"Are you sure you're ready?" asked Remus, sat across from Sirius in the dead of night with a cup of tea. A position they kept finding themselves in.

Sirius sipped his drink contemplatively. "Does it matter?" he asked eventually. "It's what has to happen."

"I remember the letter you wrote me from James' the night you left. You vowed you'd never step foot in that place again," said Remus softly.

"Yes, well, I believe I also said I was going to learn the guitar and become a Rockstar around that time, so a lot of my life hasn't worked out like I planned," joked Sirius. "At least it's a chance to do something useful."

"I suppose it will be better protected than here. You'll certainly have more room to yourself. Though I've kind of grown used to having you around," said Remus with a small smile.

Sirius smiled back, but Remus could still see the worry lines that creased his face. They sat silently, sipping their tea.

Sirius had been uncharacteristically subdued in the hours since Dumbledore had stopped by unannounced. Both of them had been desperate for any news, a path forward, an update on Harry. What they'd gotten was a proposal. Dumbledore needed a secure location for Order headquarters. Sirius just so happened to be in possession of a disused home in the middle of London. As the last surviving heir of the Black estate, Sirius could hardly turn down the opportunity to disgrace his family legacy for a just cause. Of course he had volunteered the home readily, along with whatever other resources he could possibly contribute to the Order.

The unfortunate caveat being that, for convenience and for his own safety, Dumbledore wanted Sirius to live there until such a time as his name was cleared. He wanted him to go tomorrow. They had to move quick, get the Order running as fast as possible.

"At least you won't be alone. The Weasley's coming to help set up, Harry staying at the end of the summer," said Remus reassuringly.

"I still think it's fucked that he can't come right away. Dumbledore can harp on and on about 'protection' but he's fifteen. He's spent too long with those people. I'll never understand how he can keep sending him back," snarled Sirius.

Remus looked down at his tea sadly. "No, me either. Still, Dumbledore must have good reason. I know he cares about Harry. He wouldn't let him suffer like that if he had a choice."

"Are you sure about that?" shot back Sirius.

"I need to be. I need to believe in him, or else what hope is there?"

Sirius sighed. "I can always look on the bright side. At least that empty house will serve as a nice little reminder that my miserable parents are finally dead and rotting. I'm only sorry they kicked the bucket while I was in Azkaban and couldn't properly enjoy it," he deadpanned.

"That's the spirit."

They both sat for a while, Sirius fidgeting with his empty cup. Remus watched him, trying to imagine the mess of feelings that must be swirling around inside him at that moment.

"What are you up to?" asked Remus abruptly.

"What?" asked Sirius, confused.

"What album, I mean. I know you've finished the eighties. I don't think either of us will be sleeping well, and it is technically a new day. Why don't we have a listen to the next one on the list?" suggested Remus, already standing up to head to record player.

"Uh, it was blue. The one with the naked baby on the front," said Sirius, perking up a little.

"Oh, you're going to like this," said Remus, rifling through the album collection until he found the one he was looking for. "Nevermind by Nirvana. I was obsessed with this when it first came out." Remus took the album out of the sleeve and set it in the record player. "It was on the radio constantly and it just hit too close to home, I think. I couldn't get it out of my head."

Remus leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes as the sound of music filled the room. They soaked in the bitter lyrics set to catchy hooks. Sirius found his mind wandering back to their shared youth. Back to pumping music at crowded bars.

Sirius was watching Remus as the music played. The way he slightly mouthed the lyrics to certain songs. The way he seemed to lose himself in it. There was something deeply mournful that wove its way through the music.

Come as you are, as you were/ As I want you to be/ As a friend, as a friend/ As an old enemy

The lyrics spoke of a longing, a loneliness, of a deep and all-consuming emptiness. Sirius found it hitting almost too close even as he was carried away in the rhythm. He remembered the way they used dissect the meanings of their favorite songs together.

And just maybe, I'm to blame for all I've heard/ But I'm not sure/ I'm so excited, I can't wait to meet you there

He wondered sometimes about memories. He struggled with his own. His past felt so much like a dream, bits and pieces falling away until the exact moment something triggered their re-emergence. For so long he had only had the worst of his past to relive. He'd forgotten that he used to go dancing. He'd forgotten that he used to harass James into listening to new music with him, only to get frustrated that he never liked what Sirius liked. He'd forgotten that he and Remus used to listen for hours in peace. That they had been doing this since they were kids. Only he hadn't really forgotten because it was all still there inside him. He had just lost access for so long.

It's now my duty to completely drain you/ I travel through a tube and end up in your infection

With every new experience he had since leaving Azkaban he had found not just a firmer grip on the present, but another little part of his past that had been buried deep inside him. Some days he almost felt like he knew who he was. It was getting easier. It was getting easier to find himself in the muck of his own mind.

The music came to a stop. Remus was staring down at the floor and Sirius had a million questions he wanted to ask but he didn't know how. He wanted to know who this man was. Remus made his way over to the couch where he perched on the edge, looking over to Sirius.

"The lead singer of that band, Kurt Cobain, he died recently," said Remus after a while. "Just last year. Suicide."

"Oh," said Sirius. "That's sad to hear. I liked that music a lot."

"Yeah. He was a heroin addict, you know? Had a lot of troubles. You can hear it in his songs." A beat. "I'd been back in London a while when that album came out. I'd actually been clean a little under a year when I decided to come back. It was by far the longest I'd ever managed at that point and I think I got it in my head I was better. In control. Well, that didn't last long. I thought I could handle it, but I really wasn't prepared... So I was about six months into that whole mess and I was using pretty heavily but, truly, I was just so over it. I was tired. I'd turned thirty and I was just so fucking sick of myself. So angry that I could let myself get like that again. Angry at James, Lily, Peter. At Marley and Dory. Angry at you. Angry that the place that had been my home was nothing but a graveyard and I was left to wander it alone. That's what I heard in his music. Someone who was as fucking sick of themselves as me. I just latched onto it."

Sirius listened intently. Remus didn't seem awkward or embarrassed. He was detached. Calm. The way he spoke was gentle and matter of fact.

"I think when I went back, some part of me hoped that it would be like going home again. But it could never be home again, because home wasn't London, it was you. It was our friends. It was the life I built there. I loved that city because I loved the people in it, and there was nobody left but me, which meant there was nothing left to love," Remus finished softly.

Sirius leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. Remus clasped his hands together on his knees.

"That house was never my home," said Sirius. "Not even as a child. I spent my whole life dreaming of escaping right up until the second I finally did."

"I know."

"I don't want to go back."

"I know that too."

Remus looked at the clock on the wall. Time was fast ticking down as the two men prepared themselves to step into the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. Sirius stood up, striding over to the record player. He placed the needle over the vinyl. They listened over the album once more.