Lydia and Kitty met up with Remus and Lily after London. They had screeched in all a state, waving and jumping from their carriage, to draw Remus and Lily's gaze when they changed at Bromley.

Weary from their travels, Remus and Lily could not admonish the silly pair with as much energy as usual. They consented to dinner at the local inn, and endured their company with the hopes of falling into their beds post-haste.

"Now I have got some news for you," said Lydia, as they sat down at the table. "What do you think? It is excellent news—capital news—and about a certain person we all like!"

Lily and Remus shared a significant look. Ignorant of this, Lydia laughed and said: "It is about dear Barty! There is no danger of his marrying Miss King — She is gone down to her uncle at Liverpool: gone to stay. Barty is safe."

"More like Miss King is safe," replied Remus. "Safe from a connection imprudent as to fortune."

"Oh, nobody cares about that sort of thing these days." Lydia scoffed. "She is a great fool for going away if she liked him, if you ask me."

"I hope there was no strong attachment on either side," Lily fretted, and Remus regarded her with astonishment that she could still worry about Barty now that she knew his true character.

"I am sure there is not on his side. I will answer for it, he never cared three straws about her—who could about such a nasty little freckled thing?"

Sirius languished in the parlour at James' London house, his clothes rumpled and his mood dark.

"Am I a bad person?"

James, who was observing his friend with no small measure of concern, straightened up at once.

"Of course not." James said. "Sirius, what on earth happened at Grimmauld? You haven't been yourself since you returned."

Sirius huffed, and dragged a hand through his raven hair. He deliberated, and at length he spoke, keeping his voice deceptively light; "I met Lupin in my travels, did I tell you that?"

James blinked. "No, you didn't."

"I asked him to marry me."

It spoke to the true success of Sirius' performance of indifference towards Lupin that even James, who thought very well of the man, could only respond with astonished silence.

Recovering himself, James shuffled uncomfortably. "And he—"

"Declined." Sirius answered in a clipped voice. "Most vehemently."

James winced. "Well, maybe—"

"He said I was conceited and proud… ungentlemanlike." Sirius thought it might be better to summarise the whole unhappy business quickly, like ripping gauze from a wound. "He said he would not consent to marry me if I was the last man on earth, and—" he faltered, the dull ache in his chest growing more acute as he forced the words out "—and that I was—erm, an arrogant, bitter, miserable v—virgin." He swallowed, having forced the words out, and concluded thickly; "Among other things."

"Oh, Sirius…" James sighed, and placed a comforting hand on his leg. "I'm sorry. I know you liked him."

"Very much." Sirius screwed his eyes shut, shame burning in his gullet at the thought that he might cry over Lupin like some sort of hysterical girl. "I love him. Still."

"I know, Pads." James said softly, rubbing comforting circles into Sirius' back. "I know."

"This is loathsome," Sirius felt the hot prickling of tears in his eyes in earnest now, as every miserable thought he'd had since Grimmauld finally came tumbling out. "I wish I cared not for him... that things might go back to the way they were before."

"I don't." James said simply. "Sirius, coming to love another is never bad, even— even when it doesn't go our way."

Dimly, Sirius registered that James might not just be talking about him and Lupin.

"How do you figure?" Sirius pressed. "What part of this could possibly lead to goodness? I have been rejected, scorned, humiliated— "

"Such experiences can make us better men." James answered plainly. "But only if we let them." He pondered a moment, then added; "And I doubt it was Lupin's intention to humiliate you. He is not that sort of fellow, to ridicule without occasion."

"Indeed he is not." Sirius let his head drop back against a cushion, and massaged his temples wearily. "Alas, I fear he had occasion. His actions make perfect sense, you see, in light of his understanding of my own character."

"He was not afforded the opportunity to know you as the rest of us do." James reasoned. "You did not let him."

With a sigh, Sirius conceded this point. "I did not." He mulled over James' words for a moment. "Remus was right about me, I know he was." Sirius then admitted. "About my… arrogance, and pride."

James looked somewhat disquieted by this proclamation, he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Well, nobody is perfect, after all. And you really are much better when you have the advantage of picking your society — nobody at Pemberley would ever believe you arrogant."

"A weak excuse." Sirius scoffed, "it only proves I know perfectly well how to behave, and yet make no effort to do so when I deem the company beneath me — complacency and hubris of the worst kind."

"I'm sure it's not quite—"

"I thought myself better than all the Hollow, James." Sirius said flatly. "Do not pretend that you would ever contrive to think that way yourself, on the basis of status or money."

"Well, no." James admitted. "But you have realised now, haven't you? Seen the error of your ways? So really, this is a good thing!"

Sirius only became more miserable in the face of James' feeble optimism; "Remus will never return my love."

To this James had no reply, no false comfort or weak assurance. He only patted Sirius on the shoulder again, and looked solemn.

"I accused him of sleeping with Crouch." Sirius admitted. "And… a number of other people. 'Half the Hollow' , specifically."

"Oh, Sirius…"

"I know, I know!" Sirius waved off James' condemnation. "Does it at all matter that I am hideously sorry about it? That I know how wrong and crude it was to address him so?"

"A little." James said. "A very little."

Sirius sighed heavily. "I have lost him forever."

"Probably." James said, a note of pity creeping back into his voice. "But you may have the opportunity of throwing yourself at his feet and begging his forgiveness at some point in the future. What a sight that will be! You must ensure that I do not miss it — it would be so very funny to see you grovel, like watching a dog walk on its hind-legs."

"With friends such as you, one could do without enemies." Sirius muttered peevishly. "I am in pain, James. I thought you were sorry for me."

"I find that I am less sorry the more I hear of the matter."

Sirius huffed and glowered half-heartedly at his friend, who was unmoved.

"I will do better." Sirius then said, finding some small kernel of resolve amidst his despair. "Regardless of the hopelessness of the situation, I think I must allow Lupin's honesty and frankness to leave their rightful mark on me."

"I think so." James agreed. "And who knows? Maybe he will even change his mind someday, if you see each other again and he finds you so reformed. And has a concussion. And has gone blind and mistakes you for somebody more agreeable."

Sirius laughed unwillingly, before turning somber once more; "I doubt it. All acquaintance between us is now dissolved — I cannot imagine where I would happen across him." It ached to think that he might never see Remus' face again, but he pushed past the feeling. "But it matters not. His good opinion is not the object. I only wish to improve myself — to honour the indelible mark he has left on my soul. He has changed me, James — heart and mind."

"I can see that, what with all this talk of hearts and souls — it is most unlike you." James said, adding; "I am sorry to find you so sad."

"It is only what I deserve." Sirius said. "Please, do not trouble yourself fretting over me. Pray, go bother Marlene instead."

"She has been out of spirits too, ever since Dorcas left for Somerset." James mused. "I must say, this is a rather gloomy house at present!"

The first week of Lily and Remus' return to Longbourn was soon gone.

Their reception at home was most kind. Mrs Evans rejoiced to see Lily in undiminished beauty; and more than once during dinner did Mr. Evans say voluntarily to Remus: "I am glad you have come back, my boy." And Remus was given to the impression that his Uncle had not fared well in the absence of sensible company.

As the second began, a great commotion stole over the Evans household. It was the last of the regiment's stay in the Hollow, and all the youths in the neighbourhood were miserable.

The dejection was almost universal. It seemed that Lily and Remus alone were still able to eat, drink, and sleep, and pursue the usual course of their employments. Very frequently were they reproached for this insensibility by Kitty and Lydia, whose own misery was extreme, and who could not comprehend such hard-heartedness in any of the family.

"Good Heaven! what is to become of us? What are we to do?" They would often exclaim in bitterness and woe. "How can you be smiling so, Remus?"

Mrs Evans shared all their grief; she remembered what she had herself endured on a similar occasion, five-and-twenty years ago; "I am sure," said she, "I cried for two days together when Colonel Miller's regiment went away. I thought I should have broken my heart."

"I am sure I shall break mine ," said Lydia.

"If only we could all go to Brighton!" said Mrs Evans.

"Oh, yes! There would be balls—we could go sea-bathing!"

"A little sea-bathing would set me up forever."

"And I am sure it would do me a great deal of good," added Kitty.

"And yet I am unmoved." Said Mr. Evans, flatly.

Such lamentations and quarrels resounding perpetually throughout Longbourn. Remus tried to be amused by them, but all sense of pleasure was lost in shame. He felt anew the justice of Black's criticisms; and never had he been so much disposed to pardon his interference in the matter of Lily and Mr. Potter.

At least , he thought, the Regiment would soon be gone . Remus thought the family could do very well without that particular source of embarrassment.

Alas, both the gloom of Lydia's prospects and the accompanying silver lining of Remus' were shortly cleared away - for Lydia received an invitation from Mrs. Forster, the wife of the colonel of the regiment, to accompany her to Brighton. This invaluable friend was a very young woman, and very lately married. A resemblance in good humour and good spirits had recommended her and Lydia to each other, and out of their three months' acquaintance they had been intimate two.

The rapture of Lydia on this occasion, her adoration of Mrs. Forster, the delight of Mrs. Evans, and the mortification of Kitty, are scarcely to be described. Wholly inattentive to her sister's feelings, Lydia flew about the house in restless ecstasy, calling for everyone's congratulations, and laughing and talking with more violence than ever; whilst the luckless Kitty continued in the parlour repined at her fate in terms as unreasonable as her accent was peevish.

"I cannot see why Mrs. Forster should not ask me as well as Lydia," said she, "Though I am not her particular friend. I have just as much right to be asked as she has, and more too, for I am two years older."

In vain did Remus attempt to make her reasonable, and Lily to make her resigned.

As for Remus himself, this invitation was so far from exciting in her the same feelings as in his Aunt and Lydia, that he considered it as the death warrant of all possibility of common sense for the latter; and detestable as such a step must make him were it known, he could not help secretly advising her father not to let her go.

Remus represented to Mr. Evans all the improprieties of Lydia's general behaviour, the little advantage she could derive from the friendship of such a woman as Mrs. Forster, and the probability of her being yet more imprudent with such a companion at Brighton, where the temptations must be greater than at home.

Mr. Evans heard Remus attentively, and then said: "Lydia will never be easy until she has exposed herself in some public place or other, and we can never expect her to do it with so little expense or inconvenience to her family as under the present circumstances."

"If you were aware," argued Remus, "of the very great disadvantage to us all which must arise from the public notice of Lydia's unguarded and imprudent manner—which has already arisen from it, I am sure you would judge differently."

"Already arisen?" repeated Mr. Evans. "What, has she frightened away some of your lovers? Poor Remus! But do not be cast down. Such squeamish youths as cannot bear to be connected with a little absurdity are not worth a regret." He smiled widely. "Come, let me see the list of pitiful fellows who have been kept aloof by Lydia's folly."

"Indeed you are mistaken." Remus said stiffly. "I have no such injuries to resent. It is not of particular, but of general evils... Our importance, our respectability in the world must be affected by the wild volatility, the assurance and disdain of all restraint which mark Lydia's character. Excuse me, for I must speak plainly. If you, my dear Uncle, will not take the trouble of checking her exuberant spirits, she will soon be beyond the reach of amendment. Her character will be fixed, and she will, at sixteen, be the most determined flirt that ever made herself or her family ridiculous."

"Now, Remus…"

"In this danger Kitty also is comprehended. She will follow wherever Lydia leads. Vain, ignorant, idle, and absolutely uncontrolled! My dear Uncle, can you not see that they will be censured and despised wherever they are known, and that all their nearest relations will be involved in the disgrace?"

Mr. Evans saw that Remus' whole heart was in the subject, and affectionately taking his hand said in reply: "Do not make yourself uneasy, my dear nephew. Wherever you and Lily are known you must be respected and valued; and you will not appear to less advantage for having a couple of—or I may say, three—very silly sisters. We shall have no peace at Longbourn if Lydia does not go to Brighton. Colonel Forster is a sensible man, and will keep her out of any real mischief; and she is luckily too poor to be an object of prey to anybody. At Brighton she will be of less importance even as a common flirt than she has been here. The officers will find women better worth their notice. Let us hope, therefore, that her being there may teach her her own insignificance. At any rate, she cannot grow many degrees worse, without authorising us to lock her up for the rest of her life."

With this answer Remus was forced to be silent on the matter; but his own opinion continued the same, and he left the study disappointed and sorry. It was not in Remus' nature, however, to increase his vexations by dwelling on them. He was confident of having performed his duty, and to fret over unavoidable evils, or augment them by anxiety, was no part of his disposition.

On your head be it, he thought as he surveyed his Uncle just before dinner that night. Whatever misfortune comes, don't say I didn't warn you .

Unhappily, Remus could not avoid seeing Barty before his regiment departed, now that Lydia was to join the party in Brighton.

He came by Longbourn, as handsome and smooth as ever, and Remus consented to take a turn around the garden with him. Dimly, Remus felt Lydia's eyes boring into the back of his head in jealousy, and knew that he would be reprimanded for keeping Barty to himself later on.

"I hear that you ran afoul of Black at Grimmauld Place." Barty ventured, and Remus smiled politely in response.

"I wouldn't say I ran afoul , but it is true that I saw him there, yes."

There was a pause, and then Barty asked; "How long did you say he was there?"

"Nearly three weeks."

"And you saw him frequently?"

"Yes, almost every day."

"I always marvelled at how Black's manners are so very different from his cousin's — the Colonel."

"Yes, very different." Remus agreed. "Colonel Longbottom is very amiable. But I think Mr. Black improves upon acquaintance."

Barty looked surprised, displeased, alarmed; but with a moment's recollection and a returning smile, and cried; "Indeed!" with a look which did not escape Remus, "And pray, may I ask—" But checking himself, he added, in a gayer tone, "Is it in address that he improves? Has he deigned to add aught of civility to his ordinary style?—for I dare not hope," he continued in a lower and more serious tone, "that he is improved in essentials."

"Oh, no," said Remus warmly, "in essentials, I believe, he is very much what he ever was."

While he spoke, Barty looked as if scarcely knowing whether to rejoice over his words, or to distrust their meaning.

There was a something in his countenance which made him listen with an apprehensive and anxious attention, while Remus added: "When I said that he improved on acquaintance, I did not mean that his mind or his manners were in a state of improvement, but that, from knowing him better, his disposition was better understood."

Barty's alarm now appeared in a heightened complexion and agitated look; for a few minutes he was silent, till, shaking off his embarrassment, he turned to Remus again, and said in the gentlest of accents: "You, who so well know my feeling towards Mr. Black, will readily comprehend how sincerely I must rejoice that he is wise enough to assume even the appearance of what is right. I only fear that the sort of cautiousness to which you have been alluding is merely adopted on his visits to his Lord Uncle, of whose good opinion and judgement he stands much in awe. His fear of Lord Phineas has always operated, I know, when they were together; and a good deal is to be imputed to his wish of forwarding the match with Miss Bellatrix, which I am certain he has very much at heart."

Remus could not repress a smile at this, but answered only by a slight inclination of the head. He saw that Barty wanted to engage him on the old subject of his grievances, and he was in no humour to indulge him.

The rest of the evening passed with the appearance, on his side, of usual cheerfulness, but with no further attempt to single out Remus; and they parted at last with mutual civility, and possibly a mutual desire of never meeting again.

A/N: The Sirius portion of this chapter was written while listening to "Hopelessly Devoted To You" on repeat for about an hour and a half, and I think it probably shows.

I am speeding through the Sirius-and-Remus-being-apart content as quickly as possible! It was lovely to write some Sirius POV stuff though, I feel a lot more freedom to play with those bits for obvious reasons (less risk of damaging the pristine genius of the original P&P plot).