10 September 1995

"Remus! You're back!"

Remus looked blearily at the kitchen table, where Tonks and Sirius were drinking morning coffee. He had returned to England from Bulgaria past midnight, and he'd only been able to catch a few hours of sleep after getting back.

Every month since July, he had spent the days around the full moons scouting parts of eastern Europe, looking for werewolf packs that had sympathized with Voldemort during the first war—to see if they could be turned. So far, every mission had been a wash. It was near-impossible to gain trust with werewolves when you were an outsider—especially an outsider who clearly lived among humans. To gain their trust, Remus knew, you had to join them.

Tonks's bright, twinkling eyes were making Remus feel even more exhausted. He was in no mood for games—but clearly, she had other ideas. Remus eyed the copy of Witch Weekly she had spread out between herself and Sirius warily.

"Want to play a round? It'll help you wake up," Tonks chirped, knocking an elbow into her coffee mug as she held up the magazine. "Sirius is playing," she added.

Remus raised an eyebrow at Sirius, who shook his head in exasperation, though he half-smiled—one of the first Remus had seen in weeks.

"What are we playing?" Remus asked cautiously.

Tonks grinned. "It's a personality quiz," she said.

Remus blinked. "What—?"

"It's something my roommates and I used to do all the time at Hogwarts," Tonks explained, smoothing the copy of Witch Weekly out on the table again. "Every issue, they publish these questions with five answer choices. You pick one, and it tells us what kind of a person you are."

Remus shook his head. "You can figure me out with one question?" he asked in amusement.

Tonks smirked. "Oh, please, Lupin. I figured you out weeks ago."

Bizarrely, Remus felt his face heat up at the look on Tonks's face. Across the table, Sirius snorted into his mug.

"All right, this question works out what kind of person you are when it comes to romance," Tonks said. Remus almost choked on his coffee, and Sirius grinned more broadly than ever, his gray eyes gleaming.

"'You're at a party, and you see…a witch you fancy," Tonks read in a hushed, dramatic voice. "How do you get her attention? Do you, a, chat her up using a line; b, strike up a conversation about something you know she likes; c, try to impress her with some skillful charmwork; d, ask her to dance; or e, ask her if you can refresh her drink?'"

Tonks looked up at Remus expectantly, her dark eyes twinkling with laughter as always. Remus gaped at her for a moment. Then, in spite of himself, he let out a hoarse chuckle.

"You're bluffing, right?" Remus asked, grinning. "Where's option f—ask her about her views on werewolves and their right to a place in Wizarding society?"

"Yeah, I can't seem to find one that matches my approach either," Sirius said, frowning down at the magazine in what appeared to be deep contemplation; it was ruined by the smirk in his eyes. "You know, tell the girl that I'm a convicted mass murderer on the run from the government."

Remus snorted with laughter, and Sirius grinned at him.

"Oh, ha, ha, both of you," Tonks said huffily, snatching the magazine back from Sirius with a roll of her eyes. "Really, the way you both talk about yourselves, it's like you think you're dragons or something."

"Well, not a dragon, per se," Sirius said in a voice filled with amusement, leaning back in his chair lazily. "Though I reckon a dragon would probably be treated more kindly by Aurors than I would, if it walked into Diagon Alley right now."

"Oh, stuff it," Tonks admonished, smacking the back of Sirius's head with the magazine. Sirius spluttered in indignation, and Tonks immediately hid the magazine behind her back, grinning.

Remus let the familiar sounds of Tonks and Sirius squabbling fill him up, smiling to himself as he sipped his coffee. He couldn't deny that he felt far, far more awake now.


19 September 1995

"All right, I've got one," Tonks whispered through the darkness, as she and Remus continued their slow trek down Upper Flagley's Main Street, keeping an eye out for disturbances.

Remus looked sideways at her, half-amused, half-exasperated. "Shoot."

Somehow, in the past nine days, Remus had found himself partaking in more personality quizzes than he had in the past thirty-five years. It had become something of a bizarre ritual between himself and Tonks, a way to pass the time while they were on assignment together—which, recently, had been quite often.

"You've just found out that you've got a day left to live," Tonks said under her breath. "Do you spend your final hours with, a, your family or, b, your closest friends?"

"Well, that's an easy one," Remus said wryly. "Friends, of course. I haven't got any family left."

Tonks turned to stare at him—and though the street was cloaked in darkness, Remus could just make out her stunned expression. "None at all?"

"That I know of," Remus said, shrugging. "I reckon my mum's still got some living relatives—but I never knew any of them. My parents cut off contact with everyone when I was…when I was—four."

Tonks was quiet for several moments. Remus glanced at her. She was frowning intensely, a deep crease flourishing between her eyebrows.

"Everything all right?" Remus asked gently.

Tonks jumped, looking embarrassed. "Yeah—yes, sorry," she said quickly. "I just…I was thinking…how…well, how unfair it is that you missed out on knowing your family because of something outside your control."

Remus blinked, startled by her tone, which sounded almost—frustrated. "My parents didn't have a choice."

"Didn't they, though?" Tonks said, eyeing him curiously. "I mean, yes—worst case scenario, your mum's family would have been horrified to learn what had happened to you and wanted nothing to do with your parents anymore. But…didn't you deserve the chance to find that out for yourself?"

Remus was stunned into silence. Even as a child, he had never, ever questioned his parents' decision to keep him more or less hidden from the world. He knew the stress and the fear his condition inflicted on their lives, and he'd never wanted to make things harder for them than they needed to be. Having a young werewolf underfoot had always complicated things for his mum and dad—and it had shaved years and years off both their lives, in the process…

Remus turned abruptly to Tonks. "How did you feel, when you found out?" he asked.

Tonks looked confused. "Sorry?"

"I mean, about me being…a werewolf," Remus lowered his voice, glancing around cautiously. "I just realized, it never came up between us—I got the sense you'd found out before we even met."

Tonks shrugged. "Yeah, I think Mad-Eye told me."

Remus paused in his tracks, staring at Tonks disbelievingly. It was a moment before she seemed to realize that he wasn't walking alongside her anymore—she turned and looked around at him in bewilderment.

"Remus?"

"You think Mad-Eye told you?" Remus asked slowly. "You don't remember?"

Tonks furrowed her eyebrows, which—like her hair—were dark brown that night, in order to maintain inconspicuity. "Well, I suppose it could've been someone else that told me," she said slowly. "Bill, maybe?" She stared at him, looking disconcerted. "What does it matter?"

"I don't—just…how can you not remember?" Remus asked, shaking his head. Tonks blinked. "Don't you—don't you remember how you felt, when you found out?"

"How was I supposed to feel?" Tonks asked him steadily, her gaze even. "It's just a fact, Remus."

"You must have had some sort of a reaction," Remus maintained, keeping his voice as calm as he possibly could, despite the fact that his heart was slamming against his ribs with every word. "Everybody does—even in the Order. Hell, even Mad-Eye couldn't hide his reaction from me when Dumbledore told everybody in the first Order."

"I didn't care, Remus," Tonks said in a measured voice—too measured. "I suppose, if anything, I felt sad for you. It can't be easy dealing with that, in addition to everything else you've got going on right now."

Remus looked at her for a long moment; his head felt in danger of exploding. Then, he shook his head sharply. "I'm sorry—I just don't believe it. It's not—you must have felt something about joining an organization that has a werewolf in it—"

"Remus, enough," Tonks said sharply, losing her patience at last. Remus stopped short, staring at her. For a moment, Tonks just stared back at him, breathing deeply, her expression filled with impatience. But then— "Think," she snapped, taking a step toward him, eyes blazing. "Think, for just one second, who you're talking to right now. My mum was forced to turn her back on her entire family just because of who she fell in love with, and my dad's life in the Wizarding world started at a time when Muggle-born wizards like him were being shunned, and tortured, and murdered—every day."

Remus gaped at her.

"I grew up hearing the same thing over and over again—that everybody in this world is equal, no matter what they are or where they came from. Muggle-born, pure-blood, Veela, werewolf—who gives a rat's arse?" Tonks demanded, and the intense glint in her eyes was unmistakable, despite the lack of light. "D'you honestly think I'm going to think less of you because of a condition that is completely and scientifically outside of your control?"

Remus was lost for words. He could do nothing but gaze at Tonks in astonishment as she scrutinized him through shrewd, narrowed eyes for several moments, waiting for him to argue. At last, when it seemed to become clear to her that arguing was the furthest thing from Remus's mind, her expression softened, and she bit her lip, looking slightly guilty. Shaking her head, she reached out and patted his arm.

"C'mon," she said gently. "We've still got four more blocks to patrol tonight."

And without conscious thought, Remus turned and followed her mutely down the street, his mind still reeling from all the things she had said.


31 October 1995

September faded into October in a flurry of cold, biting weather, and Remus found himself supremely grateful to be kept so busy on this month of all months. He traveled to Croatia for the full moon, he took his turns at guard duty in the Department of Mysteries, and he went up to Hogsmeade a couple times per week to keep an eye out for trouble near the school. And on the rare occasions that he wasn't traversing the continent for the Order, he was more than happy to hole himself up in Sirius's father's old library in Grimmauld Place, researching defensive spellwork theory for Dumbledore.

Other Order members dropped by the house every so often, though never for long, each busy with their own assignments. With their children back in school, Molly and Arthur had moved back into their own home, which left Sirius all by himself in the dreary, old house for long periods of time.

Tonks's visits were usually a little longer than others' and brought some much-needed joy to the dismal townhouse—and to Sirius's mood. With Dumbledore's permission, Tonks was even able to arrange for her mother to visit Sirius in Grimmauld Place several times. Seeing Andromeda again did more good for Sirius than any Cheering Charm or Laughing Solution could have hoped to, and Remus suspected that the visits had been equally invaluable to Andromeda.

But as autumn swept in with a vengeance, Halloween approached all too quickly. Remus didn't even realize that the blasted day had arrived until late in the evening, when he was walking down Grimmauld Place to the townhouse and found the street crowded with swarms of giggling, costumed children.

Remus almost groaned out loud. Every year, Remus thought that the intense, crippling pain of losing James and Lily must have dissipated with time—and every year, on this wretched day, he was proven wrong. For a long while, Remus stood outside Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, seriously considering finding some Muggle pub or bar to haunt for the night, where he could drown himself in his woeful memories in peace.

But then, gazing at the front door of the townhouse, Remus knew what he had to do. Sirius, who was hurting just as much as he was, who surely wanted to claw his own eyes out as much as Remus did, couldn't just leave. He was stuck in this horrible old house, with all his horrible thoughts—and on this day of all days, Remus knew that he owed it to Sirius to stick it out with him.

Letting himself into the house, Remus threw his cloak on the cloak stand and stood in the foyer for a moment. Then, following his gut, he traced the familiar path down the basement stairs. Sure enough, Sirius was seated at the kitchen table. A bottle of Ogden's Old was already open in front of him, along with a filled glass.

"Got started early today, did we?" Remus asked quietly, slipping into the seat across Sirius's.

"Cheers," Sirius muttered, not looking up. With a flick of his wand, Remus conjured a scotch glass for himself and slid it across the table toward Sirius. Without missing a beat, Sirius picked up the bottle and poured a generous amount of firewhisky into the glass.

In unison, they lifted their glasses, then drained them.

"Ungh," Remus shook his head, grimacing. "Never does go down easier, does it?"

"Only one way to fix that," Sirius said flatly, picking up the bottle again. "Have another."

And so, they did.

By their sixth drink, Remus was beginning to feel the edges of his mind grow fuzzier, his body relax. Leaning back in his chair, Remus gazed across the table at Sirius. Though his friend's eyes were bloodshot, his posture was unnervingly still and composed, as always. Out of the four of them, Sirius had always been able to hold his liquor best, and it was clear that a decade in Azkaban hadn't changed that. James always became sloppy and sentimental after a drink too many, while Peter just turned redder and redder until he passed out on the nearest flat surface.

As for Remus…well, he'd never gotten good enough at the drinking thing to drink Sirius under the table. For even at his worst, though it felt wonderful to blur and distort his emotions temporarily, the pain had always been twice as unbearable the next morning.

"Did I tell you Harry's started that secret defense club?"

Remus blinked, peering blearily at Sirius through the haze of alcohol. "Secret defense club?"

"Dung heard about it when he was on guard duty in Hogsmeade—it's because of that Umbridge woman," Sirius sneered, swilling his firewhisky around in his glass. "Hermione came up with the idea of Harry teaching defense to their year, so they could actually pass their O.W.L.s."

Remus felt a familiar surge of anger at the mention of Umbridge, who, with her Anti-Werewolf Act two years ago, had all but made it impossible for Remus to ever find a paying job in the Wizarding world again. Gritting his teeth, Remus raised his glass and took a long drink, swallowing heavily.

"Good for them," he said firmly.

In spite of his inebriated state, Sirius turned and looked at him in surprise, the ghost of a smile lifting a corner of his mouth. "Didn't expect you to encourage the rule-breaking so heartily, mate."

Remus laughed shortly, reaching for the firewhisky bottle and pouring himself a seventh glass. "Well, I did hang around you and James for ten years, didn't I?"

At the mention of James, the mood sobered quickly. Sirius's face clamped up again, and his jaw stiffened. Remus could practically see the bitterness swallowing up his friend, and he cursed himself for assisting it.

Silence stretched between them. Somewhere beyond the kitchen cabinets, Remus could hear a clock ticking.

Then, finally—

"You know, I thought I'd feel differently, with the Order and everything," Sirius said baldly, staring down at his glass. "But I don't. I still want to rip Peter limb from limb."

Remus gazed at his friend. Sirius closed his eyes for a long moment, releasing a slow, deep breath; then, opening his eyes, he faced Remus again.

"Godric, I want to kill him, Remus," he said in an eerily steady voice. "I could do it. You know I could."

Remus swallowed hard, unable to tear his eyes away from Sirius's frighteningly even gaze. "I know you could," he agreed quietly. "I could, too—but—Sirius, you have to know…it's not worth it. It's a risk not worth wasting on that rat—we'd either, a, be caught and imprisoned or, b, get ourselves killed."

To Remus's surprise, Sirius let out a bark of laughter, his eyes gleaming. "Merlin, you sound like Tonks with those bloody answer choices," he said in an amused voice—and in spite of himself, Remus flushed slightly. "But real life isn't like that," Sirius continued, and his expression hardened. "You don't get to weigh your options—you have to choose quickly and, if you're bloody wrong, you'll bloody well spend the rest of your goddamn life dealing with the consequences."

Remus closed his eyes, his heart sinking. Another long, painful silence filled the air between them, punctuated only by the occasional clink of the firewhisky bottle against glass.

"I'm sorry," Remus whispered finally.

It seemed to take Sirius an eternity to understand that Remus's words were directed at him. At last, eyebrows furrowed, he looked up and caught Remus's gaze. "What on Earth are you sorry for?"

Remus swallowed the terrible aching in his throat. "For not giving you better choices," he said hoarsely. "For not standing up to you, even when it became clear to me that you didn't trust me anymore. For not taking anything seriously enough—because I never—I never thought anything could happen to James and Lily—they seemed so untouchable, and so I left them alone, all alone…"

"Remus," Sirius said sharply, reaching out and seizing his forearm. "Remus, stop it."

"I could have stopped it," Remus said, his voice breaking. He could feel the backs of his eyes burning, but he forced the tears back. "I could have done something."

"Damn it, Remus, stop it, will you?" Sirius said fiercely, reaching across the table and shaking Remus's shoulders—hard. "You can't blame yourself. This is my fault—I convinced them to switch the Secret-Keeper, I trusted Peter—and I deserved every bloody second I spent in Azkaban for it—not you."

But Remus shook his head, seizing his hair with both his hands. "I could have stopped it."

Sirius just stared at him, his expression desperate—and it was a moment before Remus realized, with a jolt, that his gray eyes were glistening with tears.

"There's nothing we can do," Sirius said brokenly. "They're gone. Nothing can bring them back, Remus."

And at last, Remus knew he was right. He felt suddenly winded, as though he'd just taken a blow to the stomach. A third silence stretched out between them, as Remus felt the weight of Sirius's words rest heavily above them, ringing in his ears.

"I missed you," Remus whispered finally. "It wasn't just about James and Lily—I hated doing this alone."

Sirius's eyes shone in the dim kitchen light. Shaking his head, he wiped his eyes with the backs of his hands.

"I deserve to do this alone," he said quietly. "But I'm glad I don't have to anymore."


Author's Note:

Only 20 chapters left! *wails*

Ari