibility of ever seeing him again. It was selfish, perhaps; James would have wanted him to look out for the child, but the arrangements that Dumbledore had put in place served well...he had never met the Dursleys, but knew enough to know that his turning up out of the blue would not have went down well.

'I'm sorry,' he whispered. Somehow, it made the decision even easier. There was no way he would put James's son at risk by transforming anywhere near him.

Dumbledore set down the saucer and now-empty cup that balanced on top of it before rising to join Remus on his feet.

'Perhaps I was foolish to believe that you would be so easy to convince,' Dumbledore said, strangely amused.

'I can't blame you for trying. And I will be forever grateful for everything you have done for me.'

'It is nothing, dear Remus, I assure you.' The old man spoke with much energy, suspiciously happy for a man who had been turned down. 'I must day, Professor Snape will be pleased...he was very much opposed to your appointment, this will come as somewhat of a relief to him.'

Snape?

'Snape is a professor?'

'Of potions.' There was a definite twinkle in his eye, as though he had won some game Remus had not been aware they were playing. 'He always was so talented at the subject - one might say even more so than Professor Slughorn. Managed to whip up a perfect batch of Wolfsbane potion just the other day.' Remus's heart almost leapt out of his chest. 'But he does not miss a trick...no sooner had he finished, he realised why I had asked such a thing of him. Can't imagine why he was so opposed to your joining the staff. Nevertheless, he agreed to provide you with an unlimited - free - supply of the potion should you accept my offer. He will be positively delighted to know that you do not feel up to the task.'

Silence. Neither of the men moved. Dumblefore knew exactly what he was doing.

'Wolfsbane?' Remus's potion-making skills were not quite up to the level required to brew such a concoction, neither was his financial situation, and he was unable to procure it through the Ministry without revealing and registering his true nature - an act that would cement his status as an outsider and make getting by even harder than it already was. But the desire to sample it, to see if it compared to the days of the Marauders, remained.

'As much of it as you need.'

He thought about it, temptation tugging at him, nudging away the doubts.

'Okay,' he said, his voice trembling. 'I accept.'

Remus had planned for an early night, but worry kept him awake. Though he had not spoken with Harry Potter since his departure from Hogwarts almost one year ago, Sirius had kept him updated on the increasingly mysterious events surrounding their friend's son. Whether it was Sirius's worry becoming contagious or his own growing larger through lack of direct involvement, he soon found himself eagerly awaiting each post-task owl.

He had moved again since leaving his teaching post, though only once. The futility was very obvious. New laws, new prejudice...he was no longer able to bluff his way through the interview process.

Eventually, he had settled into an isolated cottage, surrounded by farms and woodland, with a handy WWII-era bomb shelter in the garden - perfect for the full moon.

Two days had passed since the final task, and news was already spreading about the death of one of the contestants. For some reason, it was with bitterness that Harry's name seemed to be mentioned in articles, and the death continued to be referred to as a 'tragic accident', with no mention of the circumstances involved.

A sudden scratching sound caught his attention. The back door. It continued, as though something raked its nails over and over again against the wood.

Wordlessly, he clutched his wand, edging closer. The sound stopped, he could not see much out of the window. Cautiously, he opened the door.

There was nothing there.

Before he could open his mouth to call into the darkness, something pushed past his legs, something large and fast...and furry. He spun around quickly, brandishing his wand threateningly.

'Your welcomes really suck, you know that?'

Suddenly, Sirius Black was standing in his house.

Remus closed the door behind him before casting a glance outside.

'What are you doing here?' he hissed. 'If anyone saw you-'

'Give me some credit, Moony. I tied Buckbeak in the forest, came here as a dog. I'm not entirely reckless.'

A smirk twisted his words, and suddenly Remus was at his side, and they embraced each other as though more than a year had separated their last meeting.

'It's good to see you, old friend,' said Remus, punching him on the shoulder as they parted. 'That's for scaring the crap out of me.'

Sirius found his way to the settee and sat with his legs folded beneath him, taking in the tatty decor. He did not say a word. In fact, he blended in quite well. The worn prison robes made Remus's shabby get-up look almost pristine.

'Hold on,' said Remus, excusing himself. It could not have been comfortable to wear the same outfit for the last year - perhaps even the last thirteen, he doubted that the Dementors were any good with laundry. At least Sirius appeared to have washed his outfit (and his hair), for he smelled a lot fresher than he looked.

Remus emerged from his bedroom moments later, carrying a clean set of robes. They were not fashionable by any stretch of the imagination, but they were a lot less worn than the grey robes he wore, and did not scream 'convict' as much.

Sirius thanked him and began to strip off right there in the living room. Remus turned out of respect, but not before he saw the scars. There were not as many as the ones he possessed, and they were barely visible against his pale complexion, but they were there nonetheless. Two on his back - one long, one short - a few on his arms, and a thin one across his chest. Marks of the Order, of the First Wizarding War.

'Much better,' he said once the prison robes lay discarded. 'I feel almost normal again.'

And he looked almost normal too.

'So what happened?' Remus asked, the anticipation becoming too much to bear. 'The Prophet seems to be dancing round the details. How is Harry? what happened to him?'

Sirius fell back onto the settee sombrely. It was as though he had been reminded of some horrible truth, and he couldn't look his friend in the eye.

'He's back,' he said. 'Voldemort.'

Remus started, dropped to the floor in front of Sirius.

'W-what? How?'

'Wormtail,' Sirius spat viciously. 'The tournament was one big fix - a Death Eater charmed the Goblet, turned the cup into a portkey. Harry and the Diggory boy, they touched it together and it took them to... To him. He used Harry's blood to bring Voldemort back.'

His hands shook with anger. Remus did not know how to react. He pulled himself onto the settee beside Sirius and bowed his head.

'Are you sure?'

'I heard Harry's story, saw him right after...' Sirius's face twisted into an expression of pure rage. 'If I ever find that double-crossing scumbag, if I ever get my hands on him-'

'You better pray you're the first.'

They sat in silence for a moment, until both men breathed slowly again.

'He's not going to hurt Harry again,' Remus promised. 'If Voldemort is back, Dumbledore will have started to act already.'

'He has.' Again, Sirius seemed to remember a detail that had been forgotten in the joy of reunion. 'Asked me to track down what's left of the order. I found Figg and Fletcher, that's just about all that's left, save for Hagrid and Dumbledore himself, and they obviously already know. Mad-Eye too. You're the last. Dumbledore wants me to lay low here for a while...if that's okay with you?'

There was nothing Remus would have liked more, and he told him so. But the issue of how to survive remained. He could barely afford to feed himself, let alone the wanted criminal he was to hide.

'I'll feed myself,' Sirius said, seeming to sense his worry. 'We're surrounded by farmland and I'm pretty sure I saw some apple trees when I tied up Buckbeak. If you lend me your wand, I should be able to scrounge enough food for the both of us.'

Remus leaned back into the worn cushions of the settee. They had lost a bit of their bounce, but were comfortable nonetheless.

'If I can figure out how to get at my gold without drawing attention to the fact, even better,' Sirius continued, more to himself than to his friend. 'New robes. Going to need a new wand too. I suppose if Dumbledore gets someone in the Auror's office on his side - or if Mad-Eye can get back in there - I could get my old one back.'

Remus could not help but detect a measure of happiness to Sirius's voice.

'I suppose I could always go back to...my parents' place. Gather up some of the family silver, that's got to be worth a bit. I'm sure Mundungus would find a buyer.'

'Probably wouldn't give you a fair cut.'

'Yeah. Always wanted to throw that stuff out anyway, you know? It would drive my mother crazy.'

They laughed together, the familiarity of old times returning.

'I'm glad you're back,' said Remus. 'Even though I hated you for twelve years...life was rather dull without the Marauders.'

'Your life was dull without me, you mean?'

Remus smiled. Yes, life without his best friends had been very dull indeed. And now...at the start of a new war...he was glad that one was by his side again.

There was rarely anyone else at 12 Grimmauld Place outside of meetings. Tonks would sometimes hang around for a while, but juggling a full-time job and underground resistance obligations took up most of her free time. It was only Remus who stayed outside of official Order hours, owing to the fact it was now technically his home too. And he was glad that he was there when he could be. He knew what it was like to be locked away without company or companionship, isolated from the outside world. Perhaps he was the only member of the Order who truly understood what Sirius was going through.

It was late when he arrived that night, edging carefully past the portrait of Walburga Black. There were no sounds from within the house, save for the creaking of age. Even Kreacher was out of sight.

Soft snores drifted through the door of the drawing room as he approached, and he cast off his travelling cloak as he entered.

'Sirius?' he whispered, approaching the back of an elegant old settee. But he frowned as the figure slumbering upon it came into view.

Perhaps slumbering was not quite the right word to describe Sirius's condition.

He lay rather inelegantly on the sofa, long black hair splayed against his face. Near the hand that dangled over the edge an empty bottle of firewhiskey glinted in the firelight.

Remus swore under his breath and raised his wand to his friend's face. A gentle spell the the tip of his tongue, he cast it away in lieu of teaching the drunken idiot a lesson.

'Aguamenti,' he said, perhaps a little more forceful than he had intended. A jet of water shot out of the end of his wand and hit Sirius square in the face. Within seconds he was awake, spluttering and swearing.

'Does nobody have any manners anymore?' he grumbled, now seated and rubbing his eyes.

'Did you drink this all yourself?' Remus asked, waving the firewhiskey bottle before him.

'Remus,' groaned Sirius. 'Couldn't just let me sleep, could you?' He grimaced in pain, evidently worse for wear after his binge.

'I would hardly call what you were doing sleeping,' Remus chastised. 'You need to get a hold of yourself. You are a responsible adult, there are people depending on you.'

Sirius laughed bitterly, damp hair smoothed back out of his face.

'Depending on me? Who exactly is depending on me, Remus? I'm just another part of the furniture.'

'You are Harry Potter's godfather!' Remus roared, taking the other man aback with the sudden violence of his tone. 'You are a member of the Order of the Phoenix. You are thirty-six years old! Stop acting like-'

He cut himself off, watching his words bounce off the self-pity that sulked before him. And suddenly the picture became a lot clearer. Sirius was never the most mature individual, but he had only been twenty-two years old when he was imprisoned in Azkaban. Trapped inside his own mind for twelve years, without company, responsibilities or social stimulation...there was no room for emotion development or maturation. In many was he was still a twenty-something just trying to find a grip on life.

An overwhelming sense of pity fell over Remus.

Sirius glared up at him, probably would have rose to meet his gaze had he not so evidently been experiencing the after-effects of drinking a whole bottle of firewhiskey.

'I can't do anything for anyone,' he countered. 'All I can do is offer opinions in meetings, opinions so out of touch I doubt they're of any use at all. I'm trapped in these walls, I'm trapped in these memories...I may as well be back in Azkaban for all the good it's doing me.'

'Then walk out that front door,' Remus threatened calmly. 'Just take a stroll, as man or dog, it won't matter. Because that's what you're going back to if you're caught, and you truly will be of no use to anyone, least of all Harry.'

The low grumble that same from Sirius's throat told him he knew that he was right.

'Would anyone even realise if-'

'Oh, for the love of-' Remus threw his hands up in defeat. 'Stop feeling so sorry for yourself. You think you've got it bad? What do you think I have been through my entire life? You have the possibility of absolution ahead of you. As soon as the ministry takes their fingers out of their ears it will be a matter of days before your story is proven true and you're back out there again. MY CURSE IS FOR LIFE!'

Sirius's eyes darkened and fell to the floor.

'I'm sorry, Remus, I-'

'No, you didn't think, did you?' Despite his anger, Remus took a seat beside his friend. 'You are not the only one going through a hard time. You think this is easy on Harry? Feeling as though he is not trusted? Feeling locked out? And now he is separated from the one person he has always been able to find comfort and advice in...you.'

Sirius seemed to contemplate his words sheepishly.

'Your advice was always better,' he said with a faint smile. 'I...I'm a bit of a failure as a godfather.'

'What makes you think that?' Sirius Black was indeed a reckless individual and that truth extended to his role as appointed guardian of James and Lily's son, but he would never go so far as to call him a failure. Sirius looked at him, as though he could not find the words to attach to the emotion. 'Do you love Harry?'

'With all my heart and soul.'

'How far would you go to protect him?'

'To unmeasurable lengths.'

Remus smiled.

'Tell me again how you are a failure as his godfather? You may not be winning any awards, but you care about him deeply, and he about you...that is the bond James wanted you to have. That is why he named you godfather. Because he trusted you and he knew you would love his son enough for him when he was gone.'

Shame. That was the expression that found Sirius next.

'Just go now,' he groaned. 'Let me wallow in this alone.'

Remus rolled his eyes.

'I'd have thought you've known me long enough by now to know that I'm not going anywhere.'

He had not seen the spell coming, but he felt it take hold, felt it knock him off his feet. The veil behind him fluttered as he fell back into it, and suddenly the sight was stolen from his eyes, and the breath from his lungs.

Everything was bright when he woke, perhaps too bright. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust, for the softness of the carpet beneath him to feel unusual.

Sirius pushed himself up onto his elbows with less effort than he was used to expending. Slowly, the scarlet and gold colours of the Gryffindor common room swam into focus. What was he doing here?

The veil flickered back into memory, Bellatrix's spell knocking him back. Was the battle over? Why had they brought him back here, why not Grimmauld Place, why not even St. Mungo's if he was injured? At the very least, he expected the Hospital Wing, not the Gryffindor common room.

More to the point, why was he naked?

Just as he pondered this most unusual question, he caught sight of some robes on the chair nearest to them and pulled them over his head, wondering briefly where his scars had gone.

Rising to his feet, he realised that he was a little more muscular than before, that his hair felt tidier and, yes, his face felt considerably younger.

It was then that it occurred to him that none of this was real.

Then, the veil...it had knocked him out, drawn him into some hallucination. The alternative was too horrifying to consider.

'Harry.' The name fell from his lips. If he was here, then Bellatrix was still there, still dangerous. 'Harry!'

'Harry is fine.'

He did not turn at the sound of the voice. Because he knew those tones, would always register that sound, even after all these years. But if he was here, if they both were here, then...

Sirius turned towards the smiling face of James Potter, lounging casually on a chair by wall. He wore the clothes he had died in, wore the twenty-one short years that he had lived as well as he ever had. And Lily sat behind him, playing casually with a chess set.

Without another thought, he rushed towards his friend, crushing him in an eager embrace. James laughed sadly, holding just as tightly onto him.

'I missed you,' Sirius said desperately, as though his best friend would fade away at any second and the chance to tell him would slip away. 'So much, James, I...'

He met Lily's eyes as they parted, and made to offer the same welcome to her. But she smiled sadly at him, as though being there, looking at him, caused her a great deal of pain.

The truth sunk like a dead weight in his chest. Dead weight. He almost laughed.

'Am I...?'

James nodded sombrely. 'The veil...it was a doorway between the world of the living and the world of the dead. I heard...I heard Harry's voice, heard yours. I couldn't see you, but...when you came through... There is no going back. It's a one-way trip.'

The strength left his legs and Sirius reached out to brace himself against the wall.

'But Harry...he's-'

'He's safe,' Lily said, rising to join them. 'We know when our loved ones join us and...it isn't his time.'

'That's why we're here, Padfoot,' said James. 'I hoped this day wouldn't come so soon.'

Funny how the truth did not seem to sting so much now. Death had not been so bad, and here he was with the brother he had chosen, the brother whose loss had haunted him for fourteen years.

'I am sorry about everything you went through,' James continued. 'Azkaban...'

How did he know?

'We know,' Lily said with a smile, as though she had heard his thoughts. 'It's difficult to explain, but...we never really leave, not really. We live on inside those we love, we watch over them.'

Sirius searched his surroundings again.

'I never thought death would look like this,' he chuckled.

'It doesn't,' said James. 'This is...a half-way point. Mine looked just like this too.'

'Half-way? So I can go back?'

'If you want to.' It was Lily that spoke this time. 'But you can't return to your life, nothing can make that so.'

'You have a choice,' said James. 'You can walk through that portrait hole and return to the world of the living as a ghost - a half-existence, never being able to sense or feel the way you once did. Or you can follow us up those stairs, to our world.'

Return as a ghost, watch the people he loves grow old and die, never truly able to join them. Or go with his friends, to watch over Harry and Remus as James and Lily had watched over them all. To wait for the moment they will reunite, never to be parted again.

'What is it like?'

Lily smiled as she tucked her arm into James's.

'It is...peace,' she said, a dreamy look in her eyes. 'Warmth.'

'And you'll be there too?'

'Mate, you're never getting rid of me again,' James laughed. And Sirius laughed with him. 'You've had a hard life, Padfoot. You deserve peace. You have been to Harry what we were never granted the opportunity to be...our gratitude is eternal. Come with us. Be at peace.'

His mind had been made up from the beginning. His life had come to its inevitable end. Of all the things one could put up a fight against, death was certainly not one of them. And it was not something he wished to fight. The liberation of death was almost welcome. Harry had Remus, he had Dumbledore, he had Molly Weasley. He would do well without him, better perhaps. There was nothing he could offer the Order as a ghost, and the prospect of an eternity on a lonely Earth frightened him more than death itself. Death...death was easy.

'Okay,' he said solemnly, shedding a tear for those he was leaving behind. 'Let's go.'