A/N: Rating's gone up for a bit of swearing, just to be safe.

And without further ado, what you've all been waiting for...

As a rule, Remus didn't like cabs – he preferred to drive. But he had never recovered his Muggle drivers' license since the first war, hadn't really needed to, considering the methods of instant transport magic provided. But with Harry's recent new restrictions on his house, he thought it was better to be on the safe side and do it the Muggle way.

He got out of the cab, paid the driver with the little Muggle money he had with him, and jogged quickly up the front steps to avoid getting hit by the rain. He raised his hand, poised over the buzzer, and was hit by a moment of panicked uncertainty. Breathe, he told himself. As he suited the action to the thought, his heightened werewolf senses kicked into gear and he stiffened immediately.

He was there. Remus knew beyond certainty that he was there.

He didn't know how it was possible, and he didn't know why. But the scent was unmistakable. A mingling of fresh grass and black coffee and cigarettes that came together unmistakably as what both Remus and his wolf side knew as Sirius-scent.

I can't do this. Remus whirled around, heart thudding, and half slipped, half ran back down the steps. At the bottom, he paused again, breathing hard.

You're already here, the rational part of his mind argued.

He turned back towards the front door, then turned away again. Passer-bys, sheltered under shiny big black umbrellas, cast him vaguely curious looks as they walked past, kicking up droplets of rain from dirty puddles that splashed onto his shoes.

It couldn't be true. He would just walk up to the front door, ring the buzzer, talk to Harry, who would tell him he was crazy. And then he could go home happy.

What if... it was true?

The sensation of emotions that rose up inside him at that thought alone made him grab at the low bricked wall that lined the pavement. He fought it all down again.

It can't be.

But the scent...

To be or not to be? He thought a little wildly. His mind felt like it was doing battle. He sank down onto the bottom step, oblivious to the drizzle now soaking into his hair and clothes, and buried his face in his hands.

###

From the gap in the curtains of the living room window, Harry stood watching as Remus paced, turned, then finally sat down on the front steps of his house.

He was actually quite surprised. The man had managed to hold out for four days, a testament to his self-control, before finally coming here. He had also been a little amused by the cab ride—he had unblocked Remus's name from his Floo network and Apparation, anticipating his arrival (he still felt a little guilty about setting up the block in the first place, it had been, as usual, Hermione's idea - it had seemed better to be on the safe side at the time). But it looked like the man hadn't even tried to reach the house by magic. He wondered if Remus had been intentionally stalling.

There was a muffled yell of ow, bloody Merlin, ow from the direction of the kitchen. Sirius was inside attempting, for once, to cook a proper dinner. Harry understood it as an attempt on his godfather's part at redemption, to make up for the half-alive state he'd been in for the past week. Immediately sensing that nothing good could possibly come out of his experiment, Harry had smiled weakly and asked what Sirius was thinking of cooking. He had heard Sirius's uncertain mumble about roast chicken and potatoes before he'd nodded, left the room, picked up the phone and ordered a large pizza. He had to have at least something edible to eat tonight.

He hadn't discussed Remus at all with Sirius since he'd found out his godfather had visited his own grave four days ago and bumped into the man. Sirius had been adamantly silent on the subject for the past few days, refusing to be lured into even mentioning Remus's name at all. The entire cat and mouse dance was doing nothing but give Harry a massive headache. He was beginning to think it was a mistake to have kept this a secret from Remus for so long. Or at all, really.

He peeked out again at the hunched figure sitting on his doorstep. He could practically see the internal struggle vibrating off him in waves.

Come on. He's here, come on!

He breathed sharply as he saw Remus finally stand, then his heart sank as he watched him turn and slowly walk away from the front door.

He wasn't quite sure if he could take another day of the silent conflict going on with the two of them. He needed them to meet, get it over with, if just for the sake of his sanity.

Remus had all but faded into the distance now. Harry turned frantically, searching for an umbrella.

Where are all the bloody umbrellas when you need one?

Giving up, he leapt over the couch and ran towards the front door, pulling on his coat as he went.

Sirius, you're going to owe me for this, he thought as he yanked open the door, then stumbled back in surprise.

Remus stood on the doorstep, one hand just above the buzzer, breathing hard, a startled look on his face.

"You came back." Harry almost collapsed onto the floor with relief.

Remus cast him an odd, slightly unfocused, look. "Excuse me?" He said, sounding slightly out of breath. His eyebrows furrowed as he took in Harry's statement. "Were you watching me?"

"Er," said Harry sheepishly, "no?"

He watched Remus take a deep breath, and a slightly disconcerted look came over his face. He couldn't even have began to imagine how the man must be feeling at the moment. Actually, Remus probably wanted to kill him. Harry couldn't blame him.

Remus gazed over Harry's shoulder down the corridor then turned back to him. When he spoke again, he sounded calm, collected, the opposite of the struggling man on Harry's front steps just a few seconds ago.

"Where is he?"

###

He met Harry's gaze evenly.

"Where is he?"

There was a brief flash of confusion on Harry's face before it morphed into resigned understanding. "Werewolf senses. Right. I'm sorry, Remus, really I am. He didn't want you to know yet—"

"Where is he?"

Harry stepped aside and motioned with his right hand down the hall. "Should be in the kitchen."

Remus headed down the hall like he was in a dream. It was only when he threw open the kitchen door gasping for breath that he realized he had ran. Damn house. He'd forgotten how big it was.

He saw him at once. Everything else seemed to fade into a fuzzy background the moment his eyes zeroed in on the lone figure in the kitchen. Sirius had his back to him and was bent over the oven, mumbling what sounded like creative cooking curses under his breath. Remus had the brief hysterical thought flash through his mind that he should be really be enjoying the view. Then the rational side of his brain took over.

"Sirius."

It came out as a whisper.

The other man froze in his position for so long that Remus wondered if he had accidentally cast a spell on him. Then slowly, Sirius straightened up, turned around and met Remus's eyes. Remus felt his breathing catch.

It was like a punch in the guts, like standing on top of the world, like getting held underwater, like winning a marathon. All at once.

Sirius opened his mouth to say something but his mouth seemed too dry to speak. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Remus," he croaked. "I—I'm—"

"How." This came from Remus, and it wasn't a question. He was proud of how steady his voice was.

Sirius swallowed. "I—I'm not—that is, we're still trying to—to—"

"You died."

"I—yes, I did, I know, but—"

"You died. You fell through the Veil. I was there. I fucking saw it."

"Remus—"

Remus exploded. "No, I was fucking there!"

There was a pause. Remus had no idea where the anger had come from; it seemed to have been stored somewhere inside him for years now, just waiting for the right time to spill out and let go. It was like the pressure inside a pressure can and someone had pressed the nozzle. All he knew was that he felt more furious now that he could remember feeling at any other time in his life.

But even through his anger, he found his eyes roaming all over Sirius, drinking the sight of him in. He seemed thinner, more fragile somehow, his hair longer and messier, but black as ever. He was wearing a pair of frayed black jeans that looked slightly familiar.

The realization dawned on Remus slowly, emerging as faded images in his mind. They were the same pair of jeans he'd seen the last time he'd Firecalled Harry.

The implication of this hit him like a bullet.

For a long while, the two once-infamous Marauders of Hogwarts simply stared at each other from opposite sides of the Grimmauld Place kitchen. The kitchen which ordinarily appeared to be the size of a half a football field suddenly seemed cramped and airless.

Remus took a deep breath, once again put off-balance as his sense were hit by the achingly familiar scent. Fighting to keep his voice at a steady level, he asked, ignoring the slight tremor in his voice, "How long?"

It took Sirius a moment to process this. "W-what?"

"How long?" It took him a moment to realize he had yelled. His arms ached. He looked down and realized that his fists were clenched.

Sirius seemed to have lost his power of speech entirely. He simply stared at Remus, eyes wide, chest heaving.

It was Harry who finally answered; Remus hadn't even noticed him entering the kitchen. "About a month, Remus. I'm sorry. We should have told you—"

A month. He's been alive for a month.

Remus started backtracking slowly. He appeared to have had come to some sort of a silent conclusion. "You're not real."

Somewhere in the background, his hyper alert senses caught the smell of something burning, but he pushed it away, along with everything else his mind was trying to convince him of.

Sirius finally seemed to recover enough to string together a coherent sentence. He took a shaky step forward. "I am. I'm very real. I'm alive, Remus. I'm not sure how and I really can't tell you why, if there's a reason for it at all, all I can tell you is that I am."

"It really is him, Remus." Harry was looking anxious, running his fingers through his hair, exposing his fading scar. Remus realized just how young Harry was at that moment. He looked like a lost little boy.

Little boy. He had a little boy of his own. Teddy. His family.

By now, Remus had backed out of the kitchen and was heading steadily towards the front door, almost tripping over his own feet.

Fighting down panic that was rising in him like a tidal wave, Sirius shouted, "Wait, Remus!" And chased after him with Harry on his heels. In any other circumstance it would have almost seemed comical. "Moony!"

It was the nickname that did it. Old, familiar and long underused. Harry watched Remus's ashen face pale even further as his expression changed from terror to disbelief to shock, and then a flash of pain was etched clearly on his features before he turned on the spot and disappeared.

Sirius crumbled into a heap on the floor. Harry stared miserably at his godfather, then looked back towards the kitchen, where drifts of smoke was coming from the oven.

Dinner was ruined.

OK, I was really nervous posting this chapter, in fear of disappointing people! If you imagined it very differently I'd love to hear your views, but this is how it played out in my head. Possibly a bit more angst-ridden than I expected. And I'm sorry this chapter is on the short side, I'm about to get on a plane to go back to the real world (i.e. uni and my job), and I wanted to get their reunion out before I have all that extra pressure weighing on me. Next chapter will be longer, there will indeed be more angst, but I promise these two will start to work things out again. Just as soon as Remus calms down a bit.

Reviews feed my muse!