Keeping up with my steady pace :) Enjoy!

-Cat


Chapter 27

Escape/Reality

October 31, 1985

Remus Lupin was waking up.

It was... quite painful.

But the pain was clarifying. So Remus waited.

The moment came after the moon had passed. Remus knew what day it was only because Pyrites had told him. October the thirty-first, many years since he'd come here. He curled against the filthy, scarred wall, feigning the indifference that had become far too real. His strength was returning.

When Pyrites' voice stopped (Remus no longer listened) and the footsteps disappeared from above, he moved.

At first it was just a twitch of his fingers. The cellar was dark, but after so long, Remus was used to the dark. Comfortable with it. The flash of sparks was blinding. They jumped from his fingers and tumbled across the stained floor, casting deep shadows. He twitched them again, concentrating harder, squinting his eyes this time.

Light flared up across his eyelids, a weak flame. He did not smile or celebrate. But he did move more of his aching body. Using the wall, he pushed himself to unsteady feet, guarding the tiny flame in his palm by cupping his other hand over it. He breathed shallowly, though his lungs were already bursting, afraid to blow it out. It was the first magic he'd done in a long time. He wasn't sure if he could do it again.

The stairs were difficult. He might have blacked out or pushed his conscious mind aside. Suddenly he was at the top, facing the door. Trembling fingers offered his little flame the dry wood. The flame licked hesitantly at first, then more hungrily, until they ate away around the lock and the door swung open on oiled hinges.

The flame burned out quickly, but now the moonlight spilled into his eyes, burning his retinas with its intensity. He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling dizzy.

Hurry, hurry, he thought to himself. Maybe he even said it out loud. Mouth like cotton he stumbled forward, arms outstretched. His left leg shook beneath him, the crooked bone unwilling to support any weight. He forced it to move.

There would not be much here, in this other world. He risked opening his eyes a sliver and found that they had adjusted enough to open them wider. The shelves were all empty. The counter was neatly organized. How much time did he have?

His fingers sifted through the order clumsily, spilling pages and books and maps. He opened drawers one by one until finally, his heart fluttering, he brushed two thin wooden shapes. The wands. One he left, his fingertips numb from its touch. He grasped the other gently. It warmed to his fingers, slow and hesitant. Like the meeting of two acquaintances long separated.

Then the air moved and he flinched. But it was only the wand brushing reality with a melancholy whiff of flowers. Like it knew its owner was gone. He nearly lost his will to leave. All he wanted to do was sink to the ground and lay there forever…

He locked his knees and faced the mirror, heart in his mouth.

"Getting out is simple really."

From this side his reflection was nearly transparent. He was thin, exhausted, and weak. Wilder than the first time he'd seen himself here. The edges of his body fuzzed with the empty shop, like he was starting to melt away from the world. Fitting, he thought wryly.

"You have to see yourself-"

He limped closer and closer to the surface until he could see his face beneath the hair and dirt. It was all eye sockets and mutilated skin. The scar he had only ever felt now stood out, ghastly and multicolored. Pink with silver lining. It cleaved through his beard to his neck. Who was he now?

"-and want to go back."

He held the wand tightly in fingers that were sticky with Liam Carmichael's phantom blood. Pieces of reality bloomed like lacerations in his memory. The other side. It would all become real again. His legs nearly crumbled beneath him. No Truth could compare to the lies he'd told in the dark.

But that was wrong. That was the Lie.

And somehow, his brain supplied a low, grumbling voice that ranted as if from a great distance, "There's something dark growing in the shadows… Harry Potter will be in more danger than he was before… for the sake of the boy…"

Harry.

"Love cannot stop death. Not forever."

His throat burned. Harry deserved more than him. But who else did he have? With more effort than he had ever summoned, he met his own eyes.

Then his left leg finally gave out and he fell backwards into a glass display case. It toppled and shattered, merchandise spilling across the floor. Upstairs there was a shout of surprise and a caterwauling charm blared. Remus caught himself on a shelf, his hand inches from a cursed skull. Gasping, he stared at its rounded, human teeth.

"Who goes there?!"

The voice hit him with a thousand volts of electricity. Gruff, angry. Not Pyrites. He was on the other side.

Get somewhere safe.

Panting, he pushed to the door. Fresh air filled his lungs, drowning him in reality. Shock almost made him look back. But a realization crashed over him like a giant wave.

He could never look at the Mirror again. It would swallow him whole and there would be no second escape.

Somewhere safe.

He made it out into the night.

Safe.

He disapparated.


June 25, 1986

Mad-Eye was waiting for Sirius and Dumbledore in the cottage kitchen, helping himself to the last of the coffee in the tin.

"Please, help yourself," said Sirius grumpily.

"Been up all night squatting outside Malfoy's peacock-infested mansion, Black. This is my reward."

"Nothing?"

"Nothing."

Mad-Eye took a bite of an egg on toast that Sirius just noticed on the counter. A greasy pan had been left on the stove. Sirius sighed and glanced at Dumbledore.

"Do you want an egg or some tea?"

"No, thank you," said Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling.

"You got someone kipping on your couch?" probed Mad-Eye, raising a scarred eyebrow. He gestured through the wall to the living room on the other side with his toast. The blue eye stared in just the right direction. "Blankets and sheets folded at the end."

"Er-" Sirius tried to think quickly. "I was doing laundry."

"Get distracted halfway through? The rest of the clothes seem to be scattered in the strangest places. On the lampshade, the chairs, the side tables-"

"It was me. On the couch."

"Why are you sleeping on your couch when you have a perfectly good-and habitually unmade-bed?"

Sirius was beginning to hate that zooming, magical prosthetic.

"Nightmares," Sirius improvised with a grain of truth. "I sleep better on the couch."

"And in the morning you were overcome by the compulsion to neatly fold the blankets?"

"Yes," said Sirius shortly. "What is this, invasion-of-privacy day?"

"Just asking," grouched Mad-Eye.

"You're drinking my coffee."

"I think we can move on," interjected Dumbledore. His wrinkles were scrunched with amusement, but he used his notes to point out the window. "Why don't we sit out in the sunlight? I find that I am weary of indoor meetings."

"Yeah," agreed Sirius. He led the way out onto the porch, then down into the grassy yard. Dumbledore conjured three blue lawn chairs in the shade of the eaves. Mad-Eye followed reluctantly, flowery coffee cup clutched in one gnarled hand.

"More listening ears outside, Dumbledore," he growled.

"I trust Daedalus' protections," said Dumbledore mildly. "Sit down, Alastor."

Mad-Eye sat heavily, balancing the coffee in one hand to keep it from spilling. Sirius joined.

"So," he said. "The documents from the Mirror. Any progress?"

"Plenty," answered Dumbledore. "Though not as much as you may have hoped."

"We'll take anything at this point," Mad-Eye muttered, sipping the steaming coffee.

"The most pressing issue, I think, is what Sirius just told me," said Dumbledore. "Voldemort is in England."

"How do you know?" Mad-Eye demanded, barely reacting to the news.

"That's between me and my source," Sirius answered firmly. "All I have is that Pyrites brought him, maybe from Albania."

Mad-Eye was clearly unsatisfied. He leaned back in his chair and took a long sip of his coffee, both eyes boring into Sirius.

"There is a potential timeline to the events," Dumbledore said. "What you found in the Mirror were primarily older documents and notes. Scattered thoughts and trips into European countries near Croatia. Very dark magic. These trips became more frequent about a year ago, up until this past February when he spent a great deal of time in Albania. He was getting closer. From what I can tell, around this time his research took on a new direction."

"And that was?"

"Resurrection."

"Resurrection… of Voldemort?" asked Sirius.

"We can assume that, yes. He seemed to have some measure of success. There were lists of ingredients, some things which I will not burden you with here," explained Dumbledore. Even in the brightness of the day, his blue eyes were shadowed. "Quantities of unicorn blood. The venom of a maledictus. Dittany, mandrake skin. Many of these things would not have been acquired easily. I cannot yet tell if Pyrites was successful in collecting some of them, or indeed if he ever planned on using them." Dumbledore looked intently at Sirius. "Would your anonymous source happen to know if Voldemort has any corporeal form?"

Sirius shook his head. "I don't know," he answered. "I can ask."

Mad-Eye was watching him closely.

Dumbledore steepled his fingers under his crooked nose. "Do so. A ritual would be needed, one which I could not discern yet from the available evidence. But, once complete, Voldemort would be restored to his true form."

"True form? What's left of him now?" Mad-Eye asked gruffly.

Dumbledore was silent for several minutes, as if considering how to answer. Sirius fidgeted in his seat, wishing he had the Headmaster's penetrating gaze so he could see what was going on inside his head. Finally, Dumbledore spoke.

"When Voldemort turned his wand on Harry Potter, the killing curse rebounded and struck him. His body would have been utterly destroyed. His soul however… fled. Weak, wounded, but alive. I do not know what Pyrites would have seen. Souls are not physical things. They interact with the world in ways that we cannot comprehend."

"But how would his soul have survived in the first place?" Mad-Eye growled.

This time, Dumbledore did not answer. His steepled fingers curled between each other tightly and his brow furrowed. Sirius waited, resisting the urge to poke him. Did he know the answer and not want to share it? Or was he just as confused?

Mad-Eye stood and began to pace. The blunt shadow of the house crept closer to their chairs. The sun was getting higher and hotter. Birdsong floated lazily across the meadow, which was vibrating with insects. Sirius' mind wandered, drifting back to the Mirror of Erised, the way the sun ignited in Lily's hair and flashed on James' glasses…

"Tell me about the break-in to the Department of Mysteries," said Dumbledore suddenly. Sirius blinked away the image and half-formed reasons to return to the Headmaster's office. "Scrimgeour sent me the report. He took the prophecy about the Chosen One, but that shouldn't be possible."

"He showed it to me," Sirius replied, kicking at a tuft of grass. "He had it in his hand. I don't know how else to say it."

"The Hall of Prophecies does not allow for that."

"He got into the Department of Mysteries just fine. I don't see why the Hall of Prophecies would be an issue, whatever enchantments they've put on it."

"It's not a matter of getting in," said Dumbledore. His forehead was lined in thought. "He wouldn't have been able to touch it unless the prophecy concerned him. Which it didn't."

"Maybe he found a way around it," Mad-Eye suggested. He was still pacing back and forth, wearing a path in the grass in front of the porch. His wooden leg alternated with the real one, making a soft rhythm of step, thump, step, thump, step, thump

"Again, it isn't possible," Dumbledore murmured quietly. "Not without his going completely mad. He would never recover."

"He's already mad," Sirius muttered, recalling the unnerving stare, the disconnectedness. He debated trying to explain his bad feeling to Dumbledore and Mad-Eye. Maybe they would have an explanation… Then, he realized there might be one. "He wasn't acting normal. Like he was out of sync or something. Maybe it did affect him?"

"No, it would have completely incapacitated him," Dumbledore refuted. "He wouldn't have been able to walk, much less hold a conversation."

Sirius and Mad-Eye could think of no other response. Mad-Eye continued to pace, squinting occasionally at the sun as if accusing it for being so bright and hot. His magical eye was scanning the wards like a searchlight. Dumbledore stared off into space, his troubled frown deepening.

"He has shown me now his greatest triumph. He has mastered Death."

Sirius felt a chill creep along his vertebrae despite the summer heat. Pyrites had spoken as if Voldemort could never be killed. What if it were true? What if Halloween night was not just an anomaly and they were fighting an enemy that could not lose?

Neither can live while the other survives… What did this mean for Harry?

He was so engrossed in his spiraling thoughts that he did not hear the front door softly click closed. But he did hear the quiet interjection.

"I think I might be able to shed some light on how Pyrites could touch the prophecy."

Mad-Eye stopped his pacing so abruptly, it was like he had been put in a full-body bind. Dumbledore stood swiftly, his ultramarine robes swirled heavily around him. Both were two men rarely lost for words, but they could only stare. Remus stood awkwardly on the porch, one hand in his pocket, the other gripping his cane tightly.

He cleared his throat, his cheeks flushing. "I apologize for eavesdropping. And the dramatic entrance." His mouth twitched sardonically. This was the closest he ever got to a smile. "Molly forced me out of the house. Said I looked 'homeless' and demanded I bring her all of my clothes for mending. I tried to explain that I don't have many spares..."

"I would have told her that you always look homeless," Sirius said. He had reacted a little more calmly than his companions, only leaning back into his chair to observe with surprised amusement.

"I was going for shabby chic," Remus bantered back with ease.

"I think you missed 'chic' by a few decades there, Moony."

"I'm a man out of time, Padfoot."

"If you're talking about the 19th century..."

"Are you done or should Albus and I leave the two of you alone?"

Mad-Eye finally found his voice. It was rougher than usual, though he was glaring with his usual intensity. Both eyes were fixed on Remus, the blue one scanning up and down like it was doing diagnostics.

"We're done," Remus answered softly. "Good to see you, Mad-Eye. Albus."

"This is an unexpected surprise, Remus," said Dumbledore, his eyes glimmering. "Though not unhoped for. Your anonymous source, I presume?" he asked Sirius.

Sirius shrugged and nodded. Dumbledore smiled and turned back to Remus.

"It's been some time."

Remus cleared his throat again and lowered his gaze to the slatted wood of the porch floor. "I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry for, my boy."

Remus shot Dumbledore a slightly wistful glance, as though envious of that point of view. He limped down to them, his cane making a harsh crack every other step.

"I disagree," Mad-Eye grumbled. His beady black eye pierced Sirius where he was sitting. "How long has he been folding your bloody blankets?"

"Only a couple days."

"The night you sent me to Knockturn Alley with no explanation other than every sentry had been stupefied and someone had made a mess of Borgin and Burke's?"

"Yeah."

"Son of a bitch," muttered Mad-Eye. Then he rounded on Remus. "You didn't think to send an owl?"

"It's... complicated," Remus explained lamely.

Mad-Eye huffed, then resumed his pacing. Back and forth, back and forth. Then he stopped, marched straight to Remus and pulled him into a tight embrace. Remus did not have time to be shocked, because Mad-Eye immediately pushed him away, keeping hold of his arms so he didn't topple over.

"I am sorry," he growled. "for my lack of vigilance. Black?"

"Hmm?" hummed Sirius, still recovering from his astonishment.

"If word gets around about what just happened moments ago, your career as an auror will come to a sudden and untimely end."

"Got it."

"Sit down Lupin." Mad-Eye conjured a third chair and pushed Remus into it. "And tell us, how does Pyrites retrieve a prophecy he has no business touching?"

Remus settled himself, leaning the cane against the chair and resting his elbows on his knees. Dumbledore also resumed his seat, focusing his full attention on the werewolf. Mad-Eye continued to carve a path into the yard.

"It wasn't Pyrites," Remus said simply.

"Polyjuice?"

"No." He twisted his hands and said to the grass between his feet, "It wasn't Pyrites. And it was."

"Quantum physics?" Sirius suggested innocently. Remus shot him a glare. "Well you aren't being very clear."

"Let me finish," he retorted. "I've... I've spent a lot of time with Pyrites. He likes to talk." Remus' voice went distant and contemplative. "He was trying to discover how the Dark Lord was destroyed that night. How Harry Potter survived. He investigated… many different things." Sirius wondered if he was the only one who noticed how Remus' hand drifted to the sleeve where Lily's wand was stowed.

"Mostly just words, meaningless babble, streams of consciousness. I don't think he ever expected me to escape, but he was still cautious. But every once and a while he'd slip...little things. Accidental phrases. I knew he was following my trail through Europe, the one I'd followed while working for Evaltas. He knew something. Something that kept him searching...'The Dark Lord is Many and Deathless,'" he whispered.

Dumbledore stiffened suddenly. "Where did you hear that?"

"Liam Carmichael," Remus said. His hands tightened. "The night I…" Mad-Eye's rhythmic steps hitched.

"You said you didn't kill him," Sirius said, partially for Mad-Eye and Dumbledore's benefit.

"I might as well have."

"What happened Remus?"

It was Dumbledore who asked. Sirius recognized the tone of the question. Framed gently, but one that commanded an answer. One that Remus would not want to give. For a moment, Sirius wondered if he would just shut down again, close the door, hide the wound…

"He was dead the moment Pyrites locked him in. He just didn't stop breathing right away." Sirius held as still as possible. Remus sounded neither remorseful or sympathetic. Just detached. "Broke an unbreakable vow, went out on his own terms. The wolf was angry when it was left with a corpse. I suppose that's why it… why I..." The sentence fell away like an invisible shadow.

"What was the vow?" asked Dumbledore, just as intensely as he asked what had happened. Remus answered, equally unmoved.

"He knew why a girl was murdered at Hogwarts years ago."

"Ileana Durand?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I never understood," Remus murmured. "He said she discovered the Dark Lord's secret to immortality. Or part of it anyway. 'The Dark Lord is Many and Deathless.' That's what Pyrites said to Carmichael."

Dumbledore leaned back into his seat and steepled his fingers thoughtfully.

"It meant something to Pyrites," Remus continued in the same unaffected tone. "So he searched. But he never said what it was… When I escaped… it took me a while to… I… I eventually realized that the one thing I could do was stop him. I returned to Croatia to pick up where I left off. Eventually I came to Albania…"

His voice faded.

"Remus? What happened in Albania?"

Remus stared down at the grass again, but Sirius could tell that something darker was flashing through his vision. Eventually he spoke. "I met Pyrites again. In a forest."

"Remus-"

Remus lifted his head. "I tried to stop him. The moon was too close-the wolf… I wasn't strong enough. Pyrites played me, he waited until he knew I couldn't… but he wasn't strong enough either. Simun-the centaur-he was right. He consumed him."

The hair stood up on the back of Sirius' neck. Mad-Eye had stopped pacing minutes ago. Even the insects churring in the grass slowed to a standstill.

"Who, Remus?" Dumbledore asked softly.

"Voldemort."

The heat was suffocating, but Remus' hands were pale and clenched to keep from trembling. Sirius' chest cavity feeling suddenly vacant.

"Pyrites could touch the prophecy, not because it's about him. It's about the thing inside him."


June 26, 1986

He started with the tunnels in London. It was nearly 4 a.m. Sneaking out of the cottage was the hardest part with the added security measures, but he managed it. He crossed the wards without any trouble and slipped past the auror patrolling the northern side of the property. A quick hike across the countryside and he was far enough to disapparate.

But he hesitated.

"You shouldn't blame yourself."

"For what?"

"Carmichael's death."

The guilt of keeping secrets from Sirius again was like the sharp ache of his poorly healed femur. Sirius was trying, Remus could see it as clear as day. But Sirius was never able to see reality as it was. To him, Remus was always more than the werewolf.

Until he wasn't.

That solid trust in more had broken somehow. Sirius had started keeping secrets too. Hurt flooded over his guilt and he disapparated.

The thing was that tracking Death Eaters was almost easy if one knew where to look. The aurors would tail the usual suspects: Malfoy, Macnair, Mulciber. Remus had no doubts that their houses were being watched due to their old connections. Discrete inspections of the complicated finances and buried wealth of pure blood families might yield some fruit. But the Death Eaters had a head start while the Ministry stumbled awake.

So let the aurors poke the hornet's jewel encrusted nest and wade into the tangle of lies beneath. Remus, however, would start with the refuse. The ignored. It was shocking what information the promise of food or a few coins could return. Voldemort had known this during the war and used it. So, his first day back in England he had gone with the last of his money to buy some ears underground.

"I'll be back in a few days with more," he'd promised the werewolves desperate and hungry enough to believe a stranger's word. No one knew him. Remus had been gone for too long.

It was inelegant, potentially dangerous, but the pressure of time was on him now. Dumbledore had filled him in on the documents Pyrites had kept in the Mirror. Voldemort had no corporeal form. At least, he hadn't when Remus had last seen… still, all he could think of was Harry. And he knew that Sirius was focused on the same. Something to hold on to in the tension between them.

After Dumbledore and Mad-Eye left, the conversation turned back to the one thing Remus never wanted to think about again.

"I never said I blamed myself."

"You did. You said it was your fault."

"Padfoot…"

No one in the London tunnels had seen Fenrir Greyback or any sign of Death Eaters in the area.

Neither did anyone in the Birmingham slums or the Inverey moorland. He gave them the leftover rolls and potatoes from Molly's dinner anyway.

His final stop was deep in the forest. Mist hung in the air, settling as dew on the ferns around his ankles. The sun had not yet breached the horizon, but the birds were awake. He went quietly, melding with the sounds of the waking woodland. This pack was more feral, less trusting. Dangerous. The probability that Greyback was among them was perilously high.

He had hoped for a familiar face among them when he checked a few days ago. But Len was not there.

The old farmhouse loomed out of the mist, sitting on the edge of the treeline in an overgrown meadow. The lean-to tents constructed around it were mostly dark, with a few exceptions. Candles flickered behind a blue tarp. Wandlight in another patchwork canvas shelter. Snarling from an argument rose inside the barn's skeleton.

Remus wriggled down beneath some bushy undergrowth. Then he cupped his hand and hooted softly like an owl, three times. He waited. Ten minutes. Twenty. It was starting to get light. He tried again.

Nothing.

He debated risking a look around. Maybe Len was not staying here tonight either. Maybe he was asleep. Maybe… But in the coming dawn, the chances of being seen were too high. And he was hoping to return before Sirius knew he was gone.

"There was nothing you could have done. Pyrites was the one who locked Carmichael in that cellar."

"I could have stopped it."

"How?"

"You know how."

The blood drained from Sirius' face.

Maybe Len had moved on. The last time he'd seen him was December almost four and a half years ago.

He was just about to crawl backwards when a sharp POP! cracked across the meadow. Three figures draped in black appeared like shadows in the fog. Remus hunkered back down and watched their progress across the meadow to the barn. They all wore their death masks. The leader held his chin level and strutted with easy arrogance. A lock of shining blond hair was bright against his dark costume. The second was large, about twice the first's girth and a head taller. The last scurried behind, turning his head back and forth.

Remus focused on the first, certain it was Lucius Malfoy. The other two he could not immediately identify. Although something about the hurried gait of the last Death Eater made his chest feel empty.

He tried not to dwell on this and readied his wand. There were plenty of useful charms for spying if they stayed in view. But they arrived at the barn door and swept inside without knocking.

Undeterred, Remus cast a disillusionment charm on himself, feeling the cool trickle of magic blend him into his surroundings. Then he extricated himself from the undergrowth and skirted along the edge of the woods, avoiding sticks on the ground or reaching branches. It was tedious, but soon he could smell the heavy odor of sweat and rotting food and hear murmuring voices from the ramshackle dwellings constructed around the barn. He scanned for an opening.

A well-worn path flattened the grass through the tents. He went slowly, but ran into no one. Finally, he made it to the weathered planks of the barn and pressed himself against them.

"...have something better for me to do than hunting these stupid creatures," growled a voice like gravel. Greyback.

"Everything is falling in place," responded Malfoy's smooth drawl. "You'll have the blood you want soon enough. In the meantime..."

There was a rustling. Remus pressed his ear against the cracked wall and heard a soft clink. Glass?

"Is this enough?"

"It's what he requested," Greyback snapped. "It'll take at least three nights to track another one."

"Fine."

Suddenly, the Death Eaters were striding out again. Remus held perfectly still, but they merely retraced their steps the way they came and disapparated one by one. He tried to see what Greyback had given Malfoy, but there was nothing. Swearing internally, he retreated as quickly as possible. He made it to the edge of the forest at the same time Greyback exited the barn. Remus paused. But the alpha wolf only lit a cigarette and blew the smoke out into the hazy morning. His dirt-stained nails were covered in a strange, flaking substance. Not red. Iron gray.

Blood. But not human blood.

Feeling sick, Remus snuck quietly away. In his mouth was a lingering taste of metal.

"Never say things like that," Sirius whispered.

"I did nothing. I let myself be used."

"He… he shared vital information. He broke his vow. He chose to do that-"

"Rather than be torn to pieces by a monster."

Remus knew as soon as he returned to the cottage that his absence was noticed. He entered the sliding back door to see Harry sitting at the coffee table, coloring contentedly. Loud sounds emanated from the kitchen, like Sirius was throwing dishes around violently instead of cleaning.

"Hi Harry," said Remus, sliding the door shut behind him.

"Hi Remus. Where did you go?"

"Er, walking."

Harry made a small oh with his mouth and smiled. "I like walking sometimes. But I like flying better."

Remus' lips quirked with a memory of James. There was another crash in the kitchen. "What's Sirius up to?"

"He wanted to do dishes the muggle way," Harry said. At least that explained the noise. He picked up another crayon and swirled it over the page. Then he added in a soft tone, "I think he's angry about something."

"Ah."

"Is he angry at you?"

Remus sighed. "Probably. Yes."

Harry's brow furrowed, wrinkling the lightning shaped scar. But instead of asking why, he said hurriedly, "Ron sometimes fights with his brothers. But they make up."

"...I see," murmured Remus, understanding immediately. He glanced in the direction of the kitchen where it sounded like cutlery was being hurled into the porcelain sink. Then he looked back at Harry. The crayon had slowed its pace. "Did you hear Sirius and I argue the other night? It's okay if you did."

Harry nodded shyly down at his page. The mess of hair flopped forwards, obscuring his face.

"And now he's mad today. Because I took off without saying anything."

Again, Harry nodded. "Sirius says sometimes adults get mad when they're scared."

"Yeah," said Remus faintly. "People are complicated like that. I'm sorry you heard us fight." He swallowed, realizing how confusing it would be for a child to be thrust into the intricacies of his and Sirius' relationship. Especially now. "We're like… we're like brothers. We fight. But that doesn't mean we'll stop being friends."

"I'm glad you're Sirius' friend," said Harry brightly. "He gets sad sometimes."

"Does he?" questioned Remus without being surprised.

Harry nodded. "Do you miss my mum and dad?"

He looked up from his drawing when Remus didn't answer. Merlin, his eyes... "I do. Very much."

"Me too. So does Sirius. He missed you too. But he said he would find you and he did," Harry said confidently. He put down the yellow crayon he had been using and picked up a bright red one. He started adding brilliant red swirls to the strange shape on the parchment. "I think he missed you and that's why he was sad. So he'll be happier now? When he's done being angry?"

Remus hesitated and the red crayon slowed its progress across the page. "I think part of him will," he answered finally.

"Why only part?"

"Well...sometimes you can feel a lot of things at once. You can be happy and sad at the same time. Just like you can be angry at your friends but still love them."

"That's confusing."

"It is confusing."

"But maybe I know what you're talking about," Harry added thoughtfully. "I can be happy and sad sometimes." He did not elaborate and went back to concentrating on his colorful picture.

"What is that a picture of?" Remus asked, steering the conversation away from heavier topics.

"Fawkes. He's a phoenix. Sirius says that when he dies he burns up and is reborn from the ashes."

"That's right. It's pretty impressive."

"Fawkes is Professor Dumbledore's. One day, I'm going to go to Hogwarts and meet Fawkes. Did you know that Sirius can turn into a dog?"

The abrupt change in subjects made Remus smile. "Yes, I did."

"Can you turn into anything?"

"I'd rather stay just the way I am," Remus said without really answering Harry's question. "You know, one time, Sirius got caught and put in the pound."

"He did? What happened?!"

"He thought it'd be a laugh to take a jaunt around London. Your dad and I had to go and pretend to be his owners to get him back."

"And James never let me forget."

Remus looked up. The kitchen had gone quiet without his notice and Sirius was leaning against the doorframe, drying his hands and smiling tightly. His eyes were storm gray.

"You're back," he observed flatly.

Remus nodded. Harry was looking back and forth rapidly between them. "Should we talk outside?" Remus suggested.

"Great idea," chirped Sirius, a little too cheerfully. He tossed the rag he was still holding into the kitchen and led the way out the front door. Remus gave Harry a reassuring twitch of his lips, and followed. Sirius paced all the way to the end of the porch, his back taut. He waited until the door snapped shut before whirling around.

"Where the hell have you been?" he hissed, visibly trying to keep from shouting with Harry just inside.

"Following a lead," Remus replied as calmly as possible.

Sirius stayed still, his fists clenched. "Get anywhere?"

"I found Greyback."

Sirius inhaled through his teeth. "Greyback?" he whispered. "How?"

"I made a few contacts. Staked out some common packs."

"Where?"

"A forest near-"

"No, I mean where else did you go?"

"Birmingham, London-"

"Damn it, Remus!" For an instant, Sirius' voice raised, before he remembered to pitch it lower. Remus watched him with a mix of confusion and apprehension. The animagus had gone pale. "You aren't the only person who has eyes there."

"I already know the Death Eaters are looking for me. Greyback especially."

"Not the Death Eaters," groaned Sirius. He sighed and gave Remus a resigned look. "How many times have you gone to those tunnels since you got back?"

"Only twice. What aren't you telling me?"

Sirius chewed the inside of his cheek. "Carmichael's case has been reopened."

The bottom dropped out of Remus' stomach. "How-"

"It was days before I found you. Another auror had been poking around it since the Azkaban break out."

"Why didn't you say this earlier?" Remus asked numbly.

"I didn't want-" Sirius started, then cut himself off. He ran a hand through his tangled hair. "You never said more than a word about it until yesterday. I didn't want to bring it up."

"Oh, so leaving me in the dark was your genius solution?" Remus demanded.

"Not much better than sneaking off to investigate Greyback on your own," Sirius retorted. "You could have just told me-"

"So could you!" Now Remus' voice was getting too loud. He took a deep breath, trying to calm his frantic thoughts. "What's his name?"

"Augustine Burke."

Remus huffed. "Of course. He knows it was me, doesn't he?"

"He suspects."

"He'll know soon enough," Remus sighed. He rubbed his hands over his face, feeling the rough stubble and the valleys of his skin. "How long do you think I have?"

"I told you, I'll find a way out of this," Sirius insisted vehemently. Remus sighed, too tired to argue. Sirius Black was born to fight. Remus Lupin, however, was too exhausted to focus beyond the one battle he had left.

"Voldemort is all that matters right now," he murmured. Sirius frowned, but Remus went on before he could interrupt. "Three Death Eaters came to see Greyback. One was definitely Lucius Malfoy. I couldn't identify the other two. The meeting was quick."

"Passing a message?"

"Maybe." Remus kicked at the wooden boards of the porch. "Greyback gave them something. He had to hunt for it. I think… I think it might have been unicorn blood. I used to have a contact in that area. Back before… but I haven't been able to find him."

"Abalendu."

"I-Yes. Len. How do you know his name?"

Sirius was silent for a long moment. Then, softly, he said, "He's dead."

"Oh." He shouldn't be surprised. The hurt was sudden like a hammer blow, then dulled into a low hum. He'd never known Len well, but the other werewolf's help had been a comfort. Another who knew the cost of hope. "Was it the moon?"

"No. It was Greyback, about a month ago."

"A month… How?"

"Remus-"

"How?"

"His throat…"

Remus closed his eyes. How long Greyback had known that Len was passing information to the Order of the Phoenix? A month ago would have been when Remus had finally shaken his hunter. Greyback must have returned to Britain then, looking for another lead. Len was just another piece of collateral now.

"It was hard to gain his trust," Remus found himself saying. "It took months. Most werewolves were not willing… Voldemort's promises were hard to ignore…"

And like that, Remus accidentally stepped into treacherous waters. The uncertainty that the war cast on friendships and loyalties. Sirius obviously sensed it as well, but unlike Remus, he had a tendency to plow forward despite the dangers.

"The day you met the Weasleys, Arthur said you left around lunchtime."

"Reestablishing contacts underground," Remus said quietly, wishing he could escape this conversation.

"Why didn't you want me to know?"

"I didn't mean to-"

"Don't act like you just forgot to say something," Sirius interrupted. His expression was hardening. "There's a reason you snuck out at 3 a.m. this morning. Why?"

Remus hesitated. The answer came readily, but he could never say it out loud. But the remaining Marauder knew him too well. Hurt flashed across Sirius' face before he turned away, shoving his hands deep into his pockets.

"Sirius-"

"This is about the way things were," said Sirius tightly. "Isn't it?"

Only partly, but Remus could not lie.

"What about then?" continued Sirius. "Why couldn't I know?"

"Dumbledore-"

"Screw Dumbledore!" Sirius hissed. "You agreed!"

Remus sighed. "I was hand-made for that assignment. You would have protested."

"You're damn right I would have."

"I am a werewolf."

"You're a human being!"

"You are not a monster, Moony."

The last words from their conversation yesterday echoed through Remus' head. Along with the ones he could not bring himself to say. The reason Remus didn't want Sirius to know about his full moon injuries, about the werewolves, Carmichael, any of it. It was a disagreement as old and as deep as their friendship. And the one fight Remus had trusted him to never give up.

I was never more than that, Padfoot.

"Did it ever occur to you that maybe keeping secrets was the problem in the first place?" Sirius asked into his silence. "That maybe if I'd known where you were sneaking off to, I wouldn't have-" His breath hitched and he stopped.

But Remus knew exactly what he was going to say. "Wouldn't have what?" he asked. When Sirius did not answer, he muttered, "Yes. I think that keeping secrets was the issue."

Remus readied for Sirius' inevitable explosion. He almost wanted it. This back and forth was becoming too much… but before either of them could speak, the front door swung open. Harry peered cautiously around the frame at them both.

"Are we going to the Weasleys soon, Remus?"

Remus swallowed hard. "Yeah, Harry, we'll be going as soon as Sirius leaves for work."

Sirius finally moved, going to Harry and gently guiding him back inside. He didn't look at Remus. "Let's get your things together, Prongslet. I'll be leaving in a minute."

He left the front door open, but Remus stayed outside for a few moments, raveling in his live-wire emotions. He realized his fingernails were digging into his palms. Breathing out slowly, he loosened them.

Unbidden, the elegant scrawl of an unsent letter resurfaced. Years of forgetting blurred most of the lines and hesitation marks. But the ending was stamped on his memory.

Come home, Moony.

Solemnly Yours,

Padfoot


A/N: A little insight into Remus' current state of mind. Just because I like to build tension (evil laugh). Thanks for reading! Please review/fav/follow!