Sirius awoke with no small measure of vim and vigour. This uncharacteristic display of energy and enthusiasm was borne, primarily, from the belief that he was — at last — making progress with Lupin.

Not that Sirius was in any way mentally addled — he knew very well that Lupin did not love him. Indeed, most of the time, it seemed that Lupin struggled to even like him.

Yet, in spite of this, Sirius found himself filled with hope for his future prospects of marital felicity.

There were two simple reasons for Sirius' optimism.

The first being; He had offered a number of compliments to Lupin last night, and only half of them had been rejected outright. Given Lupin's propensity to fight him at every turn, their only vaguely hostile evening together at Grimmauld was — to Sirius' mind at least — significant progress.

The second (and altogether more exciting) reason being; That there had been a moment, when Sirius had leaned towards Lupin across the pianoforte, that Lupin's cheeks had pinked and his eyes had roved freely — hungrily, Sirius fancied — across his face and body. Naturally, Sirius felt the only reasonable explanation for Lupin's looking was a growing sense of attraction towards him.

It was the second-ever occasion that Sirius had been the object of Lupin's admiration, even fleetingly — the other being a small moment during their dance at Peverell, when he felt sure that Lupin had looked — and, having looked, enjoyed what he saw.

Sirius knew — had always known, really — that he was handsome.

His mother had often told him so, and all the servants had fussed over what a good-looking lad he was. It had certainly never been a source of insecurity for him. No, his weakness lay in the realm of social performance. Small talk. Niceties. He never could abide the way such pleasantries stuck in his throat, or else left his mouth in an insincere, asinine jumble.

He was not very good, he knew, at sounding genuine.

Even so, he had rationally concluded that any object of his affections could not possibly be indifferent to his appearance — even if they had some sense of his not-insubstantial social deficiency (which surely could be overlooked in view of how very handsome, wealthy and highborn he was — one man could not have everything, after all).

But Lupin's admiration — of any aspect of Sirius' person — was bestowed so sparingly, so grudgingly, that Sirius thought he might be forfeiting his sanity trying to tempt the man.

How do you tempt a man? Sirius wondered. He'd never really had to try before. Usually he just sort of stood around and let other people make the introductions. It was always awkward for him, responding stiffly to the romantic overtures of his shallow-minded admirers. Gentlemen who, for the most part, didn't know a single thing about Sirius — beyond the very fine pedigree of both his name and his face, that is.

And none of them had been very clever.

Sirius sighed wistfully. Lupin was clever.

He knew very well that he would have to marshall his good progress with some sort of follow-up gesture. More conversation. More compliments.

It was tedious, certainly, but it must be done.

Fortunately, he had it on good authority that Lupin would be home alone today. He could drop by, pretend to be surprised at finding him without company…

Yes, Sirius thought, he would call on Lupin.

Invigorated at the prospect of his task, Sirius took prodigious care in dressing, and summoned his horse from the stable. He felt certain that both the compliment he paid Lupin in calling on him, as well as the more intimate setting, would be sufficient to ensure the development of some partiality on Lupin's behalf.

Surely it would be enough for Lupin to recognise Sirius' intentions, and martial his own feelings appropriately so that he might accept Sirius quickly when he did, at last, propose. Only a madman would refuse such a match, after all.

Yes, Sirius had decided that marriage was his object. He could no longer deny the singular attachment and regard he felt for Lupin. He had never met anybody, high or low, capable of making him feel this way. Living apart from Lupin, marrying somebody else… the prospect filled Sirius with little else but misery and dread.

So he would propose. And Lupin would accept. And they would live in peace and happiness at Pemberley.

For his part, Sirius was confident that he would grow on Lupin once they were married, once he was comfortably back where he belonged; at Pemberley. Lupin would, at last, be able to see him for who he truly was, without all the awkwardness.

He could imagine it with such beautiful clarity. Regulus would visit in the summer, and Sirius knew that his brother would love Lupin. He thought it likely that Lupin would, in turn, take quickly to Regulus, as his younger brother was in possession of rather gentle, pleasing manners. Lupin would like the library, of course — Pemberley had quite the collection. And the prospect from the main gallery to the lake, which was very fine. And the grounds, wild and pleasing in equal measure… Yes, Sirius thought that Lupin would love the grounds best of all.

Well, Sirius revised. Maybe he would love Sirius best of all, when all was said and done. It would take time, no doubt. But Sirius could afford be patient once he secured Lupin's hand. Lupin would be comfortable and happy at Pemberley, and Sirius would spoil him horribly. He'd buy him fine clothes, fine books, fine instruments… He'd take Lupin travelling, wherever he wanted to go. He'd even pay tuition fees for Cambridge, if that was what Lupin wanted. Sirius wouldn't mind letting a house in Cambridgeshire for a few years, if it meant that Lupin would get the education he deserved. Lupin would not fail to see, in time, how earnestly Sirius wanted to give him everything — how truly Sirius loved him.

He'll love me. Sirius told himself as he slung a leg over the saddle of his horse, and gripped the reins tightly. In time, he'll love me the way I love him.

Remus had planned on devoting his free morning to letter-writing, but it was not to be.

He owed Lily a reply, along with a full account of every mad thing he'd seen while staying at Hunsford. Lily would certainly be surprised to learn of Mr. Black's appearance at Grimmauld, and his match — the sickly Miss Bellatrix. Remus also had a great deal to tell about the amiable Colonel Longbottom, as well as the regular update on the many adventures of his fool cousin Pettigrew and the most noble Lord Phineas Nigellus Black.

He had just finished penning a rather vivid passage about Lord Phineas' conduct at dinner the night before — omitting, for reasons unclear even to himself, any mention of Black's strange politeness and attempts at flattery — when one of Pettigrew's servants announced a visitor.

Remus waved his letter to dry the ink, and placed a blank sheet over it before nodding for his unexpected guest to be allowed entry.

Mr. Black, of all people, strode in, pulling off his very fine fox-skin riding gloves as he did. He bowed stiffly to Remus. "Mr. Lupin."

Rather taken aback, Remus blurted; "Mr. Black," and automatically sunk into a replying bow, and gestured for Black to take a seat.

Black pulled out a chair to face Remus and sat down, crossing his legs with his gloves in one hand and a walking stick in the other. He shifted uncomfortably, and avoided Remus' eye.

The servant — a heavyset housemaid with red cheeks — bobbed a curtsy before leaving, closing the door behind her. Remus was suddenly struck with the sense of being an animal caught in a box-trap.

"Mrs. Pettigrew and Maria have just now gone into Hunsford village with my cousin." Remus said, figuring that his solitary state required some explanation. "You find me all alone this morning, Mr. Black."

Remus rather thought that it went without saying that Black should therefore leave, but the other gentleman seemed to have no intention of that. He only nodded, grey eyes moving to meet Remus' after a fashion, and offered no further reply.

Indeed, Black did not seem wholly surprised at finding Remus alone — his face was impassive and calm — which struck Remus as very strange, indeed.

Remus returned to his own seat, and shuffled uncomfortably, casting around for something to say. There was no buffer between them now — Remus could hardly ignore Black outright.

"I was just writing a letter to Lily, in London." He said, catching sight of the corner of the letter which he had hastily hidden on the writing desk. "I find I have much to tell her about Grimmauld."

"Ah."

Silence descended upon the room again, thick and heavy.

"Mr. Potter and his friends were well, I hope, when you left London." Remus tried again, feeling very much like he was pulling teeth.

"Perfectly so, I thank you."

Remus resisted the urge to roll his eyes, and wondered again why Black had even come, if he was so resolved to be taciturn and mute. "I understand Mr. Potter has not much idea for ever returning to Peverell."

Black nodded, expression neutral. "It is probable that he may spend very little time there in the future."

"If he means to be there so little, it would be better for the neighbourhood if he gave the place up entirely." Remus said, a little irritably.

Black raised an eyebrow at Remus' tone. "I should not be surprised if he were to give it up, as soon as any eligible purchase offers."

Remus and Mr. Black stared off into the room, each avoiding the other's eye, silent for a long while.

Remus thought it must've been the most agonising interaction he'd ever suffered through — and that was saying something, as he'd known Mr. Black for some months now, and was no stranger to the general sense of discomfort that seemed to follow the other gentleman wherever he went.

After a fashion, Black spoke, surprisingly calm and steady; "This seems a very comfortable house."

Taken aback at his pronouncement that the house was fine, which seemed to carry with it no veiled insult, Remus only managed to nod in response.

Black carried on. "Lord Phineas, I believe, did a great deal to it when Mr. Pettigrew first came to Hunsford."

Remus recovered his voice and replied; "I believe he did. And I'm sure he could not have bestowed his kindness on a more grateful recipient."

Black chuckled and Remus found himself smiling, too. It was odd — very odd.

Remus shook off his feeling of disquiet and resolved to be civil. Emmeline would prefer that he did so, and of course Lily would counsel him to be kind. Especially seeing as Black was clearly making some sort of effort.

"Lord Phineas appears to be very fond of his late husband." Remus said, unable to stop himself casting his gaze over Black's face for any sign of illness or insanity. He'd been so strange, lately, with all of his politeness and his compliments. Remus could not make heads nor tails of it.

"I remember Marius from my youth." Sirius said, seeming entirely sane and well. "He was a good sort of man, and if you can believe it, my Lord uncle was rather less pompous when Marius was alive."

Remus felt a smile curve his lips. "Well, I suppose I cannot imagine him being more pompous."

Sirius chuckled again. "Indeed." He did not wait for silence to descend again before changing topic, to Remus' growing surprise. "Mr. Pettigrew appears extremely fortunate in his choice of wife."

Understatement of the year, Remus thought. "Yes, indeed, he is. Though, seen in a prudential light, it is a good match for her as well."

"I confess, I expected Mr. Pettigrew might make you an offer. He seemed positively smitten when last we met."

He thought this was a rather strange way of reminding Remus that he'd brazenly stolen him from Pettigrew for a dance. "He might've done."

Black cast an assessing gaze Remus' way. "But you rejected him."

"Evidently." Remus smiled wryly. "Does that surprise you, Mr. Black? I am told that it was a very eligible match, for someone of my meager standing."

"Not at all." Black said, voice low and eyes intense. "I know very well you'd never accept somebody like Pettigrew."

Remus tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. "You seem very certain of that."

Black laughed shortly. "Lupin, I hadn't known you a fortnight before I realised how very disinclined you were to suffer fools. And you will forgive me for saying so, but your cousin must be the biggest fool ever to make my acquaintance."

"That is a singularly ungenerous assessment." Remus said mildly, as though he didn't completely agree. He leaned back in his chair. "I should reprimand you for speaking so."

"But you won't." Black said softly. "You won't."

"Whyever not? I reprimand you for almost everything else you say."

Black burst into laughter. It sounded genuine and mirthful — his head thrown back to expose the pale column of his throat and the sharp line of his jaw.

He looked very handsome when he laughed like that, his eyes crinkling in the corners… Remus saw a radiance there which entirely surprised him.

"Perhaps I like it." Black then said, still smiling that unexpectedly bright smile. "You reprimanding me."

Remus felt as though he had missed a step going down the stairs — his stomach swooped, his mouth felt dry. He started to reply and then found he had no words.

This is strange, he thought. It was as though Black meant to flirt with him.

Black kept looking at Remus, his expression warm and unfamiliar to Remus, before tactfully changing topic. Lightly, he remarked; "It must be very agreeable for Mrs Pettigrew to be settled within so easy a distance of her family."

"An easy distance, do you call it?" Remus frowned. "It's nearly fifty miles."

Black shrugged. "What is fifty miles of good road?" He asked rhetorically. "Yes, I call it a very easy distance."

Remus thought. "I suppose near and far are relative terms... It is possible to be settled too near one's family."

"Yes, exactly." Black said, as though Remus had at last reached the point. He looked Remus straight in the eye; "You would not wish to be always near Longbourn, I think."

Remus was stunned and confused, his mind racing as he frantically tried to sort out the implications of Black's words. Because this really felt like flirting.

But before he could form a reply, Black rose abruptly to leave. "I shall trespass on your time no longer." He bowed shortly. "Please convey my regards to Mrs Pettigrew and her sister."

Remus prepared to stand up, but Black cut him off.

"Er, no, no. Please, don't trouble yourself." Black said, having already paced halfway across the room. He nodded once more in Remus' direction before swiftly shutting the drawing-room door behind him.

Remus — already half-risen from his seat — blinked in bewilderment before slumping back down and sighing. Suddenly alone in the room, each word of their conversation now swam in his mind like a bizarre soup of thoughts. To visit, to flirt, to flee… Black's conduct made little sense to him.

As he puzzled over it, one question returned again and again to the forefront of Remus' mind;

What on earth did he mean by all that talk of marriage?

The following day, Remus took the enjoyment of a walk around the outer grounds of Grimmauld Place. He had hoped for solitude, but could not bring himself to be disappointed when Colonel Longbottom called out to him.

"Mr. Lupin!"

The Colonel walked towards him, removing his hat in salutation.

"Colonel Longbottom!" Remus smiled warmly, and moved to meet him halfway.

"I've been making the tour of the park, as I do every year." The Colonel explained with a bright smile. "Shall we take this way together?"

"I'd be delighted."

Remus and Colonel Longbottom began walking, striking up easy conversation as they were prone to do nowadays.

"Do you know Mr. Potter?" Remus asked, realising that he didn't know the answer.

"I know him a little." The Colonel replied. "Potter is a pleasant, gentlemanlike man. I'm sure you know he's a great friend of Black's."

Remus hoped he did not sound too sardonic when he replied; "Mr. Black is uncommonly kind to Mr. Potter, and takes a prodigious deal of care of him."

The Colonel, entirely unaware of Remus' tone, agreed pleasantly; "Oh, yes, I believe Black does take care of him." He paused, as though weighing his next words with care. "I, er, I understand that he congratulates himself on having lately saved Mr. Potter the inconvenience of a most imprudent marriage."

Remus froze. No. He can't mean Lily. He forced himself to remain light and casual as he inquired; "Did Mr. Black give any reason for this interference?"

"I understand there were some very strong objections to the lady."

Remus thought of the way Black and McKinnon had looked down upon the Evanses, and now had little doubt that Colonel Longbottom could be talking of anybody but Lily.

"And why was he to be the judge?" Remus asked sharply, his heart rabbiting away at a furious pace. That bastard, that knave, that scoundrel—

"You are disposed to think his interference, officious?" The Colonel asked, eyes widened in surprise.

"I do not see what right Mr. Black had to determine and direct in what manner his friend was to be happy." Remus replied hotly, before catching himself and taking a breath. He mustn't be so obvious. "...But, as you say, we know none of the particulars. Perhaps there was not much affection in the case."

"Mm, perhaps not, but if that were the case, it would lessen the honour of Black's triumph very sadly, don't you think?" The Colonel laughed, having no notion that Remus' fury was building with every word.

His mind was racing. Black separated Lily from Mr. Potter. Black conspired to take Potter away to London. Black discouraged Potter from pursuing Lily. It all made perfect sense now — Potter's abrupt change of heart, the suddenness with which he had left the Hollow. Remus had credited Miss McKinnon with the lion's share of the manipulation, but now it seemed perfectly obvious that Black had been the architect of this most unhappy situation.

Remus savagely kicked a rock, hissing when it stayed lodged in the ground and stubbed his toe.

The Colonel looked at him strangely. "Mr. Lupin, are you quite well?"

"A sudden headache." Remus said stiffly, trying to ignore the dull throb in his foot and the rage burning in his throat. "Perhaps I've walked too far today."

The Colonel smiled in sudden understanding. "Of course, let us take the shorter way back. You must rest."

The Colonel offered Remus his arm, and Remus accepted as they made to walk back towards Hunsford — all the while his head spinning with rage and sadness and thoughts of Black.

Black had destroyed Lily's best chance at happiness — and Potter's, for that matter — simply because he thought the Evanses unworthy of association with his well-heeled friend. And it was not even the first time Black had ruined somebody's life without remorse — Barty had suffered at his hands, too.

As he walked back to Hunsford, Remus could only think that he had never, in the whole entirety of his life, met somebody as hateful as Sirius Black.