A/N: This chapter is not fully edited, but I thought it was better to update sooner than later! So, sorry if there's any grammar mistakes/typos you pick up on, I'll be coming back and fixing those little things later. If you don't mind about those, though, then read on, it's starting to get exciting now.
June 18th turned out to be a typical London day: wet and grey with a rainy drizzle. It was practically screaming melancholy. Remus stood by the sink in the kitchen, a pot of coffee in hand, staring out the window at the cloudy sky. He had been standing in the same position for the last half an hour.
Tonks came into the kitchen with Teddy balanced on her hip. Her hair today was a shade of very dark brown, almost black, with pale blond streaks. Her face carried a determinedly cheerful expression.
She walked over to the stove and set down a pan with one hand. Then clearing her throat, she said lightly, "Look at Daddy, Teddy! He's all lost in thought today."
Teddy burbled, curled a hand around his mother's hair and gave it a pull.
"Hey!" Tonks unwound the tiny fist gently. She glanced over at Remus, who appeared to have missed the entire scene. "Remus." She said.
No answer.
"Remus."
"Huh?" He half turned in her direction, looking genuinely surprised to see her standing there. "Oh, hey. Morning. Coffee?" He held up the pot.
Tonks reached a hand over and felt the glass. "It's all cold now," she said. "When did you make this?"
"Er," Remus stared at the black liquid swirling inside the pot as if the time was imprinted upon it. "A while ago."
"Obviously." Tonks took a deep breath, her nostrils flaring. Remus could see the effort she was putting into her smile. "Look, why don't you take Teddy, and I'll brew another pot of coffee and make some pancakes?"
He gave her a weak smile. "That sounds great."
Scooping Teddy from Tonks and balancing him with one arm, Remus carried his son over to the table, bouncing him absentmindedly. June 18th was always a day wrapped in a blanket of surrealism; he could himself through it if he didn't allow himself to think too much. Or feel.
Tonks was whipping up a pancake mixture with particular vigour. Splashes of pancake mixture were being splattered onto the sides of the kitchen walls, but she didn't seem to notice. Turning on the gas under one of the stoves and setting the pan on top of it, she glanced over at Remus. "What time are you going today?"
He settled Teddy on his lap and pressed a kiss on top of his head. "After breakfast."
"So soon?"
Remus shrugged.
Last year, he had woken up at dawn and spent the entire day at Gothic's Hollow, only coming home at midnight. He hadn't been quite certain how the time had passed—it had rained at some point, because his clothes and hair were soaking when he'd gotten home—otherwise he could not remember doing anything specific. Time had simply passed him by. He felt that going after breakfast this year was already a marginal improvement. I'm moving on. Slowly but surely.
Tonks was flipping pancakes when she turned to him with that look on her face—that look, he knew, which meant she was preparing to ask a question she felt sure would be rejected but considered it her duty to ask anyway: "Would you like me to come with you?"
He shook his head briefly. Several seconds passed. "Thanks, though." He added, belatedly.
"Well, I have meetings all day anyway." She slid three pancakes from the pan straight into a plate. "I really have to go now, actually."
He looked up. "What about breakfast?"
"You eat it. I'm not that hungry. Coffee should be ready any moment." She swept around him, picking up her handbag from the chair beside him, adjusting her hair in the small square mirror hanging on the wall. Then she leaned over to Teddy and gave him a kiss. "Bye-bye, Teddy. Mommy's going to work." She turned to leave and was halfway out the kitchen door before she paused and turned around. Remus still had his back to her, bent over his son, but he heard her murmured words loud and clear: "Don't be too hard on yourself, all right?" And then she was gone.
Five seconds later, the coffee was ready.
###
"D'you want some more coffee?"
Silence, except for the impatient tapping of a foot.
"Sirius, coffee?"
Tap-tap-tap-tap.
"Sirius!"
"Wha—?" Sirius jerked upright, blinking, focusing his eyes on Harry.
Harry stared, eyes narrowed, as his godfather jolted out of whatever daydream he had managed to become completely lost in. Sirius had been doing that more and more lately, but today he was completely out of it. Hermione had dropped him a warning at the crack of dawn this morning through one of the Ministry owls which had almost pecked his eye out waking him up.
Harry – remember, go easy on him. It will probably be a hard day for him.
He had reminded himself to never sleep with the window open again, then hastily scribbled back a note to tell Hermione that apart from the world of Hermione-standards, 5:26am was actually not a human time to start work or to send owls, particularly if it was a redundant message. They had had an entire conversation yesterday night that consisted of Hermione reiterating the exact same point at Ginny's welcome back party, and after he and Ginny had made up over their fight she had repeated the point over and over to him for what felt like several hours. He didn't need another reminder.
With the message fresh in his mind, though, he beamed at his godfather and waved the coffee pot in the air, sloshing coffee up the sides. "More coffee?"
Sirius stared at him for a moment like he wasn't quite sure what he was doing here. Then he seemed to snap himself out of it and pushed his mug across the table, muttering, "Thanks, Harry."
Harry poured the coffee, wracking his mind as to how to best approach the dreaded topic.
He tossed opening sentences in his mind and rejected them all, scowling at himself. He was terrible at these things. Then again, who was good at talking to a supposed-to-be-dead person about the day they died?
He was so busy thinking that he didn't notice warm liquid was running through his fingers until he heard Sirius shout, "Harry! Stop!"
Harry looked down, startled, and realized he'd overfilled the mug. He tilted the pot upright immediately, feeling sheepish. "Whoops." He said, staring at the coffee dripping from his fingers.
Sirius passed over a stack of paper napkins. "You seem to be somewhere else today."
So do you, he almost said, but swallowed it just in time. Instead, what came rushing out of his mouth was: "Are you okay?" He regretted it the moment he said it.
Sirius looked amused, a little smile danced on his face. "You pour coffee over your hands and you ask me if I'm okay?"
He pressed the napkins to the spilt coffee, watching the brown color seep through, cursing himself. "I just meant…" He trailed off and sighed. Then in a wave of inspiration, he decided to use Hermione's tactic. "Have you noticed the date?" He asked, echoing her words to him last night at the party.
His godfather's smile slipped. He pulled the over filled cup of coffee towards himself, leaving a wet trail behind, and took a cautious sip. "Yes." He said finally.
He didn't say anything else.
Slightly frustrated, Harry left the wad of wet paper napkins on the table and reached behind him into the kitchen cupboard for another mug. Pouring himself some coffee, he settled into the seat opposite Sirius. "So, are you okay?" He repeated.
Sirius sighed. "I don't know, Harry. What does one say on the anniversary of their own death if they're alive?"
Fair point. "Well, if you want any company today, I'd be happy to leave work early," he offered. "If there's anywhere you want to go…"
His godfather stiffened, but relaxed so quickly Harry thought he had imagined it. "No. Thanks, though, Harry. I don't want you to miss your training for me."
Feeling slightly lost, Harry stared down at his coffee. They both sat in silence at the table, one in frustrated puzzlement, the other in concentrated thoughtfulness.
There was a sudden chirping as the old grandfather clock in the hall struck 7.30.
Harry pushed aside his cup and stood awkwardly. "Um, I have to…" He waved a hand vaguely towards the front door.
Sirius stood as well, and Harry did a double take at the transformation. Sirius suddenly looked twenty years ago, his eyes bright as though he had suddenly figured out the answer to a difficult arithmancy problem, and he gave Harry such a beaming smile that Harry couldn't help but smile back in return. "Don't worry about me, Harry," his godfather said cheerfully, clapping a hand on his shoulder. "I'll be fine."
Harry left five minutes later after several more repeated reassurances from Sirius. He couldn't understand it. The cloud seemed to have suddenly lifted from Sirius's head, he looked remarkably alert.
It didn't make Harry feel any better. In fact, it roused such a strong feeling of suspicion in him that he actually turned to double check he wasn't hallucinating.
Harry hadn't lived through the second war without learning how to at least marginally read people. Hermione was undeniably better at it, but he was improving. And in this case, because Sirius was possibly even less subtle than Ron in his expressions, it was clear as crystal.
Sirius was up to something.
###
It was freezing.
Remus could never figure out why cemeteries were always colder than everywhere else. Was it all those dead bodies in their graves affecting the weather? Controlling it somehow? Taking out their revenge on humankind by making their resting place permanently cold?
He glanced at his watch and blinked in surprise. It was already six in the evening. Just like last year, the time seemed to have vanished, slipped away from him without effort. He looked around and only realized then that the sky had become progressively dimmer, the headstones of the graves casting long shadows across the grass. He could just see the sliver of the moon and the pallid shine of stars against a slowly darkening sky.
He looked back down at the headstone he was kneeling in front of and sighed.
SIRIUS BLACK
1959 – 1996
Marauder Forever.
Look me in the stars.
Sirius had asked for his epitaph, made Remus promise that that would be what his headstone would say. Remus had added the last line in himself. He had thought Sirius wouldn't mind.
Two years. It was finally two years. There was a point in time when Remus was sure he would never be alive at this point. That he couldn't live without him.
Neither of them had, after all, expected to live through the war. They'd spent their time together in Grimmauld Place fantasizing about what their life would be like together after the war, just because it seemed so out of reach, so surreal, an unreachable goal, that they could do it with the pure enjoyment of two people who had accepted their fate. Sirius talked about eloping. Moving to a different continent. Starting a new life together. Remus dreamed of developing Wolfsbane. Of curing lycanthropy. Spending the rest of his life with the man he loved.
The problem with humans, Remus thought bitterly, is that dreams can't never be just that: dreams. There had to be emotions attached. No one could dream without hope. And the feeling had creeped in slowly through the cracks, filling him inside, until he allowed himself a minute thought that there was actually a slight possibility of any of it happening.
And then Sirius had fallen through the Veil.
Remus closed his eyes, realizing his cheeks were wet. He felt light droplets fall on his skin and the rational mind of his brain concluded it was raining. Raising a hand, he wiped his cheeks. He couldn't tell if they were wet from rain or tears.
He took a deep breath, letting the fresh air stimulate him. He should, really, try to get home earlier. Perhaps surprise Tonks for once. It would be a nice gesture.
He needed to move on.
Making up his mind, he got to his feet. He glanced around him one last time, preparing to Apparate, when he froze, eyes fixed on a shape a little ways in the distance.
It was a dog. A large dog. A large black dog.
The Grim flashed through Remus's mind, and all at once a memory washed over it like a tidal wave, hard and fast, unstoppable:
"Sirius! You did it!" James's delighted voice cut through the air and Remus whipped open the curtains around his bed in the Gryffindor dorms. Seeing him, James grinned and pointed. "Look, Moony!"
Remus stared. He could feel horror building in his chest. "It's the Grim!" He squeaked, and prepared to make a run for it.
James doubled over in peals of laughter. "Moony! You're priceless," he gasped. "Sirius, show him!"
And before Remus's astonished eyes, the large furry black dog sitting on the floor in front of James suddenly morphed into the very familiar shape of Sirius Black, who was grinning at him. "I did it, Remus!" He cried. "I'm an Animagus!"
Staring at the black dog in front of him now, Remus could hear Sirius's words echo back in his mind: "I did it, Remus!" "I'm an Animagus!"
The resemblance was such that there could be no mistake. How many times had he seen Sirius change form? How many times did he run his fingers through that silky black hair?
Yet it wasn't possible.
Remus was glued to the spot. The dog, standing a little distance away from him, seemed equally immobile, its round black eyes staring directly at Remus. Remus could have sworn there was an intelligence in the dog's stare.
He didn't know how long they stood there for, gazing at each other, man and dog. It was probably just for a few seconds, but felt like hours. Then, just as abruptly as it appeared, the black dog turned and trotted away, picking up speed as it left until it was a black blur running into the horizon.
It took him a few moments to remember how his limbs functioned. Then he took to his heels and ran after it – but by then, the dog had long gone.
###
"You went where?!"
Sirius shook the rain out of his hair and slumped onto the couch, barely hearing Hermione's accusing screeches. His heart was pounding like he had just run a full length marathon. He had seen him. Finally.
"Have you gone insane? You went, tonight of all nights, to Godric's Hollow? You realize there was a very high possibility of Death Eaters being there? Or even other creatures, like werewolves?"
"Werewolves are human," Sirius said automatically, still staring at the carpet in a daze.
"I didn't mean—god, Harry, you talk to him!" Hermione pulled at her hair till the strands were straight, eyes bulging, turning to appeal to her best friend who was leaning against the fireplace. "Don't you know how dangerous it would be for you if you were caught?"
"She's right," Harry said, but there was something else in his voice aside from admonishment, and Hermione turned sharply, catching it: empathy. And just a bit of relief.
"Did he recognize you?" Ron asked, from where he was sitting crouched by the fire. He and Hermione had been snuggled together just ten minutes ago before Sirius burst into the house, scaring the wits out of the three of them, dripping wet, with the biggest smile on his face.
Sirius looked up then, tuning into the conversation for real. "I don't know," he said slowly. "I—I only saw him for a few seconds. I think."
"Oh dear god," Hermione moaned. "Remus has probably called the Aurors by now—"
"He won't," Harry interrupted. The firmness in his voice made Hermione spin around to face him, surprised. "I know him. He won't."
Her gaze was penetrating but Harry held it, unwavering. Hermione seemed to be searching for a particular answer. She blinked twice, opened her mouth, shut it, then opened it again. "What'll he do then?"
Both Harry and Sirius knew that wasn't what she had been going to say, but neither of them commented. Surprisingly, it was Ron who answered.
"Well, if I know Lupin at all, he'd probably come looking for him, just to make sure."
Now both Harry and Hermione turned, astonishment written across their faces. "Ron," said Hermione, in a voice full of wonderment, "I do believe you're right."
"Always the tone of surprise," Ron scoffed, cheeks tinged with two spots of pale pink that clashed with his hair.
###
It was killing him.
The more Remus thought about it, the less it made sense.
Sirius was dead. It had taken him two years to come to term with that, and he still had a long way to go, but he knew that for sure: Sirius wasn't alive.
But that dog. He could have sworn it looked exactly like Sirius's Animagus form.
Although of course that wasn't possible.
He considered, briefly, the possibility that it was just a coincidence. A stray that wandered into the cemetery. It wasn't completely unheard of.
But on the night of June 18th?
He wondered if it was a Death Eater, or Death Eater supporter who was doing this as some form of twisted torture. Or perhaps he was sent to kill him but lost his nerve. It had to be something like that, or else…
The alternative was too hard to think about. He couldn't think about it. It might give him hope, and that was one thing he had learned to give up long ago in this case.
The incident nagged at him day and night for four days. Then, when he finally couldn't take it anymore, he made a decision.
Grabbing his house keys, he made sure Teddy was with his grandmother and then left the house, flagged down a cab and headed for the one place where he felt sure he would find at least some of the answers he was looking for.
It was about time someone made the first move.
"Number 12, Grimmauld Place." He said to the cab driver, and braced himself for the ride.
Oooh, I do like cliffhangers...
Review, everyone!