The first few months after graduation had passed slowly, languishly, even, with Remus and Sirius growing accustomed to their new lives together and easing into their work for the Order. Once Remus began making contacts with werewolves, however, it seemed that the time between each full moon flew by. The Marauders, Lily, and Marlene were constantly busy with missions and trainings, fear and worry beginning to twist into every aspect of their daily lives, far more than it had when they were still at Hogwarts. Most of them worked for the Order full time and had little respite from the horrors of the war. They still saw each other frequently and tried to keep their spirits up, but things had begun to fray a bit at the edges.

As if the war itself weren't enough, Remus and Sirius had begun to find that their adult lives were far more expensive than they'd expected, and Sirius's inheritance from Uncle Alphard was already beginning to dwindle. Whenever Remus brought it up, Sirius, unaccustomed to having to worry about money and anxious about the connections he was supposed to be making for the Order, erupted in defensive anger.

"It'll be fine, all right! I don't have time for this. Maybe I'll ask my fucking cousin Bellatrix for money next time I see her." His voice was sarcastic, angry. "'Hello, Bellatrix! Could I have a bit of cash? Oh, and Dumbledore wants to know if you and your husband are Death Eaters. Cheerio!'"

So Remus backed off. He also had little time to dwell on their financial problems, as he was spending more and more of his time traveling across the country, meeting with werewolves. It rarely went well, most of them meeting him with disgust and distrust. Invariably, anytime he did feel as though he were making progress, the werewolves asked him to transform with them at the next full moon. He'd met with one werewolf, Goro Banden, three times, and Banden seemed to be on his side. But then he'd asked Remus not to return unless he was willing to "share the next hunt."

"Look, I'm not a fan of Greyback either, but I can't trust a werewolf who comes here smelling of wizards. Transform with me sometime and then we'll talk again."

If Remus was honest with himself, he'd already decided to do it, though he knew that Sirius wouldn't like it and even Dumbledore would think it too dangerous. He told himself that if he did transform with Banden, it would be for the Order and for his mission, but he knew that part of it had to do with the scent of the wolf, which he couldn't get out of his mind. He wanted to experience it: the moon, the hunt, the pack, all of it in the way other werewolves did.

Today, though, had been a good day. Remus was a week past the full moon, feeling energetic and strong and driven. Instead of meeting with a fully grown werewolf or a colony, he'd gone to visit a young girl who had been newly infected by Fenrir Greyback. Her parents were utterly terrified of Remus, of course, but he'd won them over with his quiet demeanor and the expensive set of dress robes he'd borrowed from James. Aside from the scars, he looked like a successful, well-to-do wizard, not a penniless werewolf living in a rundown flat with his secret boyfriend. But they didn't know any of that.

You have to love her, he wanted to tell them. Don't let her see your guilt, your shame, your disgust over what she's become. Instead, he spoke calmly, encouraging them to keep the child safe, to shield her from Greyback, and to allow her to attend Hogwarts when the time came. He lied through his teeth, telling them brightly how normal his life was. He omitted his secrets and his shame and the fact that he couldn't find a job to save his life.

It felt disingenuous and wrong until he took the child's hand in his own and looked into her eyes.

"You're really a werewolf?" she asked, looking up at him. "This isn't a joke?"

"Yes." It had been years since Remus spoken to a child. This one was terribly small and fragile, and his heart broke for her. Her lifetime of lonely transformations had only just begun. He wondered for a one insane moment what Sirius would say if he brought the girl home. Don't be an idiot, he chided himself. She has parents, and you're not in any position to raise a child. Get a grip.

"I'm a werewolf, like you," he told her. "Can you see my scars?"

She nodded, touching the ugly lines that crossed his cheek with a small, tentative hand. "They're like mine." She rolled up her sleeve to show him the cruel scars that ran up and down her arms. They were still fresh and pink and healing. He looked questioningly at her mother.

"They're from the last full moon. We can't go near her, so there's nothing we can do about it." Her voice broke. "Will it ever get easier?"

"Somewhat," he said honestly. "It's always difficult, but you'll learn—she'll learn—to manage. If you allow her to attend Hogwarts, Albus Dumbledore will make sure that her transformations are safe, and her needs are met." He looked the little girl in the eyes. "He did it for me, and he'll do it for you. You'll grow up and you'll have friends and you'll—you'll find love. You'll do all the things you've ever wanted to do." He blinked back tears, hoping it was true.

Remus Flooed home immediately afterwards, anxious to tell Sirius about the girl and her mother. It had felt good to talk to them. The lies he'd told were worth it if he could spare that girl even a fraction of the pain he'd endured as a child. He made up his mind to visit every one of Greyback's young victims as soon as he could.

"Sirius?" he called, stumbling to his feet on the hearth. "Are you home? Wait till you hear—"

"In the kitchen, Remus," called a somber voice. Remus stopped short. It wasn't Sirius's voice; it was Dumbledore's. His heart sank. There could be no good reason for the Headmaster's presence in their flat. He took a deep, shaky breath and entered the kitchen.

He found Sirius slumped at the table, his head in his hands. Dumbledore was setting a steaming pot of tea in front of him, his face grim. "Hello, Remus."

"Professor—what—what's happened?" Remus yanked back the chair nearest Sirius and sat beside him, placing a hand on his arm. "Sirius, what's wrong?"

Sirius raised his head, his cheeks damp and his eyes swollen. Remus had never seen him look so defeated. "It's Regulus and my father," he said hoarsely. "They're both dead."

"Dead?!" Remus looked up at Dumbledore in shock. "They can't be, not both of them. Sirius just saw Regulus the other day, he was fine, right, Sirius?" But Sirius's head was back in his hands. Remus wanted to pull Sirius onto his lap, hold him and comfort him, but he settled for rubbing his back in slow, even circles. He looked up at Dumbledore, waiting for an explanation.

"It's true," Dumbledore said, his light blue eyes full of a pain that Remus had never seen there before. "We know little of Regulus's death; perhaps he was on a mission for Voldemort, perhaps something else altogether, but he was reported dead by the family's house elf late last night."

"Kreacher wouldn't lie," Sirius muttered darkly. "He's a foul beast, but he wouldn't lie."

Remus gripped Sirius's arm and swallowed his own tears. "And Sirius's father?"

"He was found dead at Grimmauld Place this morning," Dumbledore said gravely. "He appears to have taken his own life."

Sirius raised his head off the table and looked at Dumbledore. "He's a coward," he spat. "You'd think he'd be happy that his son died in the service of You-Know-Who. What a great, noble honor that should be. That's what he always said. That to die for the Dark Lord is the most noble of deaths."

"Sirius," Remus whispered. His heart ached. He wrapped his arms around his boyfriend, and Sirius pressed his damp face into the crook of Remus's neck in a way that was decidedly more like a lover than a friend, but today, Remus didn't care if Dumbledore—if anyone—saw. "I'm so sorry," he murmured as Sirius's body shook with sobs. "I'm so sorry. Regulus was a good person, Sirius. He was coming around. I know he was."

"Indeed, it seemed that he was," Dumbledore said sadly. Remus pulled away from Sirius, his own eyes wet, and looked up at Dumbledore. "Forgive me," the old man said. "But Sirius's observation is astute. It is uncharacteristic for a pureblood father of a Death Eater to express such dismay over a son's sacrifice to the Dark Lord."

"What are you saying?" Sirius asked, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. Dumbledore reached in his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief.

"That perhaps your father knew something more of Regulus's death. Perhaps he did not die in service of Voldemort after all. Perhaps your dedication to Regulus was not in vain."

"But how can we know?" Sirius looked skeptical, but Remus knew they'd cling to this bit of hope for the rest of their lives. "How did my father know?"

"Perhaps Kreacher told him what he would not tell anyone else," Dumbledore said, shaking his head. "We may never know the truth of Regulus's death. We can only hope."

Sirius nodded silently. He blinked at Remus, eyelashes wet with tears. "You look nice today," he said softly, reaching out to touch Remus's dress robes.

Remus smiled halfheartedly. "Thanks," he said. "I borrowed the robes from James."

"It went well today, then?" Dumbledore asked Remus, pouring them each another cup of tea. "Meeting with the child?"

Remus nodded. "Yeah. It did." He didn't elaborate. They sat together, drinking their tea in silence, until they heard the sound of the Floo from the other room.

"Hello? Okay to come in?" a voice called from the fireplace.

"It's James," Remus said, looking at Sirius.

Sirius nodded, "Yeah, let him in." He wiped his face with Dumbledore's handkerchief and sat up a bit straighter.

"Come in," Remus called to James. "We're in the kitchen."

"I have news!" James shouted. Remus winced at the enthusiasm. A moment later, James bounded into the room. "Wait till you hear—"

He stopped short at the sight of Dumbledore seated at the tiny kitchen table, taking in Remus's tired expression and Sirius's swollen eyes. "Sir—Professor Dumbledore—what's going on?"

"Have a seat and a cup of tea," Dumbledore said, gesturing to the table. "We, too, have news."

By the time they had told James the whole story, they'd all switched from tea to firewhiskey. "What happens now?" James asked, draining his glass. "Will you see your mother? Will you go to the funeral?"

Remus flushed; he'd nearly forgotten about Walburga. Sirius looked at Dumbledore. "I suppose I'd better," he said. "For the Order, right? I can go as the repentant son, get some information…"

Remus shook his head. "That's not right," he said. "It's not fair—your brother just died, for God's sake."

"As your friend, I agree with Remus," Dumbledore said, looking at Sirius. "But as the leader of the Order of the Phoenix, I have to agree that your plan may be especially effective right now."

"I'll do it."

Dumbledore nodded and turned to James. "Now, Mr. Potter. I seem to recall that you also had news to share. Please do, if it is fit for an old man's ears, that is."

James bit his lip and looked around the table at them. "Now might not be the time," he said finally. "It's—"

"If it's happy news, then you'd better share it," Sirius said glumly. "I could use it."

"All right," James said. There was a hint of grin on the corners of his mouth, and Remus felt a flutter of anticipation, almost as if they were back at school and James was going to reveal his newest prank.

"Lily's pregnant. We're getting married."

"What a day," Sirius said later that night, pulling the covers up over his head in bed. Remus climbed in beside him, resting his head on Sirius's pillow. "What a fucking day."

"I know," Remus said. He placed a steady hand on Sirius's chest. "It's shit, this war."

"It is shit." Sirius rolled over to face him. "But then there's James, that idiot. Haven't those kids heard of a contraceptive potion?"

Remus snorted. "You don't think they did it on purpose, do you?"

"Wouldn't put it past them," Sirius said thoughtfully. He closed his eyes and was silent for so long that Remus thought he had fallen asleep, until a tear dripped down his cheek.

"Oh, Sirius," Remus whispered, wiping it away with his thumb. "I'm so sorry." He pulled Sirius close to him, just like he had that night in the tent, when Sirius had first told Remus about Regulus and the Dark Mark. The first time they'd kissed. He'd been so angry with Sirius about the prank on Snape. It felt like a lifetime ago.

"Things are only going to get worse before they get better, aren't they?" Sirius asked.

"I'm afraid so," Remus said, stroking Sirius's dark hair. "But we're doing everything we can right now. Maybe James' baby will grow up in a better world because of the Order. Because of us." He tried to remember what Sirius had told him on that second morning in the tent. "Just worry about now. Only now, okay?"

Because now feels pretty damn good, Sirius had said on that morning before he kissed Remus goodbye and Remus had tripped and cut open his knee. They'd never bought the round of butterbeer they owed their friends, he realized suddenly. The attack on the apothecary had interrupted their plans.

"Now doesn't feel very good anymore," Sirius said, reading Remus's thoughts.

"I know," Remus said, holding him. "But it's all we've got."